#and having him comb it to hide the handprint because its His and no one else gets to have it

[wovenstarlight]

oh god I want polls so bad so I can make color polls and make sclass fandom blow up and explode over trying to pick a color for hyj. anyway I was reading over noahs intro chapters and I realized their mark probably forms that 2nd night he's hiding out at the rearing facility (remind me to wail and cry about that at a later date) when yoohyuns just beaten him up and yoojin's soothing and petting him in dragon form while they talk over his skills. which means while yoojin gets a splash of gold across his palm... Noah gets a handprint square in the middle of his forehead

[yuziyuanapologist]

for the writing prompts: wangxian, “Don’t look away from me.”

hello lovely! thank you so much and sorry this took so long, i think i failed to warn on the prompt list just how slow i can be! but here we are, i also managed to ignore that starter is probably meant to mean that it should be the first line? but we don’t follow rules here.

so enjoy! will reblog later with an ao3 link :D

High up in the mountains of Gusu, Wei Wuxian plays for Lan Zhan.

Four months it's been, this time, and it's felt longer than all the times before that he's been gone. Longer, even, than the sixteen years.

Perhaps it's because, for the first time in three years, he's seen the first snows of winter without being by Lan Zhan's side for it. And - of course- there's no rules about it, no discussion they've had in between all the you should come back soon - for Sizhui's sake, or the I fell on some troubles, can I stay here for a while - there's never been anything about snow. Just that Wei Wuxian likes being by Lan Zhan's side for it. 

It's the warmth, he assumes. Lan Zhan always seems to radiate heat, and, since he's been back, Wei Wuxian's body doesn't seem made for keeping himself warm. He has to snuggle under masses of blankets to stop himself from shivering in the cold - these days in the snow he's been wearing almost more robes than he can move in. Or - he should have been, at least.

Now, though, he can just stay by Lan Zhan's side, tucked under his arm. That tends to work to keep him warm. 

His fingers are trembling against the flute even now, forcing his notes to slip in the cold air - maybe Lan Zhan will refuse to come to him for such a discordant mess, maybe he won't even recognise the tune.

“Wei Ying.”

Of course he does.

“Wei Ying, you are freezing,” Lan Zhan fusses like a mother hen sometimes, Wei Ying has barely had time to lower his flute before Lan Zhan is taking it from him, and taking his hands between his own. “You do not have to come up the mountains every time you want entry into Cloud Recesses.”

“I want Hanguang Jun to accompany me through the gates,” Wei Wuxian grins at Lan Zhan, and at his fussing, and at the feeling of warmth starting from. his fingers, moving through to his whole body. “To reduce my risk of being caught by your uncle.”

Lan Zhan shakes his head, unamused. “He will not stop you from entering.”

“The juniors are just as much of a risk. They'd carry me away, and I'd never even get to see you.”

“They would do no such thing,” Lan Zhan replies, traces of a smile on his face. "For fear of banishment from the clan." 

Wei Wuxian smiles too, looking down at his hands in Lan Zhan's. “Well. Mostly it's because I like playing for you. Though I know I didn't play my best today. Too cold.”

Lan Zhan fixes him with a hard stare. 

“Come,” he says eventually. “Little Apple deserves better treatment than this.”

Little Apple is laiden with more blankets than Wei Wuxian himself, and is contentedly munching at half-frozen grass.

Still, Wei Wuxian follows Lan Zhan - has no choice but to follow, with his hands still in his.

*

That evening, when Sizhui and Jingyi have finally been persuaded to leave Wei Wuxian be, Wei Wuxian curls up by Lan Zhan's side in the jingshi, looking out into the snowfall.

Lan Zhan is occupied with writing letters to some of the smaller clans (no doubt Sect Leader Yao is involved somehow) and cannot, therefore, pay Wei Wuxian the attention that he wants yet, but at least it only takes one hand to write. His left arm is around Wei Wuxian's shoulders, warming him better than the cup of Emperor's Smile in his hand.

Wei Wuxian tires of waiting for Lan Zhan to finish, though, and succumbs to his foolish desire to be out in the snow, extracting himself from Lan Zhan and wandering out of the door, knowing that, soon, Lan Zhan will join him, and make the cold warm again.

For now, the Emperor's Smile does enough, keeping the chill from his bones while he waits for Lan Zhan.

He's become so accustomed to shivering that he doesn't notice the shake of his own hands, only the way that his liquor spills a little into the settled snow, leaving a patch of it melted, an imperfection beyond his own footprints. He frowns at it, both for the waste of alcohol and the destruction of what could be a perfect picture - but the snow is so heavy that the mistake is fixed by the time that Lan Zhan joins him.

Arms curl around his waist, warmth settles through to his centre. 

“You are freezing.”

“Well, you are late. The problem you were fixing had better be a threat greater than the Yiling Laozu himself.”

“I am fixing that one now.”

“What, the Yiling Laozu?”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan replies, tugging at Wei Wuxian so that he turns in his arms. “Someone has to warm him up.” 

Wei Wuxian goes willingly, facing Lan Zhan now, all the better to tease him.

“No one would need to warm me up if you paid me more attention.”

“No one would need to warm you up if you took more care of yourself.”

Ah. This one. They've had this talk - many times. Wei Wuxian often runs away from it, citing his desperate need to wander and see the world, and Lan Zhan lets him, he lets him do anything that he needs to do, but Wei Wuxian knows that he worries. 

And even now that they're so close, almost but not quite - now that Wei Wuxian allows himself to cling to Lan Zhan whenever he's around, now that Lan Zhan holds him like he deserves it - it's - it's - 

He doesn't. Deserve it. Probably, maybe. There's just too much - too much everything. 

Isn't there?

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says it soft, caring. “Don't look away from me.”

Wei Wuxian frowns and looks further to the side.

"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan tries again. "You are able to keep yourself warm, if you try." 

In reply, Wei Wuxian tries a different tactic, leaning his head down onto Lan Zhan's shoulder to hide his face. 

"Why should I?" He mutters grumpily. 

Lan Zhan's fingers - his arm round Wei Wuxian's shoulders - find the ends of Wei Ying's hair, and comb through it, brushing gently along his back at the same time. "Wei Ying." 

Wei Wuxian hums, distracted by the calm of the touch. 

"I want you to believe that you deserve it. Deserve to stay warm and well." 

"I know that you think that," Wei Wuxian replies. "And I trust you." 

"But you don't believe me." 

"What's the difference?" 

"You know." 

"It's only a bit of cold," Wei Wuxian tries. 

Lan Zhan stays silent, and Wei Wuxian sighs, knowing the exact look that is on his face without having to look. He tightens his arms round Lan Zhan, and feels Lan Zhan's tighten in turn.

“I just like it when you warm me up.”

“And when I'm not with you? Do you stay warm?”

 “Yes,” Wei Wuxian lies, far too fast.

“Wei Ying. You are within Cloud Recesses boundaries.”

No lying, is what Lan Zhan wants to finish that sentence with. Wei Wuxian knows that much.

He sighs. “Lan Zhan, you're always saying that you know me enough that I can't lie to you.”

“You still try.”

Well. He's not wrong.

“I'm - I'm just not - ready for that yet.”

“For what?”

Wei Wuxian takes Lan Zhan's words as his own. “You know.”

“The same reason that you don't stay here?”

Wei Wuxian nods into Lan Zhan's shoulder, where he's still buried, and finally pulls away from Lan Zhan, turning back to look out into the ever-thickening snowfall. Almost immediately, he mourns the absence of Lan Zhan's hands in his hair.

He drinks the last of his liquor, and place the cup down on top of the fence, leaving his hands free to rest either side of it, pressing down and melting the snow to leave two handprints from uncovered hands that will soon enough turn blue with cold.

“You are doing it again,” Lan Zhan says. “Your hands will freeze.”

Wei Wuxian closes his eyes. “Does it matter?”

“It matters to me.”

It's not the first time Lan Zhan has expressed it, but nonetheless Wei Wuxian's reaction - his body's reaction, for his heart to feel as though it swells in his chest, for the feeling that spreads through him reminding him of home - is the same as it is every time.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan steps closer behind him. “Does that not matter to you? That it hurts me when you refuse your worth?”

One hand lands on Wei Wuxian's arm, soft touch sliding down to his wrist, pulling his hand up from the snow and enveloping it in warmth. 

At first, he can't bring himself to reply, eyes still shut, body still mindlessly following Lan Zhan's touch, letting himself be guided back into his embrace, to his hands in Lan Zhan's, close between them so that the warmth can spread. 

Eventually, he finds the words. He opens his eyes, but avoids Lan Zhan's gaze.

“It matters,” he says. “It does. I just -“ he shakes his head, cutting himself off. What he wants to say - he knows Lan Zhan doesn't want to hear, so soon after he's arrived.

Lan Zhan hears it anyway. He always does.

“You want to travel again? Already?”

The lack of response is response enough, it seems. 

“Don't,” Lan Zhan says, and though its a simple command, the way he says it is so gentle, calm and willing to accept whatever answer Wei Wuxian gives. 

His answer - is “Why?”

“I want you to stay with me,” Lan Zhan replies. “Let me care for you.”

Wei Wuxian's eyes drift half shut again, his breath shakes. “You don't want that.”

“I have always wanted that.”

Finally, Wei Wuxian meets Lan Zhan's eyes. Of course he's not lying, he rarely is, but the determination in his soft gaze is - enough to bring him to ruin.

“Lan Zhan,” he pleads, though he doesn't know what he's pleading for. Answers, maybe. A truer understanding of what comes between them, and what it could become. Though he thinks he knows - through all this comfort, all this closeness, there is a barrier. 

It could fall, if Wei Wuxian would let it.

Maybe he will. Maybe, after all of this time, he wants to.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan stays calm. “Let me.” 

He pulls on Wei Wuxian's hands, tugging him ever closer, the distance between them ever smaller, and the barrier ready to collapse.

One hand still in Lan Zhan's, Wei Wuxian moves his other to Lan Zhan's cheek. “You mean -”

“Yes,”  Lan Zhan whispers. “Please.”

The distance vanishes. The barrier crumbles.

Their mouths meet, and Wei Wuxian has never felt warmth like this. He feels Lan Zhan sigh against his lips, knows the smile threading through more than just his expression - he finally, finally, understands that he still has - that he is home.

He doesn't want to give it up for anything.

[hollandsmushroom]

Hold My Sea Glass Please

Luke Hemmings x Reader

Word Count: 1775

Summary: Beach day with Luke leads to a competition and car sex

Warnings: Smut, oral, unprotected sex

A/N: The beginning was inspired by the fact that a blog I love didn’t know what beach combing was and it hurt my heart.

Your feet sunk into the sand, your shoes long forgotten as Luke held them in his hand. Your hair was being ruffled lightly by the wind as you ventured along the shore that was barren of anyone else, the salt water lapped softly over your feet as you walked. Your stroll coming to an abrupt stop as a small green object washed up at your toes, bending down to examine it further you found it to be a piece of sea-glass, a long ago broken bottle that had its edges ravaged by the waves and sand, smoothing the sharpness to create something capable of being held without danger.

“What have you got there?” Luke queried from next to you

“A piece of sea-glass!” you responded, the excitement evident in your voice as you unfurled your fist to him, revealing the glass fragment.

“Woah, thats really pretty,” he reached out his finger, flipping the glass over in palm, “But I bet I can find more sea-glass than you,” his competitive side coming out, he is bound to have one being the youngest of three boys

“Are you challenging me, Hemmings?” you grinned at him

“It seems that way, doesn’t it, Y/l/n?” he replied before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, both of your lips slightly chapped from the salty air but he didn’t seem to mind as he kitten licked at your bottom lip, asking for an entrance which you happily granted him. You stayed this way for what seemed like hours but must have only been a couple minutes, lips locked as the sun shone behind you, the water still pooling in your past footprints, that was, until it came to an abrupt stop and he pulled away, jogging down the beach, his eyes glued to the sand, examining it for any glass. You stood there, stunned at the sudden end to your intimate moment before snapping out of it, looking at Luke who had put some distance between the two of you down the beach.

You chose a different approach, bending down, admiring the sand in much detail, spotting a dusty white fragment slightly buried in the sand, reaching out and grasping it in your fingertips, rolling it back into your palm to begin your stash.

You continued this way, growing your collection of sea glass in your palm until you met Luke at the end of the shore. Jogging up to him, you opened your hands, revealing the many pieces of treasure that you had found along the sand.

“Oh, you got more than me,” he cried in defeat

“Ha, I knew I would,” you laughed, dumping your finds into his hand as you waled further into the water, hiking up your pants so hey wouldn’t get wet. The fistfuls of fabric soon became tight around your thighs and you were having to jump to avoid the waves dampening the fabric of your pants.

“Y/n, come on out of there, if you want to go swimming you can wear my shirt,” Luke hollered from the shore, having removed his undershirt already, his white button down hanging open exposing his pale chest, you waded out of the water.

“Luke, I am going to need to change and we are in public,” you whined, even though the beach was empty you were still worried, reaching out for his shirt with your slightly wet hands.

“Here, I have an idea,” Luke stood in front of you, removing his button down, pulling you close to him and holding his shirt on the other side forming a sort of human shirt changing area. “There you go, you can change now,” you shimmied your pants down your legs, leaving you bare on your bottom half, you then removed you shirt and bra, leaving you entirely naked and Luke couldn’t help but admire your body, and just how gorgeous it was. You slipped Luke’s shirt over your head, now covered with the foreign fabric of your boyfriends shirt. You slipped under Luke’s arm running into the water, the wetness immediately sticking to your skin making it see through, making your previous efforts of hiding your body entirely worthless.

You ran through the waves for a while until the heat of the sun and the salt of the waves got to you, draining your veins of any energy you had had earlier, slowly making your way back to shore and into the arms of your boyfriend who was waiting patiently, his button down still hanging open.

“Did you have fun, my love?” Luke queried as you entered his embrace, he kissed your temple

“Yes I did, but now I want to spend time with you, my love,” you laced your fingers with his, walking towards the car. As you reached for the passenger side door of the car but Luke reached out to stop you,

“Nu uh, we aren’t going home quite yet, can’t wait that long?”

“Wait for what?” your voice portrayed the surprise you felt but he didn’t respond, he simply smashed his lips to yours with lustful fury, pressing you up against the car, his hands next to your head as you ground your hips into his, an immediate change in your demeanor in reaction to his feverish lips against yours.

His hand left the side of your head, moving down to open the back seat door, he leaned down, hooking his hands underneath your thighs lifting you up and setting you down in the car, he pushed you down onto the seat with his lips, getting in over top of you and pulling the door closed behind you.

“I’ve needed you since you changed while pressed up against my chest,” he mumbled, pulling away from your lips, barely opening his eyes to meet your gaze

“Luke, that was an hour and a half ago, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because were having so much fun, and I also didn’t mind the view of the love of my life running through the waves, their body showing through the see through fabric,” he groaned, remembering the image of you, your nipples poking out and showing through the thin cotton and the smile of glee on your face. He was getting even more hard at the recent memory.

“Hey, stop remembering it, you got me right here in your arms now, you can get what you have clearly been wanting for quite a while,” you slid your hand down his chest, gripping his hard on through his pants with one hand and with the other you pressed against his chest, slipping out from underneath him and onto your knees on the floor of the car.

“Wh-what are you doing?” it was his turn to act shocked

“I think you know exactly what I am doing,” you smirked up at him, slowly pulling down the zipper of his pants, hooking your fingers into his waistband, shimmying them down his legs, leaving them bunched at his ankles and in nothing but his boxers and unbuttoned shirt. You reached your hand into his briefs pulling out his painfully hard cock.

He moaned at the feeling of the cold air against his sensitive skin, you leaned in and ran your tongue along the underside of his cock and once it reached the tip you swirled it around the heated skin, gathering the pre cum on your tongue, appreciating the salty taste.

You gagged slightly while taking him into your mouth, the feeling causing a moan to rip from the back of his throat. You pumped what you couldn’t fit in your mouth, fondling his balls with your free hand, you could feel him getting closer to the edge, his hands were running through your hair and gripping into your scalp. You could feel that he was getting closer by the way his cock twitching deep inside of you.

“Baby, bab-baby, I-I’m close,” he groaned from deep with in his chest “S-stop, baby, stop,” he used his grip on your hair to pull you away from him. You used the back of your hand to wipe the excess saliva that had built up around your mouth.

“Why’d you make me stop?” you panted as you climbed up so you were straddling his legs.

“Because I wanted to do this,” he responded, pulling you tight into his chest, reaching between you and gripping his cock, lining it up at your entrance, before looking you in the eye.

“You wet enough?” he asked assuring that he wouldn’t hurt you

“How could I not be with the noise you were just making,” he blushed at your words before loosening his grip on your hips letting you slide down, welcoming the stretch the feeling of sheathing his cock fully gave you.

You started to rotate your hips, your clit coming in contact with the pubic hair that graced the skin just above his shaft, welcoming the unfarmiliar roughness of the hair, the feeling pulling a building orgasm out of the pit of your stomach. Speeding up the movement of your of your hips, the sound of skin slapping agaisnt skin filled to car, reaching a hand out and bracing it against the foggy window, leaving a handprint in the condensation that had built up on the glass.

“I am so close baby,” you moaned burying your face into the crook of his neck, sucking on the skin harshly, creating a mark on the tender skin, your nails digging into the tender flesh on his shoulders.

“So am I baby, on 3,” he reached a hand down and rubbed your clit harshly pulling you to the edge, “1…2…3,” as three left his mouth you both collapsed into your orgasms him shooting his load deep inside of you, dragging it out with the soft movements of your hips. You rolled off of him and pulled his still damp shirt down over top of your thighs.

“That was amazing,” he panted out while pulling his pants up his thighs and climbing into the front seat, you following closely behind, and as you passed by him you unintentionally shoved your butt in his face which he unabashedly slapped.

You gasped at his brash actions and the sting on your skin when you settled into your seat, quickly wand without hesitation leaning over the center console, pressing your lips to his.

“I love you,” you mumbled into his mouth

“I love you too,” he spoke between pecks against your lips

“I also love the fact that I won out sea glass finding competition,” you grinned as he shifted the car into drive and started your way home.  

Tag List ——-

@heartbreak-5sos

[imagineclaireandjamie]

The Last All-Clear (Part 3)

Notes from Mod Bonnie

This story is a series of vignettes following the premise: “Imagine if Jamie travelled through the stones, but instead of finding Claire in Boston he found himself having arrived years too early, when the War was still happening and Claire had yet to meet him… What would he do?”

Formatting note: Bolding in Jamie’s letters = underlining

Previously:

(Part 1) September 17, 1942: A Rusty Nail

(Part 2) December 3, 1942: Comb and Glove

(Part 3) 

1943: Blood and Whisky  

April 29, 1943

“BLOODY—”

I was already falling, stumbling over a rut in the dark. My hands crashed into the side of the shed and I surrendered; let the wall take my weight, wished it would take still more from me. Moving, righting myself—those were foreign, even the prospect of allowing myself to sink to the ground. All I could do, I did: I leaned my forehead against that wall and fell apart. 

Proud of yourself, are you? 

Ruined your goddamn career, Beauchamp. 

It’s over. 

My tears were icy-cold upon my cheek. I’d run out of the surgery tent in nothing more than my smock, and I was shivering so hard my entire body was seizing. Though, truthfully, it mightn’t have been the cold, at all. 

HOW could you be so careless, Nurse Randall??

Don’t you realize what could have HAPPENED, Nurse Randall? 

One more such blunder and I SWEAR, I’ll make it so you’ll never work in the QAs or any civilian surgery again, Nurse—

“Nurse Randall?”

“JESUS H—” I whirled and gasped and choked on a half-uttered sob, but from that familiar ‘RON-dahl’, I knew who it was before I actually saw. 

Danton was slowly rising to his feet a few yards away to my left at the corner of the shed, as though he had been sitting there, enjoying the clear, crisp night. I saw him slip a small book—a diary?—into his jacket pocket before raising both hands in front of him, showing that he didn’t mean to alarm. There was alarm aplenty in his own manner, though, as he took in the sight of me: hair wild from where I’d torn off my cap, front and sleeves and gloved hands covered in blood. 

“Oh, bollocks,” I moaned, just then noticing the bloody handprints on the stretched-canvas wall of the shed. My clumsy swipes at the mess only made it worse, and for some reason that made me cry even harder. 

“Din—Do not trouble yourself, madame, please,” he said in that slow, oddly-accented English, indicating the blood-streaked wall. “I will take care of this myself.” 

I could only nod my thanks as I turned my back to him, as I tried to calm my breathing. I shucked off the gloves and threw them on the ground, tried to focus on how to look less like the utter lunatic and fool that I was. Just what I needed, I thought as I hunched my shoulders and buried my face in my hands: an audience for my descent into madness. Although.... company did have its advantages. 

“Aviez...” I rasped out as I turned back to him, my gulps for air spasming like those of a small child as I struggled for the ridiculously-simple French conjugation. “No, wait—Avez-tu, no, SHIT, VOUS un—une—”

“Speak English, madame,” he offered gently. “It is alright.”  

English, then. “Do you have a bloody cigarette?”

Every man in camp had cigarettes, but this man had the absolute gall to look disapproving. “You should not smoke, madame.”

I practically bared my teeth at him as I snarled, ���Well, governments shouldn’t drop bombs on people and blow them apart, either, but here we fucking well are.”

Whether it was the words themselves or the violence behind them, he did not push it further. He fished in his pocket, and I was already reaching before I realized it wasn’t, in fact, a cigarette case he held.

Hunched shoulders shrugged once as he offered me the battered flask. “Better than nothing, non?”

Better than just about anything, in fact.  Accepting it gratefully (and deciding any grace or decorum had left my company for good, tonight), I sank onto the ground, leaning against the wall as I unscrewed the lid and took a tentative sniff. Oh, blessed Jesus: whisky. 

“Please, ‘ave it all, if you wish,” he said, seeing my oh-so-slight hesitation over seeming greedy. “You are needing it, I think.”

“Bloody right.” I downed half of it in a single, long gulp. Heaven. 

My eyes were closed and I was just getting my breath back when I heard him shift and say: “I bid you a good night, madame. You can return the flask another—” 

“No, don’t!” I blurted.

He didn’t actually look at me. “Do not...?”

My voice was a pitiful whisper. “....Would you please—stay? I—” For, as much as I was mortified to have been seen at my worst in these minutes since my flight from the surgery, the prospect of being alone with my thoughts was .... “Would you? Please?”

He was cast deep enough in shadow that I couldn’t see it myself, but I was certain his expression had gone drawn and tight; I’d seen him react thusly countless times, usually precipitating a hasty departure. At last, though, he relented, and to my surprise, actually sat on the ground beside me, just more than an arm’s length away. When I glanced over, his forearms were resting comfortably on bent knees. The hat and long hair and beard obscured him, as always, but his manner was peaceful as he looked up at the sky, one bare hand absently rubbing the the gloved one, the stiff one.

“What happened to it?” I blurted, misjudging where I was mid-sip, and ending up dribbling all over my front. If he noticed, he didn’t let on, just gave a puzzled grunt. “Your hand,” I clarified in my still-sniffly voice, taking another sip to hide my embarrassment (bloody hell, you ARE a paragon tonight, Beauchamp).  “How did it get injured?” 

I felt him stiffen awkwardly, but he answered simply enough.  “It was crushed, several years ago.”

“That’s...terrible.” Crushed. Jesus H. Christ. “An accident?” A wheel, maybe, or piece of farm equipment.

“No.” A pause before he said softly, with something I could only place as shame: “An act of cruelty.”

“I’m—My God, Danton....I’m so very sorry.” To think of the kind of person—monster who could have hurt him so, purposely hurt him in such a horrific manner. I wouldn’t dream of pressing him for details of the event itself, but damn me, my medical interest was piqued and I couldn’t resist asking, “Does it still give you pain?”

“Ay—Yes. Sometimes.”

“Will you let me look at it?” I was dying to see what manner of surgical repair had been done to allow him such dextrous use. I reached out, inviting.

“No,” he said, almost snapped, recoiling. “No, madame. There is nothing you could do, in any case.”

You. Something sliced in the bottom of my gut. My lips were wooden as I gulped from the flask again and turned back to face forward, “Of course. Nothing I could do.”

The consternation was clear in his voice as he hastily amended, “Nothing—anyone could—”

“It’s true though,” I said falteringly, the fatigue and the turmoil and the spirits making me half-delirious as I croaked out, “I’m absolutely useless.”

“That is not true, madame.”

Sweet man. Sweet and wrong. I looked up at the moon, wishing I could get off this wretched planet and escape everything, never to look back. I squeezed my eyes tight-shut. 

“I nearly killed someone just now.” 

The words were tumbling out of me. “I was supposed to be holding the clamps in the chest cavity while the surgeons worked and I must have held too tightly or slipped or something—I’d nicked the artery and before I knew it, he—he was bleeding out— so quickly—so goddamned fast—and by the time we realized— By the time they stabilized him—The surgeons— everyone—screaming at me and—”

I swallowed a scream and drained the last of the whisky, every last drop of oblivion it promised. 

“A soldier leaves his home,” I grated out, though every word trembled, “to fight for king and country, gets himself half-destroyed by artillery for the cause, for his family and friends, and it’s a stupid, stupid excuse for a nurse that nearly kills him because she THOUGHT she could—could do this.” 

“....Could do what, madame?” 

I thudded my head back against the canvas wall once, my voice ragged with shame. “It’s good, I suppose, that I’m learning this now, the hard way.” He started to say something, but I was already voicing the wretched truth:  “They wouldn’t even have me if there weren’t a war on.” A sob of despair slipped out. “I’m just not capable of the things surgeons are.”

“Yes, you are,” he laughed at once. Yes, laughed—chuckled, actually. I was stunned into silence, still more when he added, more soberly, but with that same unhesitating conviction, “You are capable, Nurse Randall.” 

“With all due respect, Danton...” My throat ached from the effort of maintaining some shred of control over myself. “...how would you know?”

I was ashamed as soon as I said it, but if my pointed inflection rankled him, he didn’t let on. “I know.” 

Sensing rightly that such an answer was not going to cut it, he leaned forward, clasping his hands together around his knees. “I am often in the wards near to you, do you know?”

He was, nearly every day, at some point or another, to lift patients or bodies or bring or take away as he was needed. He was such a solid, reliable presence, to me and the other—well, no. To me. 

“I speak very little,” he continued, “but I keep my eyes open. I ‘ave been watching you—Non, pardonnez-moi,” he amended at once, “that is not what I—I only mean....I ‘ave noticed you. You see?”

I hadn’t been offended by the choice of words, just mute with shock that he was speaking at all, and even now, I could only manage, “...oh?”

“Oui,” he said softly. “You are....most kind to me, of course, and yet you ‘ave a spirit that is—ruthless.... and that is no small thing.” With every word, he spoke faster and more surely. “You can take orders when you must, but you so easily, admirably assume authority and ‘elp direct others when there is need. Not everyone can do this, you know.”

Jesus.

He wasn’t finished. “You ‘ave a sense, an uncanny sense, for the urgency of a matter, and ‘ow you must conduct yourself to best remedy it. I do not see you daunted by blood or dirt or uncomfortable interactions as the others are. You...take charge. You carry on, and ‘elp, and fix, no matter the need.” From the corner of my eye, though we were both facing forward, I saw him nod. “You are uncommonly strong, madame.”

His words were like—like tingling in my fingers and toes; a reminder of life and liveliness in a stagnant dark. I was stunned by it, by the evident honesty behind his words. He’d truly noticed all—?

He’d have died, Nurse Randall.

YOUR name would have been down as cause of—

“Blustering through awkward encounters is hardly strength,” I gritted out, my body coursing with every despairing thought and memory as I latched onto the easiest of his statements.  “Pigheadness at best. It’s acting; that’s all it fucking is. Stubbornly acting like I know what the bloody hell I’m doing when I DON’T.”  

A beat of silence, in which I wanted nothing more than to curl up and vanish. When he spoke again, his voice was so unutterably gentle, understanding. “You are tired, mo—madame, and—”  

“That doesn’t—”

 “You ‘ad one mistake,” he pressed, “one unfortunate night. It does not take away all that you ‘ave done; all that you are, in yourself.”

Before I could speak, he was crouching beside me, and—Good Lord— taking my hand in both of his. For once, it was me that couldn’t look him in the eye. I stared at our joined hands as he spoke, watching them ripple through gathering tears. 

“There is not anything ‘ere you cannot manage, madame, if the need is great upon you,” he said. “I know this in the deepest part of who I am. It may sound—ridiculous, an overstepping to say such things, but it is the very truth, as I know it. Forget the men who yell and shame you, and let yourself remember who you are. You are yourself, always.....you are capable. You will make mistakes, yes, as all do, but in the urgency of battle and of war and upheaval, that is where you are the most strong. You prove this day after day. One mistake does not undo it. Tonight does not undo it.”

In the last two minutes, Danton had uttered what had to be triple, quadruple, even, the amount of words of our entire acquaintance; and the way he’d spoken them—fluid and strong and true, his accent even seeming less pronounced as he spoke, encouraged me with a message as piercing and discerning as though he’d known me all my life—

I surrendered to his words, broke from them, wept like a child without holding back; let the warmth of his hands on mine, his presence, his unfathomable belief in me, begin to drive my shame and fear and doubt off into the night. 

C. E. B. Randall

Camp Nightwing, France

29 April

Always darkest before the dawn. Can’t even express how much Danton’s words tonight meant to me. Have been feeling for some time now like I’m the worst sort of fraud, for believing I could be more, that I might pursue more, one day. I always had the sense that even Frank is only indulging me with this whole medical business, rather than genuinely believing I had something to offer. How should a man that’s practically a stranger to me be the one to set that fire of purpose back in my hands and my heart again? I don’t know why him, but I’m grateful. I WILL work harder, better. I will SHOW them what I have to offer. 

-CEBR

7 4 3  

I shouldna have taken your hand last night. Jesus, God, what madness came over me? Only I saw ye like that, lass, love, so young and fragile, covered in blood, weeping your whole heart out there in the night, and—Those things ye said of yourself:  they were the vilest slander. It broke my heart that ye should believe them, even for a moment, and I had to speak against that darkness in your heart. Ye needed to hear what you are, within you—what you can be, what you will be. No...what you are, beneath the fear. 

And the look in your eyes Claire, when ye handed back the flask and I bade ye farewell—the utter fire in them? To see that same flame still alight today—the way ye squeezed my hand again and thanked me over and over—began asking me anew about my own life, my experiences—and pressed still more when I demurred, until had to wrench myself away to tend to some feigned task? 

No, I shouldna have taken your hand. I can still feel your touch on my skin. 

C. E. B. Randall

Camp Nightwing, France

20 August

My hands are SHAKING with happiness. A special commendation by the chief surgeon for my performance these last several months, and on top of it all, a PROMOTION! I am positively bursting with pride and excitement. Absolutely cannot wait to tell Danton! Going to run out and find him before final bell. 

And Frank, of course. Must write to Frank. 

First thing in the morning. 

8 5 7  

I cannot stop myself. I cannot. I still keep my distance to some extent, still willna let ye see my face clearly, still willna tell ye of who Monsieur Danton might have been before joining the camp, but still....I treasure every single one of your smiles, Claire. I treasure every time you come to tell me of your day, grinning like a wee fool as ye detail for me whatever manner of infection or pestilence ye vanquished since last we spoke. I do little save smile and nod, you’ll know, but ye always see the genuine feeling in even those small nothings. I treasure that, too. I treasure every moment of you. 

I know I shall have to stop this, shall have to pull back to keep this connection from growing into something dangerous for us both, but not yet. May I be damned for my weakness, but I cannot, yet.