#we use our cleaned up sketches like MEN WE DIE LIKE MEN

[trbotunnel]

whore (ref under cut)

[lilith-of-rivia]

The Bard’s Sister  Geralt XFeamle!Reader Part 3

Part 1    Part 2 

Masterlist 

Summary: Its finally your birthday. You not only get a lovely gift from mum and dad but also from your brother and his companion who has taken a very big likening to you. 

Trigger Warnings: Drinking, some cursing

Pairing: Geralt XFemale!Reader Jaskier XSister!Reader

Word Count: 8,979 (I know its a long one XD I fit a lot into one part) 

If you would like to be added to the tag list please let me know!! So sorry this took so long. it was a lot of writing and I knew I wanted to get the party done in one part. the next part will be the beginning of the travels!! Would you guys rather have SMUT in the next part or wait till the part after that? let me know!!! All my love!! -Lilith

Sleep eluded me. After eating the meat pie from the kitchen and a nice hot bath I thought sleep would’ve come much quicker. I was tired, physically and emotionally. I could feel it in my bones but every time I closed my eyes I remembered that my brother would be leaving again in a few days. I had three more days with him but it didn’t feel like enough. Not after all the time we lost. I wanted to ask him to stay with me, but I knew it would be selfish of me. 

Jaskier’s departure also meant Geralt would be leaving too. It was probably for the best… the feeling I have for the witcher shouldn’t exist. They shouldn’t exist, because I was not delusional. I knew the Witcher’s were re-programmed into believing they were not capable of love, that they were loveless monsters, not only incapable of giving love but incapable of receiving love. I didn’t believe any of those tales. I had studied the trails Witcher’s must go through to become what they are. 

It is disturbing. They break young men’s wills. Make them believe the world will never offer them love, all to fuel their agenda. Witcher's never go through anything that makes them incapable of love. It’s very evident in my brother’s relationship with the witcher. Had Geralt not been capable of feeling “human” emotions, he would’ve left Jaskier to die when he was attacked by the Djinn. It was a perfect way for him to get rid of my brother, it wasn’t technically his fault or his doing. My brother could’ve died and he could’ve washed his hands clean of him. 

The way he kissed my hand the first day we met, was like he was attempting to give his best first impression. He tried his best to show respect, maybe so my mother and father would like him more. He showed me kindness, tenderness. Any time he touched me was feather-soft. Maybe he was worried he’d hurt me or scare me away...

The way he kissed Hildi’s hand. The way he smiled at my brother’s stupid jokes. There was so much more to him than anyone realized. 

I stood from my bed walking over to my desk. I sat down and lit the lantern with the candle from my bed. The fire in the corner of my room didn’t provide nearly enough light to reach me. I grabbed my journal and some charcoal. I moved over to the large windows and sat down. The glass was cold under my touch, the moon was nearly full. It lit up the garden below me. It was the most perfect view of the gardens my mother spent so much time tending. The light blue hue cascaded along the hedges. The flowers dimly lit. I scribbled down the date in my journal before I began sketching the view in front of me for what seemed like the 500th time. I always found something new. Tonight was a quick sketch, just of the basics. I was hoping it would make me sleep but nothing seemed to work. 

My body was smothered in quilts, my arm draped lazily over my head as I tried my best to sleep. The thin nightgown I wore was perfect for warm summer nights. It kept me cool and didn't stick to my body when I sweat.   

The night was still, everything in the walls of the castle was silent. I cul hear the crickets and the frogs below me, but nothing else. 

Squeak squeak 

My eyes snapped open, my heart beating rather quick at the sudden sound from the room behind my head. It took me a minute to remember that Geralt was sleeping next door. I had heard him go to bed hours ago and it had been completely silent since. But now I could hear him moving over and over in his bed. 

“Geralt…” My voice was barely above a whisper. No one could hear me, no one but a witcher's ears. If he was awake I knew he could hear me. 

“...if...if you’re awake, tap the wall twice.” I held my breath waiting for a moment. My cheeks turning red in embarrassment. 

Tap Tap

I smiled at the small sound signaling to me he was awake. 

“I can not sleep...care to take a walk?... Tap twice for yes.” I wondered if he could hear the smile through my voice. 

Tap Tap

I smiled wider, getting up from my bed. I grabbed a candle from my nightstand after throwing on my silk robe. It wasn’t the warmest fabric in the world but the summer air wasn’t too cold. 

I quietly tiptoed to the door, opening it slowly to not let it creak. There on the other side was Geralt. His hair was no longer pulled back in a tie out of his face, no it was messily about his head, some small knots in the thicker areas. Small strands stuck up everywhere. His eyes were hooded a little in sleep. He had a small smile on his lips, his hands tucked into his underarms as he waited for me. He reached out, taking the candle from me before offering me his free arm. 

“Princess…” he greeted with a small cheesy bow of his head. I giggled, softly shaking my head. My hand gripped around his bicep, squeezing it softly. It was as hard as a rock, my hand barely made it halfway around it.

“Hello, Geralt,” I whispered and he smiled. We began walking down the corridor, the hall dimly lit by the moonlight and the few candles lit. 

“No sleep?” He asked.

“No...my mind won't stop wondering…” we walked down the stairs, slowly as to not let the guards know anyone was awake. 

“Care to tell me why, dove?” He whispered. His arm moved slightly, making me let go almost immediately. Before my hand reached my side his fingers laced in between my own, squeezing it. I could feel the warmth in my cheeks, the small act making my heart melt. 

“Walk through the garden with me?” I whispered leaning in a little closer to him. He made me feel safe. Not that I didn't feel safe in my home, I knew how safe I was compared to many others but he just made me feel a type of safe I'd never felt. 

“Of course, lead the way.” we continued down the hall, walking towards the gardens. 

As we veered a corner Geralt's arm quickly wrapped around my waist as he silently, and quickly tucked us behind a suit of armor in the corner. His arm squeezed around my waist. I could feel his breath in my ear. It sent shivers down my spine making me twitch slightly. He chuckled lowly, his thumb stroking my stomach. 

“Do I scare you?” his whisper was low, very close to my ear.

“Never,” I said with no hesitation. My head turned towards him, his eyes shining in the dark. He gently put his finger to my lips. 

“Shhh.” I nodded my head, our eye contact not breaking. His fingers softly traced my jawline, moving till he was cupping my cheek. He broke eye contact for a second as his eyes flicked to the hall we just exited. Not a second after he looked me in the eyes again I could hear footsteps. They were walking down the hall towards us. Geralt took a breath in. After a minute the person was gone. Geralt’s hand was still on my cheek and the other hand wrapped around my waist. 

“You are so beautiful.” My throat went dry. My hands started to get clammy. 

Everything in my body urged me to just grab his face and kiss him, but that small voice kept me back. My fear overtaking the decision. I gently grabbed his hand that was on my face, leaning into him. I kissed his wrist softly. His skin was so warm, warmer than the average man for sure. I wanted to hold him. Feel his skin on mine.

“So are you,” I whispered. His eyes practically rolled out of his head as he smirked like I just made some lude joke. He grabbed my hand and led me to the hallway and out the door to the garden. The moon was bright. 

Geralt started to walk in front of me, pulling me deeper into the garden. Soon we were surrounded by my mother’s Roses and lavender bushes. The smell was intoxicating. It was the center of the garden. Geralt grabbed my waist again. Pulling me closer to him. I was shivering slightly. The air was cold from the late-night rain we had. Colder than I thought it would be. My hands Gently went to his chest, softly pulling and toying with the strings on his tunic. 

“You are beautiful Geralt. I wouldn't joke about that.” My voice was no longer a whisper, it was still low but he could hear me better. 

“I have been called many things in my day dove, but never beautiful.” His arms were tighter around me, his shoulders were tense. He was more alert outside than he was inside, I understood. His training not wanting him to think anywhere is safe. 

“If you want, I’ll make sure to call you that more often.” He chuckled softly at my words. I couldn't help but feel angry, not at him but at the world. The way they treated him, his kind for things they all don’t deserve. My hands went to each side of his face, as I gently made him look at me. 

“Geralt you are so much more than this world will ever give you credit for...I can never say I understand what it feels like to live in your skin, but I can tell you that you do not deserve that cruelty that is thrown your way. I know not all witchers are like you, I know many of them live up to the expectations my kind has put on you. But you do not. You are far from a monster Geralt of Rivia. You-'' one hand rested on his chest above his slow beating heart “-you have a heart of gold. And I’m so sorry you've never been treated with the love and care you deserve and need.” his hand was now covering my own over his heart. His other arm is still tight around my waist. My face and his had drafted closer as I spoke, he leaned forward, pressing our foreheads together.

“Fuck…. (Y/N)...I’m not good with words. But - I, uh thank you…” his voice was so deep it made it hard to focus. His cheeks were light pink. His eyes flashing from my lips to my eyes. I couldn't help but giggle at how frazzled he got over words he deserved to be told. My heart yearned for his touch. Everything he touched was like a small fire deep inside me. I had courted many men in my life. Many I thought would be my endgame, but none ever made me feel the way he did. His lip inched closer to my own, slowly before they were centimeters apart. He wouldn't kiss me without permission. 

“You may kiss me Ger-” his lips were on mine before I could finish my sentence.

 My arms wrapped around his neck, his own wrapping tighter around me nearly lifting me off my feet. 

Our lips moved together slowly, softly. I could feel every inch of his body pressed to my own. All my thoughts were him only. His intoxicating scent was filling my nose as I breathed slowly. He smelt of sandalwood, maybe a little bit of mint. Nothing I'd ever smelled before. The way his hands held my back, softly running up and down the silk of my robe. Everything he touched felt like a new fire was spreading. His lips were sweet, of honey. They were surprisingly soft. They made me feel like molten hot lava. My hand gently combed through his hair. His teeth softly nipped my bottom lip before his tongue infiltrated my mouth. Our tongues danced together, our hands wondering, touching, feeling every inch. The world around me didn't feel real. My body was in the garden but my head was in the clouds. 

He pulled away from me, barely. The loss of contact made me whine softly. I felt colder without his lips on mine. His hot breath fanned my face as he breathed in and out. I opened my eyes, looking into his. His hands left my back moving to my face, his forehead back on mine. 

“You are intoxicating, princess.” His words were velvet. They made my insides turn in the most delicious way. My body yearned for him. His fingers delicately traced the frame of my face. 

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” I leaned into his hand. The warmth of his palm being a decent replacement for his lips. 

“Jaskier will leave soon...Three days from now.” his hand left my cheek, wrapping around my body, gently turning me so my back was to his chest. His arms circled my waist as he held me into him. His chin rested on my shoulder as he listened. 

“When Jaskier leaves, you'll leave too...and I'll be alone again.” The thought of them leaving made my stomach ache. I had been alone most of my life. Yes I had my parents and they were great, but they were not my brother. 

“All of my friends I grew up with are mothers now. They have lives of their own. My mother and father cannot be my friends, they are my parents. It's nothing the same. I never realized how much I missed Jaskier till he came back.” My throat tightened as I spoke, the feeling of my tears burning my eyes becoming more overwhelming. My hands went to his around my waist as I held them closer to me if it was possible.

“I don't want to be alone again…” The tears slipped freely down my face, my head dropping. 

“I sometimes wish he never left. I know that is selfish of me, but I miss him so much. Sometimes it takes months for me to get the letters he sends me. I never know if he is alive or not.” My crying became a little more intense as I spoke. My voice wavering. I Let go of his hands, covering my face with my hands as I rubbed away the tears vigorously. I hated crying in front of people, it showed weakness, made me vulnerable. 

“I’m sorry, I didn't mean to put you in this awkward situation,” I whispered. One of his arms left my waist, only to wrap around my shoulders, pulling me tighter into his chest. 

“Do not apologize princess…” His lips met my temple in a soft kiss. His lips lingered there for a minute. 

“Who have you been training with?” He asked. I couldn't tell if he was trying to change the subject because he wanted me to stop crying or if he didn't know how to deal with me crying. 

“You may know him, I'm not sure. He never spoke of anyone from his past. He’s a retired witcher. He stumbled into our kingdom when I was 15. My mother and father were scared of a looming war between my country and Lyria. One of my uncles had knocked up the king's younger daughter. A large threat was over my head for a couple of years. So they asked him when he came into our country if he would train me. So I could take care of myself if I was to leave under a new identity. For the last ten years he came for a couple of months, we started with book training rather dull if I do say-” I chuckled at the memory of how many times I fell asleep reading the dull books he would bring with him. “We gradually moved into combat training. I know he didn't train me nearly as hard as he had trained the witchers in his court. But there were days I felt like my limbs would fall off, but last year he told my parents that he was confident that I would not only be able to live on my own in the world, but he was confident I would thrive. His name is Vesemir. He’s due to show up for our training any day now.” Geralt’s eyes were looking at me when I turned to see him. He was smirking softly. 

“What?” 

“Vesemir was my instructor at Kaer Morhen. I’m the witcher I am today because of his training.” My eyes must have bulged out of my head. He laughed at me making my cheeks flush red. 

“You are telling me, I’ve been trained by the same man who trained you? And he never bothered to tell me? What a jerk.” I turned my body around in Geralt’s arms, my head now laying on his chest, my arms around his waist resting on his back. He was much, much, taller than me. 

“Vesemir has always respected my privacy, don't harp on the old man too much.” His heartbeat was distracting me. It was much slower than mine. It was like a lullaby. My hand covered my mouth as I yawned, his head tilting down as he looked at me. 

“Common, you have to sleep. You've got a big day tomorrow.” He was talking about my party. His hands gently pulled me back from him, his fingers laced with mine as he led me back through the garden into the castle and down to my room. 

We stood outside the door, his hands mindlessly fidgeting with my robe. 

“Stay with me tonight?” My hands pressed softly to his chest. 

“I don't know princess...I don't want your parents to get the wrong idea of me.” I nodded my head, understanding and respecting his wishes. 

“Will you be my date to my party tomorrow?” I asked timidly, my eyes focused on his silver pendant.

“I would be honored, Princess (Y/N).” His fingers hooked under my chin tilting my head up so my eyes met his own. 

“Jaskier has your clothes, the party starts at noon.” He nodded his head. 

“I'll be here waiting for you, little dove.” his lips pressed to mine. It was the softest sweetest kiss I had ever shared. It wasn't long, only a few seconds. His hand reached behind me as he opened my bedroom door for me. I leaned up, kissing his cheek softly. 

“Good night Geralt.” I backed up till I was through the threshold of the door, my eyes not leaving him. My hand went to the door. 

“Goodnight (Y/N).” I smiled and closed the door softly. My forehead gently leaning on it. My heart raced faster than it ever had. I wanted him back with me and he hadn't even been behind the door for a minute. 

I moved to my bed, hanging my robe on the wooden bedpost before climbing under the warm comforters. They were not nearly as warm as he was but they would do. 

Tap Tap 

A smile stretched across my face. My knuckles softly tapping against the wall in goodnight. As I drifted into sleep finally, Geralt was only on my mind.

“Princess (Y/N)...” The sound of someone's voice broke my sleep. My eyes fluttered open, the sun burning them as it shone brightly through my window. 

“Princess…” There was a small knock on the door. I couldn't tell who was at the door. I sat up in bed, the quilt bunched at my hips. I rubbed my eyes messily, moving my hair from my face. 

“Yes yes, please come in,” I called my voice hoarse from the lack of water throughout the night. The door opened and Fesca and Neshe entered. They were women who worked in our court. My father and mother never believed in having unpaid servants. 

No one in my family did. Before my great-great-grandfather founded and rebuilt our kingdom my family lived in incredible poverty. Many of my late family died of famines and illnesses due to not having money or food. When my father took the throne he made sure to keep the rule alive. We had many workers in the castle. But they were all paid and had housing courtesy of my father and mother.

Behind the two women, their daughters followed. They were much younger than me, barely 18.  

“How did you sleep, my dear?” Neshe asked a sweet smile on her lips as she moved to the curtains, drawing them closed. My feet met the hard cold floor as I stood and stretched my muscles. 

“Very well thank you,” I said with a smile. The four women walked around my room, Neshe was getting my dress ready, while Fesca and her daughter were preparing items for a bath. 

“Here you go, miss.” Ari, Fesca’s daughter said with a smile as she put down a tray of food at my vanity. 

“What time is it?” I asked as I moved to the vanity, examining the plate full of fruits and a muffin. 

“Nearly ten, miss,” Ari said as she made my bed. 

“You don't have to do that,” I said looking back at her, smiling. 

“I know.” She said back with a smile. 

“Your mother instructed us to tell you that you are not allowed to leave your room until the party this afternoon,” Neshe said as she started to boil water over the fire for the bath. 

“Knock knock!” My head turned to the door, it was Jaskier’s voice. 

“Come in,” I called and the door burst open. Jaskier was standing in the doorway with a huge grin across his face. He was carrying a large bundle of flowers. All types from roses to tulips. 

He walked over to me, setting the flowers on my bed before hugging me tightly. My arms wrapped around his waist, my head resting on his lower chest. 

“Happy birthday baby sister,” he whispered into my ear. I smiled and squeezed him tighter. 

“Thank you, Jaskier. Thank you for being here.” He stepped back from me, looking back to the door. 

“Geralt common!” He called, my cheeks heated a little as he entered. He was wearing what he was last night. Part of me felt like it was all a dream, everything from his hand on mine to his kiss. Our eyes met and he smiled at me, winking softly. He too was carrying a large bundle of flowers. 

“Oh gods Jaskier you didn’t have to get so many,” I said with a laugh as Geralt placed them on my bed next to the ones from Jaskier. 

“Oh but I do, little sister. There are enough flowers in each bouquet for every birthday I’ve missed.” I smiled up at him, my heart swelling. 

“Thank you, Jax”  

“Eat.” Neshe nudged me as she began pulling hairpins and brooches out of my vanity. I grabbed the muffin and took a bite, Jaskier pulling my desk chair over so he was sitting in front of me. Geralt sitting on my bed. Neshe started detangling my bed head, separating and pinning sections back as she started on the intricate style she had thought of for the day. 

“You washed your hair recently, correct?” She asked as she handed me a glass of orange juice. 

“Yes ma’am,” I said with a smile before drinking the juice and setting the empty glass down. 

“You are such a compliant princess.” Jaskier snickered. 

“Much more than you were as a young child Jaskier. You gave me hell every single day.” Neshe said behind me. 

“I respect them, Jaskier. They look out for me.” I said with a roll of my eyes finishing the muffin and grabbing the bowl of fruit and the fork. Jaskier reached overtaking a strawberry and plopping it into his mouth. 

“Rude,” I mumbled under my breath as I ate the fruit. Neshe continued working on my hair as I finished eating, the other three women walking around my room, tightening up and getting the bathroom ready, the tub is filled with boiling water. Many different oils and flowers added, the room soon smelling fresh and fragrant. 

“Knock knock.” My eyes flew to the door that had opened slightly.

There stood a man, not as tall as Geralt but very close. His hair was a white silver, but much shorter, straight too. It was pinned further back. His face was much older than Geralt’s, not only with wrinkles but scars. His build was large, he was a very intimidating man. But what Witcher isn’t. 

“Vesemir!” I quickly moved from Nashe’s hands, walking over to where he was standing a bright grin on his face. He quickly engulfed me in a hug.

“How are you kid?” He asked, pulling back from me, eyes searching my face. 

“I’m wonderful, I’m so happy you're back,” I said smiling brightly. I looked at him but his eyes were over on the other witcher in the room, who was now standing. 

“Well well, look what the cat dragged in,” Vesemir said with a deep laugh. He gently let go of my shoulders walking over to Geralt who was smiling back. 

“Could say the same for you old man.” They shook hands, before hugging each other very quickly. My brother stood up and looked from me to Vesemir.

“Jaskier! So good to see you again.” Vesemir said. 

“How do you know my baby sister?” Jaskier said, looking confused. 

“He’s the one I’ve been training with, Jaskier. Father and mother love him.” Jaskier let out a frustrated breath pacing slightly.

“So you mean to tell me you've been seeing my baby sister for years and never once thought it was important information to share with me??” Jaskier’s voice was getting louder and shrill.

I walked over to him gently putting my hand on his arm. 

“Jaskier he was doing it to protect me and you. He wasn't allowed to tell anyone outside of these walls what we did when he came here. Father and mother made those rules. Don’t be mad at him for following the rules. Just as he did with you and Geralt. I had no idea-” Nashe’s hands were on my shoulders leading me back over so I was seated, her fingers working gracefully in my hair. “I had no idea he had trained Geralt until last night. He never told me because he respected Geralt and his privacy.” Jaskier sighed, nodding his head. His calm demeanor only lasted a minute before he looked at me and his eyebrows furrowed together.

“Wait, last night? When last night? When were you alone with him??” Jaskier turned his attention to Geralt, his hands on his hips like a tutting mother. I bit my lip gently looking away from him. Fesca came over clapping her hands together with a smile on her face. 

“Okay gentleman, I'm going to ask you all to leave. We need to get her ready for the party. You can continue this reunion later.” Jaskier huffed frustrated before walking out of the room, leaving Geralt and Vesemir. They both looked at each other then at me, Vesemir smirking at me. 

“Here you go, the first part of ya gift.” He handed me a book. 

‘A Mage’s Guide to Healing’ 

“What is this? I'm no mage.” Vesemir smirked. 

“You do not know everything Miss (Y/N). You may find it useful. ” With that, he turned and walked out of the room. 

Geralt turned to me and smiled. He knelt in front of me so his eyes were level with mine, his hands grabbing mine. He gently kissed my knuckles. My stomach erupted in butterflies.

“You might need to talk to Jaskier before I do,” I said. He chuckled softly, our eyes meeting. 

“What shall I tell him?” His thumbs stroked the back of my hands. 

I shook my head forgetting Fesca was still working on my hair causing her to grunt in frustration, her hands holding the sides of my head so I sat still. 

“My dear, if you want me to finish this so you can enjoy the company of the Wolf this evening, you need to sit still.” I smiled bashfully, glancing down at my hands with my eyes. 

“Sorry, Fes…” I mumbled. 

“I'm not sure what to tell him. Maybe you should decide.” Geralt nodded in agreement. He stood up slightly, leaning over and kissing my forehead softly. I could hear the women behind me ooing quietly. 

“I’ll see you in a couple of hours, dove.” I smiled up at him, squeezing his hands gently. 

“Okay, Geralt. Maybe tell him outside.” He laughed softly walking to the door, his hand on the doorknob. 

“Okay, dove.”

Once the door was shut Neshe appeared in front of me, she had a smirk on her face. 

“You and the witcher my dear?” She sat in the chair Jaskier was in. Ari and Yennaa were behind me helping Fesca with my hair.

“There isn't anything other than what you saw. He cares for me, but we all know he can't care for me in the way I wish he could.” I said looking over the book in my lap. 

“I don't know (Y/N)… the way he looked at you is how my pa looks at mum,” Yennaa commented. Her mother and father had been together longer than my mum and dad. The connection between how Geralt looked at me to how her father looked at her mum made my heart sore. 

“I...I hope so...He makes me feel things no other man has.” 

Fresca gently squeezed my shoulders, sliding a silk bonnet over my hair, tying it behind my head. 

“Alright dear get in the bath, wash yourself up and we'll be back to help with your dress and makeup.” I nodded and thanked them as they left the room. I undressed quickly, before sinking into the hot bubbly water. 

____________________________________________________________________________

“You look beautiful my dear. You wait here to get your mother and father.” I smiled brightly at Neshe and the other women.

“Thank you. And thank you so much for your help. "They smiled and left me alone in front of the mirror 

The dress was so beautiful. 

Hildi had completely outdone herself this year. The dress was dazzling baby pink, with hundreds of stars stitched into a beautiful mesh fabric. It had sleeves but they did not come up my arms. Instead, the sleeves came right above my elbows. My décolleté and shoulders bare, showing off my breasts a bit more than I normally did but I had never felt more beautiful. Fesca had outdone herself on my hair, every pin was perfectly placed, every curl held beautifully. My crown was dazzling in the noon sun, sending rainbows around my room as it sat gracefully on my head. My attention was turned to the small knock on the door. In stepped my mum and dad. My mum's hand went over her mouth with a small gasp. 

“Oh my goodness. My baby girl is a grown woman. You look absolutely beautiful my love.” She came to me, hugging me into her tightly. My arms wrapped around her shoulders tightly. Her fingers stroked my back softly. I inhaled her scent, snuggling my face into her maroon dress. Her hugs were like none I'd ever had. They were everything I needed some nights... 

“I love you, mum…” She pulled me back from her and looked me in the eye, her fingers stroking my face. 

“I love you more than you will ever know.  Now, your father has a gift for you.” My eyes went to him. He was dressed in a solid green velvet suit, a white button-down under his fest. He looked dashing. I smiled at him as he walked over to us, a small box in his hand. 

“This is something I had made for you when you were born. We both wanted to wait till you were older to give it to you. I think now is a perfect time.” He handed me the box with a smile. I gently took the box and opened it. 

“Dad….” It took my breath away. A beautiful ring was in the center of the box, gleaming in the sun. 

There was an opal stone in the center, two little gold moons on each side of the opal, that symbolize a full moon. There were six diamonds embedded into the ring. Three on the top, three on the bottom. Everything had been placed on a gold band. I looked at my father, his eyes were welling with tears. 

“You've always been my little girl, and no matter where you go or where I go, I never want you to forget how much I love you.” My arms wrapped tightly around him as I practically threw myself on him, tears slipping down my face. I felt my mother’s hand on my back as she hugged us. 

“Jaskier you can come in now.” My mother called out. I could hear the door open, then soon my brother's arms were wrapped around my mother and me. All four of us were back together again. 

“Happy birthday Little Pea.” My dad whispered with a small chuckle. Jaskier laughed in my ear, making me laugh softly. The nickname my brother called me for many years had been forgotten after he left. No one else is using it. 

“I love you all.” My dad pulled me from his chest, whipping my face before grabbing the ring and putting it on my right ring finger. 

“Okay we’ll leave you with your brother to go great with your guests. Don't be too long.” My mother said, booping my nose. I laughed softly nodding. 

The two of them left the room, leaving just Jaskier and me. He turned to me, looking me up and down before bringing me into another bone-crushing hug. 

“I'm so happy you're home Jax…” I whispered into his black velvet tunic. He too looked quite dashing. His shirt was tucked into some dark blue trousers a black leather belt holding them up, and some very nicely polished black boots up his legs. His hair was curly and his smile was bright. 

“I missed you so much, Little Pea.” He pulled back and rubbed the back of his neck. 

“So Geralt spoke to me earlier today.” I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks and ears. 

“About…?” 

“He told me about the kiss last night, told me he didn't want to hurt you. I told him he had to talk to mum and dad, not me.” I groaned and pinched the bridge of my nose. 

“Jaskier, it's not that serious. Why would you tell him that it's not-”

“He already did it love. They gave their blessing.” 

“I...they did? For what?” 

“To court you of course!” He said with a laugh. 

“But you'll both leave soon-”

“Don't overthink it, common he's waiting outside.” He walked to the door opening it. Sure enough, there was Geralt. He was breathtakingly beautiful. He was dressed head to toe in black velvet, his hair clean and combed, pinned back, his face freshly shaved, a small rose pinned into his shirt. The first three buttons of the shirt were undone, revealing his deliciously hairy chest and his silver pendant. 

Breath.

I took a deep breath, my eyes looking him up and down taking him in. It wasn't until we met eyes I realized he was doing the same to me. 

“You look beautiful.” He breathed out, walking towards me. I reached my hands out to him, he gently took them pulling me into him, his left arm looping around my waist. Our faces inches apart. 

“You look so handsome Geralt. You clean up quite well. Black velvet is your style.” I said with a smile, my hand on his shoulder, the other still in his hand. He leaned down and softly kissed me. It was short and sweet. Yet it filled my body with warmth and butterflies. I was sure he felt the temperature of my skin change. 

“Common people are waiting for you, princess.” He whispered as he pulled away, my hand wrapping around his bicep. I looked at him as we walk down the hall towards the grand hall. 

“You are a breathtaking creature (Y/N). I do not think I have seen anyone so beautiful in my 87 years.” My heart raced in my chest as he spoke, my hand gripping his arm a little tighter. 

“No one told me I was falling for an old man.” I joked as we approached the door to the great hall. One of my father’s soldiers was waiting for us. 

“Princess.” He said with a soft bow of his head. I smiled softly at him, curtsying to him softly. 

“Derlor, it’s good to see you again.” I let go of Geralt’s arm, stepping towards Derlor hugging him gently. He was my father’s right-hand man, everything my father needed he went to Derlor. He had been working in my father’s court for nearly 30 years. 

“This will be the first birthday that I don’t get to escort you. I’m not sure what to do with myself.” I smiled and shook my head. 

“Relax, enjoy yourself. Maybe ask Hildi for a dance. You know she has a soft spot for you.” I said stepping back to Geralt’s side, my hand on his arm again. Derlor looked at the witcher next to me, eyed him up and down before stepping in front of him. 

“I know her parents like you, and I trust their judgment but understand one thing Witcher; if you hurt her in any way I will kill you. You may be a feared monster slayer but you do not scare me.” I rolled my eyes softly, everyone was going to threaten the witcher on my behalf. Flattering but annoying nonetheless. 

“If I hurt her. I will gladly lay down my blade and let you do your worst, sir.” Derlor smiled. 

“Good. Now time for your entrance princess.” He walked to the door pushing it open. I could hear the people quiet down. Geralt leaned down and kissed my cheek quickly, leaving the spot hot in his wake. Derlor stood at the end of the red rug in the center of the room. He cleared his throat. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the lady of the hour, Princess (Y/N)!” Geralt and I started walking down the center of the carpet. On either side were people from all over our kingdom. Many nobles I had known for years. I smiled at the familiar faces, as we continued walking to where my mother, father, and Jaskier. 

“As many of you know, we have been preparing our daughter to take over for us one day-“ My father said, stepping forward, taking my hand from Geralt and smiling at me. 

“But seeing as myself and my wife are in great health and nowhere near the end of our reign. And as you can all see our son has returned from his many great travels.” Vesimer walked forwards, a smile on his face and a pack in his hands. 

“Your mother and I both think you are ready my dear,” Father said looking me in the eyes. 

“Ready for what dad…?” I whispered, my voice wavering slightly, my stomach flipping and swelling. His eyes drifted behind me, looking at who I guessed was Geralt. 

“You will be leaving the kingdom for a while.” My mouth ran dry, my eyes going to Jaskier who was beaming. 

“We know that you will be in good hands, not that you need it. You will be leaving with Jaskier and Geralt and traveling the Continent to your heart’s content.” My hands squeezed into his harder as he spoke, my eyes burning with tears, my eyes bouncing between him, Jaskier, and my mother who was also near tears. 

“You need to see the world, see what you can help improve on when you take over. Meet people, taste danger a little.” My arms wrapped around his neck, hugging him tightly, my eyes closed the tears of joy slipping down my face. 

“Thank you, dad…” I whispered and he chucked. He pulled me back and Jaskier came and stood in front of me. 

“I've missed so much of your life, and I regret it so much. You have turned into such a wonderful young woman and it would be an honor if you joined us in our travels.” I could feel Geralt’s hand on my back as he stood next to me as I looked at Jaskier. My eyes gleaned at him, searching his facial features for any hesitation in the offer. 

“You’re both serious?” I asked. 

“Vesemir is very admin that you would be beneficial to me, in more ways then.” Geralt said with a small wink. 

“So what do you say, do you want to come with us?” Jaskier asked, his hands holding mine. 

“What a stupid question Jaskier! Of course, I want to!” The smile on my face nearly hurt, I had never been so happy in my life. I didn't have to say goodbye to Jaskier or Geralt, not for a while anyway. Jaskier grabbed me, pulling me into a bone-crushing hug which I gladly returned. 

“Everyone please, enjoy yourself! Food will be brought out soon!! Ale. wine and mead are already out! We thank you all so much for coming to celebrate our daughter’s birthday!” My father said to the room full of people who all clapped and cheered. 

I turned away from Jaskier to Geralt who was still standing next to me. I put my hands on his chest gently leaning into him, his hands going to my waist. 

“Are you sure you're okay with me coming along? I would hate to be a burden on you.” Geralt shook his head, smiling softly, his fingers stroking a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

“From what Vesemir told me today, you will only be an asset to me and my travels. Unlike your brother who just annoys me.” I laughed softly, rolling my eyes. 

“You love him,” I said with a smile. He huffed, taking my hand in his leading me to our spot at the table. 

“If you didn’t you would have never followed him for weeks to an unknown country to meet a sister you had no idea existed. Face it witcher, my brother has weaseled his way into that heart of yours.” He was filling his plate with food and a smile on the corner of his lips as he listened to me. 

He handed me the plate of food I thought he was preparing for himself. 

“Thank you, love,” I said as I took the plate from him, watching as he got some for himself. The people around us talking, laughing, and beginning the party that would surely last into the night. He leaned over, kissing my cheek softly then he started to eat. 

The party had been going for hours. Everyone was a bit drunk including me. The wine in my cup had been the fourth do far, and I'm a lightweight. My body was warm, the sweet taste of the cherry wine lingering on my lips as I listened to my brother sing and play his lute. As the song ended I put the cup down, nearly knocking it over in the process, clapping for Jaskier. 

“Jaskier come here!” I yelled with a slight giggle. He came over to me, his face red as he breathed hard, he too was drunk. 

“Any song requests my lady?” He said with a cheesy bow of his head making me laugh maybe a little too loud. 

“Sing me the song you first wrote for Geralt?” His face lit up as he looked behind me to Geralt who was sitting at the table next to Vesemir. 

“He hates that song (Y/N),” Jaskier said making me laugh more. 

“Oh but he’s never had it sang to him here! Jaskier we love him here. Common the people will sing, children will dance. Maybe hell get some coins tossed at him!” Jaskier laughed with me.

“Okay okay fine, only for you.” Jaskier walked over to the stage with the other bards whispering something to them before yelling over the crowd of people. 

“This song is for my baby sister. I haven’t sung this one in a couple of years, but I think you lot will like it more than anyone I’ve ever sung for!!!” The crowd clapped for him as they all looked at him. I glanced behind me looking at Geralt who knew what song was coming. Our eyes met. I giggles and winked at him. 

“When a humble bard

Graced a ride-along

With Geralt of Rivia

Along came this song” 

The crowd erupted into cheers, the smiles on their faces only growing, including my own. Many children ran into the middle of the room staring up at Jaskier as he sang, eyes gleaming. 

“From when the White Wolf fought

A silver-tongued devil

His army of elves

At his hooves did they revel

They came after me

With masterful deceit

Brokedown my lute

And they kicked in my teeth”

People started singing along to the second verse. The room is filled with slurred, off-tune singing of my people. The warmth spread through my chest as I saw Jaskier’s face light up in a way I had never seen before. His attention went to Geralt momentarily looking at him with the same disbelief. I looked at Geralt to see he held the same expression. His smile was genuine, eyes wide as he listened to the people listen to the song about him. I left my spot from the middle of the room, quickly walking as to not trip in my drunken state. I got to the table in front of Geralt, my smile wide as I extended my hand. 

“Care to dance with me witcher?” He cocked a curious eyebrow at me, probably due to my drunken state. 

“I'm not much of a dancer, Dove.” He said, making me shake my head walking around the table, and grabbing his arm. 

“Neither am I, that's what makes it fun.” He grunted standing, reluctantly following me into the crowd of people who cheered louder for him. 

“Toss a coin to your Witcher

O' Valley of Plenty

O' Valley of Plenty, oh

Toss a coin to Your Witcher

O' Valley of Plenty”

Jaskier and the other bards stopped playing and singing, the crowd in front of him continuing the verse. Myself included. The sound of everyone singing my brother's famed song made my heart sore, everything was perfect. Even Geralt was smiling as he let me dance and spin with his hands, once taking his eyes off my body. 

“You Witcher are a hero here!” I yellow over the music and crowd. He pulled me into him, his lips capturing my own in a very wet, sloppy kiss, impart due to my drunken state. The alcohol coring in my veins made me want to tear his clothes off then and there and let him have his way with me. But I wasn't drunk enough to let it happen. My arms wrapped around his neck as I kissed him back, the music and people drowning out of my ears as I tasted his lips. Everything about him was so intoxicating.  

After a while he pulled back, my lips wet with his salvia, my chest heaving up and down, and my mind racing. I felt dizzy from the kiss. 

“Common let’s get you some fresh air, dove.” He whispered, his arm wrapping around my waist as he led me out of the grant hall and onto a balcony. With one look from Geralt, the two love birds who were already out there left without a word. The cool night air hit my face and made me feel less dizzy. I walked over to the stone wall on the balcony, my hands resting on it, cooling me off more. Geralt's arms wrapped around my waist from behind holding me tightly and close to him. 

“You are a rather drunk princess.” I giggled and nodded. 

“I don't drink very often witcher, it goes straight to my head.” a large yawn interrupted my train of thought. Geralt chuckled and kissed my head. 

“Would you like me to take you to bed?” My eyes felt rather heavy, the winemaking me more sleepy as time progressed. 

“I'm such a  dud, it's not even midnight,” I whined, smacking my hands on the stone softly. Geralt chuckled and ran his hands up and down my arms and shoulders. 

“Common, you don't have to push yourself if you're tired.” Geralt started pulling me back to the door leading into the hallway. 

“Fine. only because you're so nice to me.” I grumbled as he led me down the hall and into my room. He shut the door behind us as I walked over to the vanity, plopping myself down. 

“I hope no one misses me too much. I desperately want out of this dress. It is beautiful but I cannot breathe.” Geralt chuckled from his spot at the door as he watched me attempt to pull the pins and brooches from my hair. I started to get frustrated, my hair being too intricately done for my drunk self. 

Geralt wordlessly walked over to me and gently started to help me pull the pins from my hair. His fingers combed softly thru my hair, scratching my scalp gently as he worked to get them out of my hair. The small action was nearly lulling me to sleep in the chair. I heard a knock at the door which snapped me out of my sleepy state, my back straightening. 

“Yes?” I turned around and saw Jaskier peeking through the door. 

“You vanished, just wanted to check-in.” I smiled sweetly at him. 

“I'm a very drunk Jaskier, I desperately want to sleep.’ He walked into the room and towards me. He was carrying a pitcher of water and a cup. 

“I figured, drink this and-” He pulled out a vial from his pocket and handed it to me.

“-Vesemir gave this to me, says it is the perfect cure for a hangover. Also gave me one.” I smiled and placed the vile on my vanity along with the water and cup. 

“Thank you, Jax.” He smiled and hugged me before turning and leaving to walk out the door, before he did he turned and pointed a finger at Geralt.

“If you decide to do anything dirty with my sister-”

“Jaskier!” I all but shrieked. 

“Just, be quiet my room isn't too far away.” I could feel my face turn bright red, my fists balled at my side as I stood from the chair. 

“I’m going to kill you.” Geralt’s arm wrapped around my waist pulling me back before I could attack my drunk brother. The door was shut and he was laughing down the hall. 

“Such a prick.” I groaned and turned around pouring myself some water and drinking it. I grabbed the vile from the table pulling the cork out. Before it could be brought to my lips Geralt stopped my hand and brought the vile to his nose. He inhaled deeply a few times before realizing my hand, 

“Just had to be sure.” I smiled and drank the contents. The taste was vile.

“Oh my god, that is awful,” I said coughing. Geralt laughed softly at me, tilting his head to the side slightly. 

“Help me unlace my corset?” I turned my back to him. I felt his fingers delicately untied the lace one by one. I took a deep breath, breathing properly again. As the lace was losing the dress started to slip down my body. I quickly caught it before it dropped down my waist. Thankfully my back was to him. I heard him clear his throat. 

“My night slip in on the bed, can you hand it to me?” I heard him move before the slip was in front of me. 

“Could you, uh turn around?” I asked. 

“Of course princess.'' After a minute I turned my head and saw he was facing the other direction. I let the dress fall from my body leaving me all but bare except for my undergarments, I slipped the night slip over my body and gently brushed his back. He turned around and smiled. 

“Stay with me?” I asked softly. 

“Of course dove.” He led me to the bed, pulling the quilts and sheets back allowing me to crawl in. I watched as he discarded his vest, and shirt leaving him in his tight trousers. My eyes wandered all over his scared torso and arms. He was breathtaking. 

“You're staring dove.” He chuckled making me blush, hiding my face in the quilts. 

“Can you blame me?” He laughed softly and walked to the door. 

“Where are you going?” I asked, sitting up slightly. 

“Just to grab something more comfortable to sleep in, Dove.” He walked out the door leaving it open. He returned minutes later, in the same sleep pants he was wearing the night before, less tight. He shut the door and the curtains, walking over to the other side of the bed before getting in. 

He scooped me up, placing me closer to him, my head on his firm chest. I could hear his heartbeat it was slow, soothing. His fingers stroked aimlessly over my body. The last thing I felt before sleep took me was his warm lips on my forehead.

@weallhaveadestiny @ayamenimthiriel @niiight-dreamerrrr @rn7rocks @fire-in-her-veinz @eternallyvenus

[desi-lgbt-fest]

Day 5: Platonic

A story I wrote for today's prompt. It's a story about two middle aged men realising the happiness they want can come in many different forms.

1. 8 k words.

Cw: Mild homophobia. Incorrect language. It's indicative of character's understanding, not mine.

...

When Vikram Kumar first transferred to their branch, Nath wasn't impressed. Theirs was a small transport company, still somehow holding on against the giants of the industry. They were doing well for themselves; they had branches in few neighbouring states where the business was concentrated. And yeah, the company policy does state that employees should get transferred around every 4 years or so. But that never really happened. Nath had been working at Gada transport ltd for more than 25 years now and the only way anybody new ever came in the office was if someone died or retired.

That was what had happened. Another clerk, Nisha Bhagwan, had a heart attack at the computer and in came Vikram Kumar, a transfer from Nagpur. The office people took to him like animals take to the new clown at the circus. Nobody was really sad about Mrs Bhagwan's passing. She was old and in an office full of other old people, they were just waiting for the hat to drop on someone. Better Mrs Bhagwan than us.

They inquired after him, after his family, his mother's family, his neighbour's family, his neighbour's dog's family. When they found out that he was divorced and currently living in a sketchy hotel, they immediately turned to Nath.

Nath, or Adinath, as his name was, owned two flats in his society. Two flats side by side, one in which he lived. He very famously refused to rent it out to families or students or single women. Which meant, he never really rented it out. It actually quite suited to his own solitary silent life. But he regretted boasting about it in the office because here came his perfect rent.

"I- uh. The apartment is very dirty and I'd have to clean it," he started making excuses.

Vikram Kumar shrugged. "I don't mind. Better than listening to the sex noises coming from the side wall." Raucous laughter emerged, unhampered by the fact that their only woman employee wasn't there anymore.

Nath couldn't say no.

Vikram Kumar did turn out to be an ideal renter. He was silent. No guests. Rent, which Nath had kept a little high to dissuade, always on time. Sometimes old hindi songs drifted from his flat but Nath didn't mind. As his novelty wore off and office people stopped fawning over him, Nath did find himself to be quite okay with Vikram Kumar's existence.

A distinct mark in his favour was that he didn't laugh when at their regular chai break (5 minute break that always turned into a 45 minute one) the others made him familiar with Nath's title as the resident Bramhachari.

"Never married, never looks at a woman," Bhosle, their manager remarked.

"Hey you remember that time when that bombshell came in complaining about some lost package? Nath did not even look away from her face."

"Pakka gentleman, I tell you. He's not the customer complaint manager for nothing."

Everybody guffawed. Nath gave his regular pained smile. Vikram Kumar smiled back. For a moment, Nath thought it was a smile of understanding.

Eventually, Nath started offering Vikram Kumar a ride home on his ancient scooter. He obliged. When the ride turned regular, Vikram Kumar started contributing for petrol. Another mark in his favour.

13 months later, Vivek Chand, accountant, retired. In came a new hire, Ashalata Waad.

Suddenly many colleagues started turning up in pressed shirts and oiled hair. Nath merely shook his head and laughed at their preening. It was their colleagues' turn to laugh when Ms. Ashalata, recently widowed, took to Nath. Furtive smiles. Sympathy over dealing with difficult clients. Nath of course did not notice. But the other colleagues did. And out of sympathy for Ms Ashalata's feelings, they gently took her to a side after a week or so and directed her towards someone more likely to respond; the new divorcee, Vikram Kumar.

That, Nath certainly noticed.

That evening, Nath left without offering a ride to him.

Next morning, everyone noticed the distinct coldness between Ms Ashalata and Vikram Kumar. It was a long day too. Some trouble with licensing of a large shipment, everybody had to stay behind. It was well over 8 when people started leaving. Vikram came over to Nath's desk and tapped on it.

"I don't think this late I will find a riksha like yesterday. Will you please give a ride home?"

Nath sighed. He wasn't petty after all. Well, not much.

The streets were near empty. Theirs was a small town. One that eats at 8 and sleeps at 10. Nath's scooter cut through the silence and the sickly orange lights of the streetlamps like an interloper. They were crossing the Hutatma Chauk when Vikram asked him to stop.

"What for?"

"It was a long and stressful day. I wanted us a relax a bit at the park bench before we go home."

"I'm not going-"

"Please yaar."

Nath sighed.

Stopping the scooter at side, they both walked to the circle where statue of some forgotten freedom fighter stood, benches around it. Surprisingly, there were some people ambling around. Old couples taking a rest from nightly walk. A group of youngsters.

After having the sound of scooter in the ears for past five minutes, the sudden silence was deafening.

"I don't think Ms Waad would be talking to me again," Vikram Kumar started without preamble, a laughter in his voice.

Nath sighed and ran a hand through in thin hair. "You didn't do any-"

"No no, oh god no! I just said I'm not interested. I think that was enough for her to be offended."

"She's not your type?" he probed gently, curious.

Vikram was silent for a moment and then burst out with sudden emotion, "Why does it matter? Why one single woman and one single man can not stay without having an affair? Ye saala bollywood-" Nath hushed him, noticing the people around.

"Sorry." Vikram said, taking a deep breath to calm himself down.

"I get it. Years ago, when I told my father I was gay-"

"You're what??"

Nath felt like he made a tremendous mistake in judgement. But he was a grown man dammit, he will hold his ground!

"I said I am gay." Nath held his gaze. Vikram Kumar stared back, unknown range of emotions passing. Eventually he broke the gaze, ran a hand through his own balding hair and sat back.

He shook his head. "I am not gay, if that's why you-"

"That wasn't-"

"I'm NOT. I like women. I- I mean men are good too. I. I don't-"

Nath couldn't help it. He broke into a loud laugh. Like Vikram had performed some excellent comedy sketch.

Vikram punched him lightly on his shoulder, a smile evident on his face.

"I just meant, men, women. All are same to me. Honestly, I didn't mind being married to Sheela. I provided for her, I cared for her wellbeing. Our.. bedroom relations were less ideal but I didn't shut her out. I did my duty."

"I'm guessing she wanted someone who didn't see her as a duty?"

Vikram shrugged. "She was nice about it. Told me plain and simple she found someone else. We didn't have kids. It was easy. Well. As easy as it could be. She told the court I was impotent for swift divorce. I agreed. It caused drama in families though, which is why I asked for a transfer."

"Mrs Bhagwan died at a really opportune moment then."

They both shared a laugh and things fell silent once again.

"So you are... one of those," Vikram tried to say casually.

The elderly couple had left. A newly wed looking one took their place. Nath suddenly felt he was thrown back in time.

"I don't have much family," he started. "Mother died when I was young. Theirs was a love marriage, quite unusual for the times. They had run away and so had lost their families. My father raised me well enough; started pestering me for marriage when I got the job at 22. I kept avoiding for few years. But eventually I had to tell him. I wasn't going to ruin some poor woman's life." Nath looked pointedly at Vikram. Vikram didn't take offence. Just laughed self-consciously. Mark in his favour etc etc.

"Father raged for days. Didn't raise his hand on me, didn't tell anyone else but we fought a lot. It wasn't that he denied my condition. He just wanted a family. On some level we understood each other. I realise it now. I knew he wanted me to marry because he didn't want his hard fought family to die with me. And I guess, he probably knew what it meant to love someone you weren't supposed to.

He died soon after."

"When you were thirty, I remember you telling me."

Nath nodded. "I was free. I had a place of my own. A job. No family to hide myself from. I felt guilty over feeling relieved. I felt angry at being guilty. Then came sadness over being angry. That sadness stayed for a decade."

Vikram asked, "So you never...?

Nath shook out of his trip to memory lane. "Hm?"

"Are you? A bramhachari? Did you ever find-"

"There were some men here and there. Obviously there wasn't going to be a relationship," Nath scoffed. "If you know where to look, you can find release. But after Father died, I don't know, I rarely ever went looking for anybody. I didn't have it in me."

Vikram laughed. "Look at us. Two old men, all on their own, no happy family for us."

"Speak for yourself, I'm barely a day over 40," said the man, almost 50.

Vikram laughed again, looking at him with such fondness in his eyes. Nath felt sharp fear for a moment. Then he decided to be an adult again.

"You look well for your age too."

"Nath..."

Nath shivered at hearing his name. It was an intimate name. People didn't say it much. But it fit in Vikram's mouth.

"I don't want to change anything," Vikram said. "I'm happy as things are. It's ideal. I can't offer anything more."

Nath got up, brushing dust from his pants. It had gotten late. They were alone at the circle. A vehicle passing by to remind them of the world that exists.

"I'll take whatever you can offer," he said, looking away from him.

"Friendship? For as long as I live?" Vikram held out his hand.

Nath looked at it. Big, warm. Hairy. Pale skin where the wedding ring used to sit. He extended his own and took it.

"As long as I live."

... Let me know if you like it enough to see some other prompts involving them... I have so many headcanons for them.

[thepaperpanda]

~WHEN THE PARTICLE OF GOD PERMEATES YOU~ || Part II

P̵̪̃ȁ̸̩ȓ̸̜ẗ̶͇́ ̴̓͜1̷̺̽

Summary: Without the past you can't understand the present. You meet Higgs Monaghan on your way. Will he help you find out about your past or will he try to use you for his own purposes?

Warnings: None

Words: 3299

Authors: Cass & Rouge

Days had been passing, and the situation remained unchanged.

You were lurking throughout the camp trying to be as productive as it was only possible, however you didn't have many occasions to help in anything as the others were pushing you aside. You weren't surprised though; you were a newcomer, without a purpose or any special skills, and you quickly became Higgs' favourite, which most of his men didn't approve.

Sometimes, it's enough to survive another day, right?, you'd been thinking to yourself.

"Would you look at that? Our little star is doing nothing as always. Why don't you go and be useful? Sucking Higgs off ain't enough here," one of men said grabbing your shoulder. "Why is he even keeping you here?"

Meanwhile Higgs was away, sitting in his bunker. He was trying to come up with some logical theory of how you ended up where you did. How could this happen that you just woken up with no past? “I’ve got breaking news and it’s about you fucking off of me,” you showed your middle finger to the group of men, and in return your gained few chuckles and some more rambunctious comments. When Higgs was gone, they were making a lot of fun of you, always; you hated every minute in the camp without Man in The Golden Mask.

Meantime, Higgs hummed, studding the map and trying to find the place you could come out from. Bridges was the closest point but it made no fucking seans for them to just leave you out there to die.

After a few more minutes Higgs shrugged. "Ah, fuck it. Time to check upon my kittycat." And with that he was back in the camp as he teleported. After stretching his back he called you. "Y/N! Where is my favourite girl hiding?" You were almost outside the camp, sitting at one of the largest rocks, taking notes and sketching the mountains located on the north. You tried to escape from all of the mean glances and comments. “Hey, you,” one of the guards pointed his laser gun at you. “Higgs is seeking  you in the camp. Move your ass to him.” With a loud sigh escaping your lips you closed the sketchbook and pinned your hair in a ponytail. While walking back to the camp, you were thinking about your purpose, it was pretty frustrating that you didn’t remember anything even after such a long period of time.

Higgs waited with hands crossed on his chest. He gave you a wicked smile as soon as he noticed you approaching. “Ah! Here is my lady with no past. I was getting fucking worried you are gone."

“Me? Gone? I have nowhere to go,” you replied to him with disarming honesty. “Good to see you, you’ve been gone for a longer while...,” you hesitated after saying this as you knew he’ll assume you missed him. Thanks Beach he didn’t realize yet it was all true.

"My cute deflowered sweetheart missed me," Higgs chuckled softly with a wide smile, showing the line of white teeth. "I missed you too and I was away, indeed. I’ve been thinking from where you came and I may have an idea."

Hearing his words you tilted your head aside a little. “Tell me?,” you asked.

"Well, my little, sexy kitten might be Bridges' property. Am not sure yet but I sure will find out!," He said loudly and shrugged. "I even have an idea how I will do it."

While you were listening to his words, your thoughts drifted in some unknown way and when you gathered your attention, you gave him a brief nod. “I see.” A deep sigh left your parted lips as you glared up at him. “Hey, I’ve been wondering whether there's something I can do around the camp, I hate how others are making fun of me and the fact that my only purpose here is to warm your cock up,” you rubbed your temples. “I can do anything, bring packages, clean, whatever.”

He chuckled at your question. It was simply stupid. "You are here to be by my side. To be a good girl," Higgs said, gently touching your cheek. "Tell me who bothered you and I will take care of this." A shiver ran along your spine as he touched your cheek; his tenderness was light like a touch of butterfly wings yet his fingers seemed to burn marks on your face. “Forget about it,” you asked him quickly as you dared to put your palm on top of his.

Higgs laughed and grabbed your waist, pulling you as close as possible. "Listen I know you might have a soft heart but it's all about the example. So? Which of those fuckers did it?," He asked again.

You licked your lips and bit the lower one as you got stressed. “If you truly care for me, leave it. I can handle as I don’t care,” you asked him once again while wrapping arms around his chest and nuzzling your head to him.

He squezzed your waist and smiled. "Kitten. You forgot who I am. No one dares to hurt what's mine, even with stupid insults," Higgs summed up and gently pushed you aside to walk to the group of terrorits. He smiled softly looking at others. "Okay! Listen up, fuckers. Which one of you was brave enough to throw stupid words at my girl?"

“Oh my God,” you whispered under your breath as you realized what was happening. You followed him quickly and stood by his side, swallowing hardly while your sight slipped over all the gathered men.

“It was me,” one of them stepped ahead from the group, keeping his head produly up. “Listen, Higgs, we all know that you’re the most powerful of us but it’s fucking rude to be the only one who gets laid and who’s allowed to have a girl around. Most of us don’t like her presence as all she does is lurking around, no purpose, no skills,” the guy continued to speak. “Would be better if you sent her away or killed her. No one needs her around, except you. You’re not better than any of us.”

Higgs hummed listening to the complaints. Then he walked in the line, from left to right with his hands placed behind his back. "If I can be honest. She is more worthy than any of you here but…," he said slowly, rubbing his chin, "But you, bastards, you all are fucking lucky. IT'S YOUR LUCKY FUCKING DAY! Because instead of killing you all and leaving your bodies at Bridges doorsteps, I will fix what you all are complaining about," Higgs announced and looked at you.

You frowned a little at his words.

“So? Will you send her away?,” the man asked, his eyes and you.

Higgs wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling your tightly to his side.

"Oh, Y/N, Y/N... You see, these men here are mad at me because I gave you no duties," he let out a loud sigh, petting your hair. "So, from now on, this lovely lady here is my second in command! You insult her - you insult me and trust me fellas, you don't wanna do that. Thank you for the attention, get back to your fucking duties!," Higgs snorted at the men, kissing your cheek, and then walked away like nothing ever happened.

You almost fainted when he claimed you for his deputy. You felt the piercing glances of his men on you and you already knew it would bring even more troubles. After a second of thinking, you ran after him. “Higgs, I don’t think it’s a good idea, I have like… I mean… I’m not as charismatic as you, I can’t command people,” you tugged on his sleeve to stop him from walking. “They already hate me, now it will escalate,” you shook your head. “Let’s face the truth, I’m no one, I have no idea how to… You know.”

Higgs effortlessly picked you up. "If they will, then they will meet the friendly BTs. You are working with me now. Don't worry, I will handle everything."

To support yourself from falling, you instinctively wrapped legs around his hips and nuzzled to his chest. “Thank you, Higgs. You’re doing so much to me when I did so less in return. I have no idea how some people can call you a terrorist or a bad guy. I wish they could spend at least one day around you and I bet they’d agree with me on the fact you’re not only a great, fearless leader but also a charming, caring man.”

Higgs laughed. "I nuked two towns. I want to end the fucking world. No one else but you would like me, dear," he summed up before placing a soft kiss to your rosy lips.

When the evening came, Higgs was positive about his idea. He had to get into Bridges place and dig through their documents. If you’ve ever been one of them, your documents should be there.

"How do I look, my sexy second in command?," Higgs asked, presenting himself wrapped in an old Bridges uniform. "Let's not foeget about the fucking crown," he joked putting the Bridges hat on.

You two were in Higgs' tent. You were laying on your side on his cot resting head on your hand. "You look fucking handsome, as always," you informed him. "This uniform hugs your ass nicely though," you didn't stop yourself from adding. "Are you sure you won't be to assist you? I'm going to be sad while you'll be gone," you slowly sat on the cot.

" I will do it myself. This can't be hard, there is only one lady as sweet as you. I will find it quickly and before you’ll count to ten - I am going to be fucking back," Higgs said improving the belt. "After that, I will fuck you so hard that the whole camp will hear the second in commend screaming under the leader."

A soft chuckle of yours escaped your mouth as the reaction for his statement. "After your return, I'll just take care of you, make sure you eat and drink and later we will cuddle," you told him while getting up. "And if you'll be a good boy, I'll think of a prize." You walked to him and wrapped your arms around him. "Promise me you'll be careful and won't let them catch you."

 "Sweetheart. I feel so fucking hurt right now! I thought you have more faith in me," Higgs chuckled and squeezed your cheek playfully. "Don't make your sweet little face worried about it. They will never get me."

When he vanished you circled his tent a few times before taking a seat in the corner, just like you did the first day when he found you in the cave.

Getting inside was a child's play. Who would mind a porter wandering the corridors? Of course fucking no one.

The archives were a mix of papers and computer data. Going through the second thing was easy, yet your face didn't flash on any document, and it was fine.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe you weren't Bridges. That would be a fucking relief.

After an hour of digging through papers, Higgs was sitting on the floor with legs crossed. He was reading through one of the folders when the ones he read previously were scattered around him like snow.

The door to the archive slides open and Samuel Bridges stepped in; he had to pick some folders up to deliver them to Lake Knot City. He became suspicious when he spotted a mess and folders laying on the floor. As he stepped further into the long room, he found even more documents scattered everywhere. "You. Who are ya and what are ya doing here?," He asked, his tone cold as he spotted a man sitting in the middle of the room.

Higgs didn't raise his eyes until he was done with the folder he was holding in palms, after reading through it he simply threw it over his shoulder.

"Ah! Sammy boy! It's nice to see you again, sorry but I don't have time for a chit chat. I am looking for something," he shrugged, taking another folder into his hands.

 Sam cringed at the sound of the voice, too familiar. It couldn’t be a coincidence. "Higgs? What the fuck?," He asked in disbelief as he walked closer to the other man. "How did you... Ah, right. You jumped through the Beach," Sam replied himself. "Leave it," he pulled the folder out of Higgs' hands.

"You are a smart boy, ain't ya?," He laughed and in another folder he saw your photo.

"BINGO! Here you are, sweetheart!" Higgs said loudly and jumped back to his feet. "Tell me, Sammy boy, do you know anything about a particular porter? Her name is Y/N?"

Sam blinked, he was getting more confused with every second. "What's your problem, Higgs, have you fallen in love? Ah, right, it's hard to make connections when you don't have a heart," Sam grinned wryly at the other man. "Even if I know, I won't tell you, that's not your business since the day you and the tide has turned. Give it back," Sam yanked the hat off Higgs' head.

Higgs laughed and rolled his eyes, tucking your folder under his suit to make sure Sam won't get it. "Well! To your surprise I fell in love. Just like you. Well! But you’re not in love anymore. I bet that wife of yours was beautiful…," He mocked walking around Sam. "But she was blind for taking a chance on ya."

Sam reacted instantly with aiming his first at Higgs' cheek. "Apologize, you useless fucker, and give me the fucking folder back."

Higgs only laughed at the reaction. "Wife and unborn child. Such a shame, maybe that is why you are so sad and grumpy, and developed this phobia of yours," Higgs laughed playfully. "You know what? I like you, you can keep the cap. I have few from the old, good days. It was nice to see you again, Sammy boi!," Higgs licked the tip of Sam's nose before disappearing.

Sam tried to grab Higgs by his Bridges uniform but he didn't manage. Cursing under his breath he quickly left the archive without picking the folder he came there for; he had to inform Deadman about the situation.

You were dreaming about some crazy ass things like dolphins trying to pull you under water when Higgs returned. You were still sitting in the corner of his tent, knees pulled under your chin, your arms wrapped around them as you were rolled in a ball.

Before entering the tent, Higgs took a brief look at the info about you gathered in the folder he stole. He wasn't sure what to think. After entering the tent he looked at you and chuckled quietly, getting on your level by crouching.  Higgs brushed hair off of your forehead and placed a kiss there. "Ding ding, ding! Honey, I am home. Where is my promised dinner?"

You jolted in place, your muscles twitched and you almost screamed. You opened eyes and for a brief second they were getting used to the light of the lamp. When you saw him crouching next to you, you knelt and wrapped arms around his neck, pulling him into the tight hug. "Higgs! I dreamt they got you! I was so... Scared! You're back! Holy Beach, I was so scared." As you were hugging him he could easily feel the beat of your racing heart, even though your suit. "Let me bring you something. I tried to get you pizza but... I failed."

Higgs hugged you tightly, holding you with both arms. "Well, maybe it's because you slept on the floor. I didn't get these fancy pillows and blankets for nothing," he chuckled, rubbing your back. "It's okay, sugar. I will make Sam deliver us some. Look what I got," he said proudly, showing you the folder.

You shivered. "Is this... Is this mine?," You asked him as you sat on the floor. "Who am I then?," You made puppy eyes and looked right into his.

"You are a porter apparently. Ex now, technically. Good one," Higgs summed up. “Y/N. Working for Bridges for 5 years. Fast and careful with her deliveries, open for contacts with clients as well as fellow porters. Went missing in action. Y/N delivered the assigned package yet never made it back to any of the existing facilities. There were no voidouts that could mean her death. No body nor evidences were ever found. Investigation in that case brought nothing, so Y/N is presumed dead but there's still a slight chance of her being still alive. Signed by: Director Die-Hardman," Higgs ended reading the last note in your folder.

You nodded. "So... They're not looking for me... So, in this situation... I can be whoever I want because I think they wouldn't let me get back..."

"It's not that you are kicked out. I bet that as soon as you would get to any of their places, they would take care of you. They think you are dead but with a possibility of return," he explained. "Y/N? I need to ask you something."

You looked at him like a kid would look at the parent. "Yes?"

"Is this a hoax? I walked into Bridges without problem and then? I get fucking Sam Bridges into the archive. My people were doing their job and you come out of nowhere. You don't know who you are yet you cling to me so suddenly," he said with a frown. "Is this a trap? Did they send you to get inside? To get to me?"

You lowered your head. "Even if they did, I don't remember. I told you many times, I have no idea how I found myself outside, all alone, only with a backpack. I'm clingy because... I...," You started blushing so you got up to take a seat on his cot. "You showed me affection, you offered me your generosity, hospitality... You were kind when no one else was. You took care of me and kinda taught me how to survive in this shit."

Higgs joined you on the coat. "You promise me that the note, and your lack of memory isn't just a way to get to me?"

"I cross my heart," you assured him with a serious tone. "I don't care what you have done and why do they want to get to you but God's my witness I won't tell anyone about you." The fact he even could think about you being a spy hurt you much but you kept a straight face.

"I am sorry for accusing you for anything," Higgs whispered into your ear before pulling you on his lap. “Ya know, gotta be careful about some certain things.”

You nuzzled to the crook of his neck. "It's okay, I understand, I would be suspicious too if I were you."

Higgs smiled, playing with your hair. "My little porter," he said with a smile. "Only mine."

You inhaled his scent, the sweet mix of a masculine musk and warmth of his skin. You placed a kiss to his bearded cheek and brushed your against his shortly after. Your arms wrapped around his chest. "Thank you for all you've done to me, for keeping me safe."

"And I will keep on keeping you safe. Not a single fucking Bridges will ever lie a finger on you again. You will stay with me till the end of the world we know," Higgs said, squeezing you tightly.

A sad sigh escaped your lips. "Till the end."

[datenoriko]

Wondering if I could request some reactionary Headcanons for the warlords where MC is a highly trained and skillful forensic scientist?

I’m so sorry this is waaaay overdue and writing-wise is still unsure of the style... I hope this one’s okay though~ TnT

p.s. I tried adding Kennyo & Motonari too, but brain won’t let me ><

p.s.s. Updated masterlist for my random shenanigans here!

*Every one of them thought MC would be scared of a dead body and multitudes of it on the battlefield and beyond it but...

ODA FORCES

Nobunaga

- “Huh, this fireball’s not afraid of the dead?” // “I examine them for a living.” Visibly impressed, a devilish smirk forms on his lips

- The Devil King is fascinated by you actively asking to take her to battles to study the bodies

- “Look at this! With that deep slice on his jugular vein, no wonder he’ll die pretty quickly due to all that blood loss.” // “On his what?” // “T-the blood vessel found on the neck, my lord.” // *is confused*

- Nobunaga considers this carefully and commissions the armour makers to improve their designs, and/or trade for more sturdy materials with the Portuguese (you know… aside trading for konpeito :3)

- Lets you examine more specimens to determine all possible deaths in battle, and then have it discussed at the next council. It’s a great help for them in terms of preparation & strategizing. After all, prevention and preparation is still much better!

Hideyoshi

- A worried mother hen as always, all he wanted is for you to stay away from the worst sights possible and definitely not going straight towards them! “What do I keep telling you?” // “Uh, stay away from the corpses…?”

- Just like how his lord would sneak away to have konpeito, you also tend to get around stealthily just to study “them”

- Being a highly observation person due to your work, you even know which wooden floor in Azuchi will make a creaking sound and by instinct you will avoid it

- But Mamayoshi is just as observant as you are, and he caught you one night

- “I know you were once this ‘forensic expert’ from where you came from, but you are a princess now and must behave like one!” Legend has it that the lecture continues...  

Mitsuhide

- Ah, he loves asking for your suggestions on how to get away with murder treason!

- I mean, he’s surely an expert but an additional piece of advice his little mouse wouldn’t hurt, right?

- “This place’s almost clean, I’d say.” // “’Almost’, little mouse? It scares me so that you have trained eyes for such matters. // “Is that a compliment? Anyway, I saw a strand of hair near the sliding door... and its color is much similar to yours. Care to explain?”

- Now he’s more careful than ever to leave any trace, knowing you can find him even with the smallest of clues

- The tables have turned for him after such a long time of being a sneaky fox

Masamune

- Oh boy, make sure you won’t overwork yourself by being with this man, being a battle-loving man that he is (meaning, more bodies and scenes to check out)

- At the same time, he finds it amusing that you proactively ask him to take you to his trips, campaigns and whatnots

- “It really is fun having you around, lass! Or should I say ‘partner’?” // “Damn straight, partner… now, let’s solve this case!” Cat-like grin commences for you two

- He sees you having fun hanging out at the scouts’ camp, chatting about experiences in the battlefield. your eyes would glimmer the more explicit they describe it. Creepy? Maybe a little, but at least he sees you happy about it… right?

- The One-Eyed Dragon will find this unusual, sure, but it certainly makes him want to know you more

Ieyasu

- Did he care at first? No, not really. He just wanted no involvement at first and to be left on his room alone, reading or eating extra-spicy food

- However, Yatsun gets curious when he finds you taking a peek at his medicinal work on a man he is a bit late to save :(

- “What are you doing here? You better not get in the way.” // “Oh no, poor man though… what’s the cause?” // “I am yet to find that out, if you’ll excuse me,---” // “Can I take a look?”

- He tries to pry you away from the room but being already in and touching the body leaves him no choice but to keep a close eye on you, making sure you’re not doing anything daft.

- “Huh, not bad.” Ieyasu says as you were able to identify the cause of death, deep inside he’s amazed of course. Later on he would let you join him in his post-mortem activities if the schedule allows to, but still keeping an eye on you to prevent any mishaps from happening

Mitsunari

- “Wow, MC-sama is unfazed as we all are in the battlefield! You truly are an amazing woman.” Did you see that sunny smile on his face as he says it???

- Your logical explanation as to identifying one’s death baffles the force’s cinnamon roll (because of the jargon used), otherwise it fascinates him

- Well, he’s never seen a woman who’s into dead bodies work-wise!

- Like some other warlords, he would ask you for advice when making strategies for the next battle

- When you went to his room one time to borrow a book, the first thing you said was “Am I in a crime scene?” when seeing piles of books around, untouched food and seeing a man unmoved in the middle of the room, reading and not even sensing your presence. “Ah no, just a normal room. I see.”

Ranmaru

- While in an errand, he sees you one day looking at a dead body about to be taken away. He is worried that the view might traumatize you for life… in the back of his mind he already has a plan to take you to a sweets shop and let you gorge in manjuu for the rest of the day

- “MC-sama, are you alright? You look shocked.” // “Yeah, I mean it looks to me that someone killed him when everybody says the opposite! I wanted to look into this so badly…” // “My apologies, but… what?”

- Of course it is never the answer he expected, but when you plead to help him solve it, this page is more than willing to do so

- Now both of you are going around the town looking for clues and asking who you think are involved; partners-in-crime!

- You did get to gorge on manjuu (and tea, lots of it) with Ranmaru when the case is solved!

UESUGI-TAKEDA FORCES

Kenshin

- Oh boy, make sure you won’t overwork yourself by being with this man, being a battle-loving man that he is pt.2

- “How dare you try to even speak with MC; draw your swords. Now.” // “Kenshin-sama, even if I’m used to seeing the deceased, please don’t do that. You’re scaring your own men!”

- He has little to no problem in taking her along to the battlefield, too! One more way to keep her in sight at all times

- Sometimes when you two are drinking and think he had too much you just had to stop him, to his slight annoyance. You have seen many deaths due to alcohol poisoning and definitely wouldn’t want him to be in the list… Bunshin Lord Kenshin appreciates the thought though

- Like Nobunaga, he allows you to do some research on the dead bodies, anything useful for the ongoing war

Shingen

- How can an angel such as you be associated with death and decay? He thinks

- But this daddy needs to accept the fact that you are quite comfortable around such! However once your investigation takes a scary turn expect him to nearby, comforting you with soothing words, or a hug… or eating sweet buns as many as you’d like to calm yourself down

- At first he is reluctant to let you get near the deceased, however whenever he sees your expression light up whenever he makes a cheesy comment (albeit in a rather awkward place) he thought of going along with it

- “Hm, this job of yours is unfitting in every way.” // “Oh yeah? How so?” // “You are brimming with life that I do think you are a goddess who descended upon us men.” // “Ah, here we go again…”

- You have to admit, his presence help you keep your sanity as you used to work alone for long periods of time

Yukimura

- “I thought you might be running away now once you see these.” // “As if they’ll chase me! Unless… are they still alive?” // “Weird woman…”

- This tsun does admire how brave you are after even making such joke

- Along with Sasuke, you three are pretty much effective when doing some investigation at the enemy’s base with you giving them (modern) tips of not getting caught. Unusual hiding spots? Hidden weapons? Suspicious people? All checked and cleared! 

- He has been doing that for a long while now, but hearing your strange ideas do sound plausible… especially when ninja friend is highly approving it

- If Sasuke trusts you, he surely starts to trust you (and your skills) too

Sasuke

- Once again, be paired up with Yuki and you three would make a great investigation/espionage team

- When investigating, you and memelord ninja are speaking to each other in partly jargon, partly heavily-memed language

- Possibly having watched and/or read crimes shows or movie you two are getting along so well

- “So here’s our undercover story: husband, wife and husband’s best friend---” // “Wait, do we get cool names too?!” // “Yeah, I’ll get to that part later… or I’ll do it now. Miyako, Tsune and Chozaburo; sounds cool?” // “Noice.”

- As the conversation continues, Yuki is left by himself to wonder how on earth did he get friends like you, shaking his head lightly as your talk no longer makes sense to him

Yoshimoto

- This beautiful mailman sees you one day sketching and as a man of the arts he comes over to look at what you’re drawing

- What he sees is a detailed sketch of a man, possibly a random person. The facial structure, features are all spot on! He is in full admiration mode

- “My, such a lovely piece you are making there. Has someone commissioned you to make him a portrait?” // “Actually Yoshimoto-san, I am making this to be posted around town. A wanted poster of some sorts… he’s a criminal.”

- You explained to him your job as a forensic artist, and he listens to every single word of it. Yoshimoto would find himself asking about your style of sketching as you continue drawing

- When the posters are up he is one of those people who would look at it for a long time; for him it’s not for memorizing the perp’s face, but simply to appreciate the art, fanning himself ever so gracefully

[coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe]

No Matter What or A Deadly Combination

Quick Tag List: @kuruumiya @spacelizardtrashboys @enigmaticandunstable @nattinngrst @stupidbluegirl

This Passage contains potentially: swearing, violence, blood, whump, fluff and smutty content.

Summary: Kirby and Roddy spend a while together, even planning to fly back to Cardiff together and meeting Kirby's parents while Rod poses as just a 'close friend'.

Kirby's POV:

"Well, unless it doesn't work out that way, yeah, I'd love you until the end of time. I'd die for you, hell, I might even kill for you."

"Roddy, I fly back to Cardiff in a week, I can't deal with all this change at once, it's overloading."

Roddy instantly sat up on my lap, like an excited puppy, "I'll fly there with ya, just as friends. I've never been to Cardiff."

"Rod, if you come with me, there will be questions."

"Like what?"

"Like why I suddenly gained a male friend after talking to my mam about previous men in my life and 'that feeling when you find the one'."

"Oh, so your parents might think that I'm there for, other, reasons."

"Yeah, and my uncles live near my parents, so if you start shit, the whole of my dad's side of the family might not take too kindly to you."

"Why would I start shit with your dad?" he questioned before leaning in to kiss my neck.

"Because you started shit with Damien, and- ." I stopped all of a sudden feeling Roddy's teeth against my neck.

"Family's off limits. Damien's not your real dad." He stated flatly, switching to kissing the opposite side of my neck.

"How come you hate him so much though?"

"Because he's such a dick to other guys, he yelled at me down the phone to 'get the fuck out of' your room before he 'finds a way to end my career'."

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Roddy, I'm so sorry," I whispered to him, trying to be as comforting as possible.

"ROD!" I yelped, clawing my nails sideways down his bare back as he bit against the flesh covering my collarbone, hearing him groan against my skin.

He let out another deep, guttural growl before getting off of me, "I uh, I needed that … and now I need to change my kilt, and wash it, and myself."

"There is a shower in the bathroom, and now, potentially cold coffee on top of the mini fridge and ice cream in the mini fridge." I said, getting up and looking down at the Rowdy Scot.

"How much ice cream?" He cocked an eyebrow before whipping off his kilt, and like a 'true' Scotsman, he had nothing on beneath it.

"You don't need to know and could you, at least, get in the bathroom before you show me your 'Loch Ness Monster'?" I asked, shielding my eyes.

He let out a gentle chuckle, before kissing me on the cheek, "could ya get me some other clothes? my stuff's in the duffel bag in the back of the Paul's car in the parking lot."

"Sure," I tried to sound as sarcastic as possible, "Would you like me to get you a box of condoms while I'm at it?"

He winked at me, "Only if ya want to ride the Hot Rod, baby." He gestured to his groin.

I jokingly fake heaved before leaving to get Roddy some trousers, and hopefully a pair of boxer shorts or briefs, while I'm out there.

I saw Orndorff while I was out and told him about Piper's plans to ride with me, he let me move Rod's duffel bag into the back of my D200.

Coming back to the room, I was shocked to see Roddy, fully naked with a towel underneath him on the bed, looking through my sketchbook and stuffing his face with ice cream. I practically slammed the door behind me, making Roddy jump and look over at me.

"You alright, beautiful?" He was caring, cautious even.

The blush on my cheeks was full on scarlet by this point, I'm certain. I gulped down a mouthful of air and saliva before approaching the bed and to give Roddy a pair of his jeans and black boxer briefs.

"What's wrong, Kirby?" he put everything down and stood up next to me, taking the clothing from my hands before leaning up to kiss me.

"Roddy, why are you so intent on snooping through my stuff?"

"I only look through your sketches, nothing else. I can't believe that you don't seem to show anyone else your drawings?"

"Because most of them are personal."

"Oh, like the ones at the back?"

I stared at him for a moment, "You looked at those."

"Yeah, why? was I not supposed to?"

I slowly shook my head 'no'.

He put his boxer briefs on and then the jeans before once again leaning up to kiss me, I leaned down into the kiss and put my right hand on his chest, feeling his chest rise and fall as he breathed, feeling his heartbeat before moving my hand down to his left hip, and lifting his leg up, supporting his weight with my left arm, I felt down to where the cut had been and where a long thin scar was forming, feeling Roddy's left hand squarely on my ass and his right hand travelling up my shirt to where my bra clasp was, before hearing a small 'thump' as the two sides of the bra separated themselves and hit my back. I let his leg down and pulled away, swiftly removing my shirt and bra and searching for a new, clean bra in my suitcase, before hearing Roddy's voice.

"Holy Mary mother of God, you're stunning." He reached out to touch me and I swatted his arm away, not wanting to end up in bed with him without knowing how deep his commitment truly was and definitely not wanting to become anybody's one night (or day) fling.

"Sweetheart." He cooed, suavely.

"Nuh-uh, hell no." I flatly stated.

"Fine, fine, you get dressed, we got a long week ahead of us."

"You have a long week ahead of you, since when did this become an 'us' thing?"

"Since I said it was, you are my lady, aren't ya?"

I blushed, hurriedly putting on a peach toned bra and a black tank top, "You, you really want me to, but you, and I, but we, we uhm, we wouldn't work."

Rod pulled me closer, kissing me roughly and biting my lower lip, "Really," His voice rough with a mix of anger and passion, "We wouldn't work." He pulled me down into another rough kiss and slipping his tongue into my mouth for a moment before pulling away.

"Rod I can't just jump into a relationship."

"I understand, but you can spend at least a week with me, and that trip to your parents and then decide if you want to be with me."

"True and if you don't like my family, don't start shit, agreed."

I held out my hand for a handshake agreement and he took it.

"Agreed. which car are we taking?"

"Mine, because I won't fit in your small-ass rental." I stated, packing my stuff into my bags and lifting both the duffel bag and the suitcase.

"How did you know it was a rental?" Rod questioned, attempting to take the suitcase.

"Paul told me, oh, thank you Rod," I handed him the suitcase, "I've already put your stuff in the trunk of my car."

"Kirby?"

"Yes, Roddy?"

"Ya ever had sex?"

I blushed again, "No, Roddy."

"Ya ever masturbated?"

"Yes, Roddy."

"So, is that what you meant earlier, y'know about 'needing that release'?"

"Yes, Roddy."

We reached my D200 and Rod helped me place my stuff in the boot before he jumped into my passenger seat.

"Where we headed to, Rod?"

"New York, New York."

"Ya mean, The Garden?"

"Yeah."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Madison Square Garden, gotta be there for the twenty-third."

"Rod, that's two days away."

"I know, honey, I know." He sounded cocky.

"So, what's the plan between now and then?"

"Get a hotel room, a good hotel room, with two beds, see if you have any matches on the same card and go from there."

"Seems, simple."

"Exactly, that's why it works so well."

"Six and a half to seven hours of us being stuck in my car to go Roddy." I mumbled, just loud enough to hear as we got stuck in our first traffic jam, and just as rain clouds started to roll in.

"Wow, you are just a ray of sunshine today."

"I'm like this all the time, babe." I joked, winking at him.

"Don't make me kiss you." He jokingly warned.

"It would pass the time." I responded, matching his tone.

"C'mere ya dafty."

Rod reached over, gently kissing my cheek and placing his hand on my thigh, squeezing slightly.

"Don't, Roddy."

He removed his hand and the traffic started moving again just before the rain started.

"Oh great. Rain."

"I think rain's nice, it's calming. Y'know I used to fall asleep to the sound of rain as a kid."

"Do you want me to drive?" He offered, cocking an eyebrow.

"No," I yawned, "I'm fine."

Roddy glared at me, as if to wordlessly say, 'Are you serious?'

I pulled over and switched seats with him, quickly passing out despite the easily angered style of Roddy's driving. Rod shook me awake and I could smell the coffee in the car.

"Kirby, Kirbs, sweetheart?"

"Hmm, Roddy, where are we?"

"Uh, a service station. Off I-ninety-five. I got you coffee, a Hazelnut Cappuccino. You're favourite, right?"

"You remembered?"

"It is your favourite?"

"Yeah. Hazelnut Cappuccinos and Blueberry Waffles, best morning pick-me-up." I said, sleep still heavy in my voice.

Rod giggled slightly, quickly stifling his laughter, "Ya slept for like four hours, ya know."

"Really?" I looked over at Roddy, taking the coffee cup from his hand.

"Yeah, Kirby, about earlier … do ya want to be my lass?"

"Of course Roddy, I never wanted you to take my words as me not wanting to be with you."

"So, what did you want? What did ya feel?" He gazed into my eyes, his blue-hazel eyes meeting the gaze of my ocean blue ones.

"I was afraid, I wanted to be sure you were right for me, I pushed you away so I could be sure that I wasn't going crazy, and I-"

Roddy interrupted me by locking his lips with mine, his hand against my cheek and his body relaxed, fully letting his guard down for what seemed like the first time for him in a long time.

I closed my eyes, placing the coffee cup between my legs for a moment so I could hold Roddy's body close to mine. He slowly moved back, pulling away from the kiss. I let go of him and breathed out a heavy sigh.

"I, I needed to know that. I'm serious, Kirby, I adore ya, I've adored ya since the moment I saw your face without the mask. You're such a beautiful woman, yet you hide that beauty."

"Roddy, the universe can be ugly at times."

"I know that, I know that a little too well. God, I turn thirty in April."

"I turned twenty nine on the thirteenth."

Rod looked me up and down, taking a swig of his own coffee before saying anything else, "Ya look younger."

"Shut up, Casanova." I joked, taking a swig of my coffee

"I mean it, ya look at the most twenty-three."

"Ya kidding, really, I, look twenty-three?"

"Take it from a U.S champ."

"I've seen photos of that belt, how did you avoid stabbing yourself with it?"

"Simple," He said in-between swigs of coffee, "never bend over."

I let out a small laugh, trying quickly to silence myself.

"Ya adorable." He swooned, gazing at me.

I studied his looks once more, taking in every little detail from his hair down to his chest, stopping to look away and out of the window for a moment upon seeing a bulge form in the crotch of his jeans, hitting him in the arm and pointing it out.

"I don't control that, Lass." He laughed, grabbing my hand and interlacing his fingers with mine, kissing the back of my hand.

"Well, do somethin' about it." I whined.

"I'll do something about it alright."

"Without just putting your hand down your pants, Roddy."

"Oh c'mon." He whined

"Piper." I said, sternly.

"Trevor." He said, copying my stern tone.

"Fine," I threw my right hand up whilst holding the coffee cup in my left, "But if you're gonna do that, let me drive."

Roddy and I got out of the D200 in unison and passed each other to switch seats, with Rod tossing his empty coffee cup in a bin and climbing back into the passenger seat.

"Roddy," I started, climbing into the driver seat, "You need that release a lot, don't ya."

"I know, I'm sorry." He looked dejected, perhaps even ashamed of his bodily functions.

"Roddy, I don't mean anything bad by that," I paused for a second, adjusting the driver's seat to my proportions and starting the car, "I just, I've never known what that feels like, to need someone else's body against my own, y'know."

"So, ya never had the urge as a teen, to, y'know, 'get with' somebody?" He quizzes, looking me up and down.

"No, I would just deal with myself when I felt like I needed to." I admitted, feeling comfortable admitting this to him, not so reserved as I was when I first met him.

"Would you like to, y'know, uh, feel what it's like to be with somebody." He was obviously implicating himself.

"Are you trying to suggest something, Rod?"

"Valentine's night, me and you, we'll only go as far as your comfortable with, deal?"

"Deal. With protection."

"With protection." He nodded in agreement

The rest of the three hour drive was quite quiet, Roddy occasionally humming out tunes I remember Erik playing on the bagpipes.

Upon reaching a hotel, one that Roddy had pointed out, we got checked in and Roddy made a couple calls, and before long it was nearly midnight and Roddy had passed out, or so I thought, I took a minute to shower and dry myself off before pulling out my mask, I hadn't been wearing it for a while and I wanted to see what it felt like, putting it into it's place and hearing a faint 'I adore ya' from the sleeping Scotsman, closing my eyes for about a minute, allowing myself to let out a couple of silent tears, abruptly feeling Rod's arms around my waist and his lips on the back of my neck, whispering sweet nothings to soothe me.

END OF NO MATTER WHAT or A DEADLY COMBINATION.

[yespolkadotkitty]

Oooh could I get a fic with Henry where the reader volunteers at the durrell zoo and Henry meets her when he's visiting and he can't help but fall for her

not beta read - we die like men

A gentle tap on the door of the enclosure made you turn, and you glimpsed your manager at the door. “Can we come in?” he asked through the little speaking gap in the window.

You finished feeding the baby bearded dragon in your hand and let the little guy hop up on to your shoulder. “Sure.”

The door opened and a rush of cool air made you sigh in relief. You loved feeding the reptiles, in fact, they were your passion and speciality, but God, did the humid air in the reptile house get too much, sometimes!

You kept your focus on the spacious enclosure for the bearded dragons - Ringo, Paul, George and Lennon, named after the supergroup the Beatles, for your own amusement - and topped up their salad as your boss started to speak.

He introduced you, adding, “She’s our resident reptile expert - what she doesn’t know about reptiles isn’t worth knowing.”

“Impressive,” praised a husky British baritone.

You turned, the little beardie on your shoulder shifting, and saw a tall, dark drink of water standing by your boss.

“Um, hi.” He looked familiar - as well as pant-droppingly hot - all chocolate brown curls, ocean blue eyes and a razor sharp jaw. His worn Durrell logo t-shirt emphasized a broad muscular chest. 

“This is Henry Cavill - one of our celebrity ambassadors,” your boss continued.

You flipped through the mess of your brain - zoology was your passion and outside studying and working, you watched a lot of nature documentaries, and kept Ben and Jerry’s in business. You watched films rarely, but you recognised the handsome stranger’s name.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” he offered, voice warm, eyes sincere.

“You, too.” Awareness tickled up the back of your neck, but you dismissed it as the heat in the enclosure.

“What do you feed them?” Henry asked, his gaze fixed on the little dragon on your shoulder. He seemed genuinely curious.

“Wanna hold him?”

A crooked little grin ticked up the side of Henry’s mouth. “I can?”

“Of course.” 

His boyish enthusiasm was catching, and you gestured for him to hold out his hands, palms together, as you gently set the baby beardie on them.

“This is Ringo.”

“Beatles reference, I hope?”

“For sure. My favourite song is Strawberry Fields Forever.”

Ringo crept over Henry’s broad, flattened palms and looked up at him curiously.

“You want to feed him?”

“Do I?” he laughed, clearly enamoured by the little dude, and your heart turned over at this huge man gently handling the tiny lizard.

You reached into the special cupboard in the humid enclosure, a bead of sweat trickling down your back, and plucked out a locust from the ventilated box, curling your hand gently around it. “Take this little guy by his wings - Ringo will be ok on one of your hands - and offer it.”

Henry did as you instructed, concentration sketched on his movie-star perfect face. Ringo performed beautifully, pink curved tongue shooting out and crushing the locust inside his mouth.

“Whoa, little guy!” Henry gasped, clearly delighted.

“Beardies are my favourite,” you confessed.

Henry’s blue gaze held yours, and you noticed a tiny slice of brown in one of his eyes. The imperfection someone made him even more beautiful.

Your boss cleared his throat. “Well, er, I still have a lot to show Henry before the gala tonight, where he’s due to make a speech, so we’ll leave you to it.”

You held out your hands and Henry let Ringo transfer back to you, his little claws tickling your skin pleasantly. “Don’t forget to use the handgel on the way out,” you said for Henry’s benefit.

He inclined his head. “Thanks, ever so much. I, ah….” he turned to your boss. “Might you give us a minute?”

“Of course.” Your boss unlocked the enclosure door and stepped outside, reaching for the handgel dispenser.

The enclosure suddenly felt half its size, Henry dominating the space, a full head taller than you.

“So, the gala is tonight,” he began.

You glanced up at him, gently transferring Ringo on to one of the climbing logs in his enclosure, careful not to put him too close to the basking lamp - he’d move there if he wanted to. “You looking forward to it?”

“I think I’d look forward to it much more, if you’d accompany me.”

Your mouth opened and closed without words as your gaze shot to his. “What?” you squeaked.

“Of course, you’d have to put up with an actor hanging off your arm all evening,” he teased, and you laughed as the tension faded. “Your passion for your work is clear, and aside from that, I’ve wanted to meet you since I watched your feeding videos on the Durrell website. Your freckles are adorable, by the way.”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you nodded mutely.

His grin was dazzling. “I’ll see you tonight.”

His scent, cedarwood and clean soap and the tang of coffee, stayed with you after he buzzed out of the enclosure.

What the holy fuck were you going to wear?

Tagging a selection of Henry folks: @lilliannaansalla @mary-ann84 @hnryycvll @constip8merm8 @littlefreya @andahugaroundtheneck @dancingwendigo @hopelessromanticspoonie @promptandpros @just-the-hiddles @dr-kayleigh-dh @summersong69 @thethirstyarchive @alyxkbrl @ly--canthrope @ravenpuff02 @sissyscream @wolvesandhoundshowltogether

[pumpkinmaster999]

Heroes Walk in Dirt

By Jess Awh

At last call at the bar I am eight shots in, swing dancing with a broom while Sasha wipes the wood down. His face says he’s wondering how a mess like me can be trusted to clean shit up.

I tell him when I’m home I like to vacuum drunk. Drunk vacuuming is kinda like being on a swing: you blithely toss your body around the room in a tango with the vacuum, singing to yourself, forgetting certain corners. I sing the live recorded version of a John Prine song, “That’s the Way that the World Goes Round.” Sasha asks why live. The song’s got this line: “it’s a half an inch of water and you think you’re gonna drown,” I say, but on the live tape John Prine tells the crowd how a woman came up to him in San Fransisco once and asked him to play his song about the happy enchilada. She thought it went, “it’s a happy enchilada and you think you’re gonna drown.”

In my bedroom I take eight shots of Jim Beam and grab the expensive vacuum I bought at Costco with the different detachable heads which I call “my vacuum ingredients,” and I swing and sing to myself about the happy enchilada.

Sasha shrugs and scrubs the gun line. He says that that John Prine song has a verse where John Prine pretty much says it’s ok to beat your wife. It isn’t okay to beat your wife, I don’t sing that verse. I know it isn’t okay to beat your wife. My wood floors shine. I hate when dirt from the floor sticks to my feet as though it were all the world’s injustice.

I smoke in the tub and I swim in the Hudson, so in a way no bath I take is ever clean as a true baptism. I dislike the laundromat, so I wash clothes at home and hang them on the fire escape. In a nutshell, all I can do is try, I say, in a nutshell. Trying is what we do when succeeding eludes our sight. Sasha once came over after work and laid on my bed eating pistachios, setting the empty shells down on his chest. He’s been upset because his ex is about to marry a man she loves less just to get him a green card and have some kids. I’d never ask anyone or anything to change. I would’ve vacuumed his shirt, though.

I walk to the train to work like always and Lee is waiting outside the liquor store. For whatever reason, the liquor store people hired him seemingly just to stand outside and ask people how they’re doing as they go by. He’s hardly ever inside, and when he is he doesn’t seem to be doing anything. He doesn’t have any flyers to hand out. “What’s new, Lee?” “Oh, you know, new gangsters, new crackheads.” “Oh yeah? You look spiffy. I like the blazer.” “Ah, thanks, it’s gettin’ cold.” “Yep, yep.” “My birthday’s coming up.” I like that one because he always tells me what’s new with the block when I’m really asking what’s new with him. “Shit, when is it?” “The 26th.” “No way, I’m having a party that night. I’ll bring you a piece of cake or something.” We laugh. Lee is always in a clean black button down and black pants that are never wrinkly. He’s like a blackboard that got wiped down with a wet towel. I’m gonna bring him cake because he doesn’t expect me to. We live in this charmed narrative where we move one plant into the sun, or put a sardine out for one stray cat, or organize one shelf, and then the sky opens up so sunbeams land on our shoulders like we somehow answered a prayer God didn’t even say out loud. I read this story in American Girl Magazine when I was nine where they’re walking on the beach and they find hundreds of washed up starfish dying in the sun. The one girl says “we can’t save them all, it’s pointless” and the other starts throwing them in the water one by one. She goes “but we can at least save a few, and that still matters.”

I get to the bar and this guy I know is there drinking, Grant Barber. I tell Sasha I’m going to go hide in the basement and he knows what I mean. A couple summers ago when I was bartending in Chinatown I became friends with Grant Barber because he was living in the radio station. He’d listen to my show on the mail room speakers on Sundays and say things like “I’m glad you played Patsy Cline” or “I can tell you like the music, that’s why you’re such a good host.” Grant Barber has blue eyes like Santa’s eyes, and that’s why I started buying him lunch and letting him shower at my apartment. I’m a good person but I get starfished sometimes. So I served court papers to the squatter who’d forced him out of his place in BedStuy, I went with him to the notary and everything, but when the legal shit started to drag along and he was sending me messages like “I’m gonna kill myself today” and “why won’t you answer me, I’m going to die” I stopped replying. I couldn’t fix it any more for him, and what was I gonna do, sit there listening to a dude I barely knew threaten suicide because I ignored his Facebook DMs? He said he never asked me to “fix it,” just to be there, and then he said he was in love with me. I said this is too many starfish. Actually, I said nothing.

Grant Barber talked to Blaze Foley in Austin back in 1985. I believe that story because he never lied to me about anything else besides the killing himself. “Fuck, I love Blaze Foley, seriously?” Yeah, at this concert at The Outhouse where he was double billed with Townes Van Zandt. Townes played for an hour straight, and I was there with my girlfriend, they were waiting for Blaze to come onstage but no one could find him I guess. He came on and played one song, then left again. That night is the only time I talked to him ever even though I saw him twice or three times. I’ll never forget what he said…I went to the men’s room and he was there barreling through a fifth of whiskey…slouched over a urinal. It was just us two and for some reason I started rambling about how much I looked up to him, how his music moved me, and then he stared at me and said one sentence. He said, and he was slurring—it took him a whole long minute to say this—he said “my problem is that I can’t stop being funny.”

I was funny once, at a nude figure drawing session held by a local art club. They had offered me thirty bucks to play the guitar and sing my songs while the models posed and the artists sketched them. The room echoed like the inside of a drum and the floors were shiny. I sang things I had written and they mingled with the dust lit up by the window and hovering in the air. Afterwards a girl came up to me and said “I loved your lyrics, they were so funny!” And maybe they were funny, but I recoiled because I felt stung, because I had been admitting that I was weak, which is braver than most things I do. Blaze Foley got shot in the chest by his friend Concho January’s son. That’s how he died. He confronted Carey, the son, about stealing Concho January’s veteran pension and welfare checks, and a few days later Carey shot him. Blaze’s friends covered his coffin in duct tape because he never got starfished, he knew his strength even though he looked to be made of flesh. Sasha was uninvited to his ex’s wedding because Gavin (the new fiancé) hates him, and when he found out he said fine, I’m happy for you guys, then cried on my shoulder in the bar basement later.

I love Blaze Foley but I doubt I would’ve ever dated him because I bet his hair was dirty all the time. He has this song called “Sittin’ by the Side of the Road” that’s about being homeless and being fine with it, because what do you even need besides a guitar and a meal to eat? I need a sanctuary that I can control and retreat to. The best gift I’ve ever given a friend is an invitation to stay with me, to hide in my house with the vacuumed floors, out of New York, and feel clean. This is why I wouldn’t date Sasha: his apartment is an unheeded hodgepodge of once-important or still-important things not set in order, not categorized, not scrubbed with Clorox wipes. I wonder what service he’s out there doing that makes him forget about cleaning. He texts me that Grant Barber left the bar and I come upstairs, eyeing the balled-up napkins and brown leaves sprinkled on the ground as I walk to the front door. I will clean this up before anyone else has a chance to disregard it.

[almostafantasia]

from the same star

a villaneve soulmates au | read on ao3

In a world where your soulmate’s initials appear on your skin after you meet for the first time, Eve’s life gets turned upside down when the single letter ‘V’ appears on her abdomen on the same day that a senior MI6 official gets assassinated just down the road from where she works.

- - - - -

chapter eight - assassin radar

“We’re getting nowhere,” sighs Eve, slumping back in her seat dejectedly. “I really thought we had her when we got the sketch drawn up but there’s nothing. No name, no DNA. Nothing.”

“She may as well be a ghost,” Elena says unhelpfully.

“Except that I know she’s real. We met her in that coffee shop, remember?” Eve runs an exasperated hand through her hair, loosening it from the confines of the elastic and running her fingers through their curly lengths, before she lets out another groan of frustration and says, “We met her and we’ve still got nothing on her.”

“We’ll get her eventually,” says Bill. “We just need to know what we’re looking for.”

“Did you get anything on the Ukrainian guy’s son, Kenny?” asks Eve, although she already knows the answer. It has been more than a week since they added Artem Kravchenko’s strangled corpse to the board, and Eve knows that Kenny would tell her the moment he found anything suspicious.

“Nothing that I can find,” answers Kenny, with a regretful shake of his head. “I’m going through it all a second time, just in case I missed something the first time, but he’s clean. His finances are a mess so he’s definitely got the motive of inheriting his father’s millions, but his emails and phone records are all in order. If he’s involved in something dodgy, he’s doing it from burner phones and secret accounts.”

“Well I can’t go to Carolyn and tell her that we’ve hit a wall,” says Eve. “She’s trusted us with this. But at the moment it seems like we’re just waiting for the killer to strike again and hoping that she slips up next time.”

“I’ve started compiling a list of influential people who have died over the last few months,” Bill tells her. “None of them have stood out to me yet but I’ll send across what I’ve got so far if you like and you can take another look at them. You know her better than I do.”

“Thanks, Bill,” says Eve, smiling her thanks at him. “But right now it feels as though I don’t really know her at all.”

The office falls silent for a few moments, filled only with the sound of computer keys clicking, until it is broken by the chime of Eve’s computer telling her that she has a new email.

“There you go,” says Bill. “See if any of those light up your assassin radar.”

Bill is right about the first two on the list. The first is a man in his late sixties who seems to have suffered from a heart condition, while the second was killed in an incident involving a drunk driver. Eve ignores them both and moves onto the third death on Bill’s list instead.

As soon as Eve reads that the third person died from a gunshot wound to the head while visiting a German art gallery, she is interested. Their assassin, after all, is earning herself a reputation as somebody who likes to kill in public places. And even if this isn’t their girl, it still fascinates Eve as she starts to look into it further. She stares at photos of the crime scene with a morbid fascination, unable to tear her eyes away despite the gruesome smear of blood across the floor from where he was shot to where his body was found.

A gunshot wound to the head - surely that would have killed him almost instantly, which rules out the possibility that he crawled away himself, before dying moments later against a nearby wall? But that means that his killer would have been the one to move him.

Why move a body after the victim is already dead? Eve can only think of one reason for moving a body, which is to dispose of evidence that it was ever there in the first place, but that was clearly not the murderer’s aim here. 

Eve tries to put herself in the killer’s position, desperate to understand their rationality. If she had just murdered somebody, particularly in a public place such as an art gallery, she would want to remove herself from the scene of the crime as soon as possible. She definitely wouldn’t fuss around with moving the body several feet away from where it fell, only to leave it slumped against a nearby wall. 

Eve squints at the picture of the crime scene again, enlarging the image so that she can zoom in on the body. But on closer inspection, it is not the body that attracts Eve’s attention, but instead the painting that the body has been moved to sit beneath. She paid very little attention to it before, a dark canvas with a few blocks of much lighter colour that had been too distant for her to discern what it was before. Now that she sees it up close, Eve realises that it is a portrait of a woman. Her nude torso is the most prominent part of the painting, surrounded by black, while the woman’s face is almost creepy in the way that it is shrouded in shadows. Eve is captivated and intimidated by the woman in the painting in equal measure, unable to tear her eyes away.

It’s probably nothing, but the fact that the killer has moved the body to sit beneath this painting in particular is playing on Eve’s mind. She crops the picture of the crime scene until it is just the painting, then opens up a search engine and runs a reverse image search. The results that pop up are pages of similar paintings, portraits of other people that use almost identical dark colour palettes.

It isn’t until Eve reaches the bottom of the second page of images that she finds what she is looking for. An identical image to the painting in the photo of the crime scene almost jumps out of the screen at Eve and she cannot click on it quickly enough. It leads her to a page of German text that Eve doesn’t understand, but there is also a larger version of the painting, as well as a caption giving the title of the painting and the artist's name.

DIE SÜNDE - FRANZ VON STUCK

Eve looks at the painting again and feels the hairs on the back of her neck slowly rise to attention. She shudders, an awful chill running down her spine as if somebody has just slipped an ice cube down the back of her shirt. The woman in the painting is creepy, but that’s not quite it. Eve feels as though she is being observed from a distance, an unsettling feeling bubbling away in her gut. This feels like their assassin, but Eve isn’t sure where the instinct that is screaming that at her is coming from, because it’s just a dead body slumped beneath a painting of-

“Wait,” says Eve, feeling her pulse quicken as she realises what she’s looking at. “What about this one, Bill?”

“Which one?” Bill asks, as he looks up from his computer.

“The German art gallery shooting that took place two days ago.”

“You think that could have been our assassin?” asks Bill, frowning as he gets to his feet and crosses over to Eve’s desk. He peers at her screen as Eve switches back to the crime scene photos, then he comments, “What a big mess.”

“Let’s see,” says Elena, rolling her chair over and craning her neck to look past Bill at the pictures. “That’s a lot of blood.”

“This one bothered me when I saw it but I wrote it off as irrelevant because there’s no way that he was killed by a woman,” explains Bill.

“Why not?” asks Elena.

“Because the killer moved the body,” answers Bill, pointing at the trail of blood across the floor to where the body rests. “The victim was a big chap. He would have been difficult to move and I think it’s unlikely a woman was able to move the body.”

“Unlikely, but not impossible,” points out Eve. “It bothered me too because why would you move a body? She shot him in the head and he would have died pretty much instantly. Surely she would want to get away from the scene as fast as possible?”

“She?” Bill repeats back at her, raising an eyebrow at Eve. “You’re sure that our assassin was responsible for this one?”

“She moved him to that painting,” says Eve, pointing at the image on the computer monitor of the victim’s body slumped below the painting of the half-naked woman. “Why that one in particular?”

Eve minimises the photograph and opens up the webpage that she found from the reverse image search. The text at the side of the screen is all in German that Eve doesn’t understand, so she just looks at the painting instead and the words beneath it.

“D- die …” Eve attempts to read.

“Die Sünde,” Bill reads aloud, in perfectly accented German. “‘The Sin.’ Hang on, is that a snake around her neck?”

Eve squints at the picture and recoils when she realises that the dark shape surrounding the woman’s body has a pair of eerie eyes that she hadn’t previously noticed. It makes sense now, knowing who the woman in the painting is.

“Wait, the sin?” Elena speaks up. “You’re talking about the original sin, right? The woman in the painting is Eve? I mean, not our Eve. But Eve Eve.”

“Adam’s Eve,” explains Bill. 

“Hey!” protests Elena. “Let’s not define women by the men in their lives. Eve was a big girl who doomed humankind all by herself.”

Eve has never felt any particular kinship with her biblical namesake, but she cannot help but wonder if that is the message that this assassin is trying to send. And if it is, then it means that the assassin has learned of Eve and the team’s effort to hunt her down and is taunting them. 

A performance - that’s what each kill is to this psychopath. And this kill is a performance specifically for Eve.

“Bill, can you get on the phone to the German authorities and ask them to send across everything they have on this case?” Eve asks. “I want to find proof that this is our killer’s work.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Bill says as he returns to his desk.

“And what if it is her?” asks Elena, worry etched on her face. “Is she trying to send a message that she knows about you? About us? Aren’t you worried? What if she comes for you next?”

“She won’t,” Eve insists. “She likes the attention. It’s all a game to her and if she hurts us then she loses her players.”

“I just don’t want this to come back and bite you on the arse,” says Elena, before her eyes widen and she adds, “Or worse!”

“It won’t. If this kill is her, then I don’t think it’s a bad thing that she knows I’m on her trail. This proves that, don’t you think?” Eve gestures at her computer screen, where the website showing the painting is still up. “She’s showing off for us now, and it’s only a matter of time before she gets careless.”

“Or a matter of time before she gets bored and comes after you personally,” Elena counters with a grimace. “I don’t think I like the idea of playing games with an actual psychopath but it’s clearly getting you excited.”

Choosing to ignore Elena’s comment and Eve returns her attention to her computer. She opens up the website showing the painting and, realising that it is the website for the very art gallery that the murder was committed in, she uses her mouse to highlight the block of German text and pastes it into an online translation tool. The resulting paragraph in English is full of grammatical errors that could be much better translated if she asked Bill to do it, but it makes enough sense to confirm that the painting is depicting the biblical Eve and the serpent who led her to temptation.

Is the message that the assassin is trying to send by moving the body beneath this particular painting as straightforward as simply making a connection between names and showing off that she knows Eve is on her trail? Or is it more than that? Is the assassin trying to lead Eve astray in the same way that the serpent led the other Eve into the path of sin?

“Eve?” says Bill, from the other side of the office, pulling Eve out of her musings. “The German authorities have emailed across some more information about that murder and I think you’re going to want to see this.”

Eve can feel each ominous thud of her heart against her ribcage as she gets to her feet and crosses over to Bill’s desk. The crease of his frown fills her with anxiety as she approaches, tentatively moving to stand behind him so that she can see the screen. She is vaguely aware of Kenny and Elena coming to stand beside her too, the whole team huddled around Bill to see what he has discovered, but Eve shifts her entire focus onto the image on Bill’s screen.

If it were possible for Eve’s heart to leap out of her body via her throat, then it would in this moment. It takes a few seconds for her to realise what she is looking at, but when she does, it stuns her into disbelief.

On the screen of Bill’s computer are two photos side by side, almost identical in nature. They show the body of the man who was murdered in Munich, but the pictures have been taken from much closer up than the one Eve previously saw, cropping out the painting below which he is slumped. The new perspective allows Eve to see something that wasn’t visible in the more distant shot, with the photo on the left side of the screen revealing a patch of blood soaked into the front of his shirt over his abdomen. The second photo has been taken from the same angle, but a hand wearing a latex glove reaches in from out of frame and peels aside the bloodstained shirt to reveal the source of the blood.

Oh shit.

There, on the victim’s stomach, just to the right of his navel, are the letters ‘EP’, carved into his flesh with a blade.

Eve feels herself start to go a little bit lightheaded. She reaches out with one hand and grips the back of Bill’s chair for support, while her vision starts to blur in her peripherals until the only thing she can see is the picture. 

Those are her initials. The assassin has carved Eve’s initials onto the man’s stomach, immortalised in blood. And there must be hundreds of different two letter combinations that she could have gone for, which means that fact that she has picked these particular two is too improbable to be a coincidence.

Of course, just as damning is the fact that the killer has carved the letters onto the exact spot where Eve has the ‘V’ on her own stomach.

Her skin burns where the mark is, as if somebody has set fire to the front of her shirt. Eve lifts a hand to her stomach and rests her palm over the mark, the skin sensitive to her touch, even through the material of her shirt.

“Well I guess that answers that particular question.”

Kenny’s voice is what snaps Eve out of her trance, voicing aloud the same conclusion that she has just reached in her own mind. Eve looks away from the screen quickly, only to find that the other three are all watching her intently, gauging her reaction. She drops her hand from her stomach and tries to act indifferent.

“So what?” Eve shrugs, unable to make eye contact with any of her colleagues, so she settles for staring at the wall beyond Bill’s computer instead. “We already had suspicions. Like Kenny said, now it’s just confirmed.”

“Eve, you know this means that she’s got one too, right?” says Elena, resting a concerned hand on Eve’s arm just below the crook of her elbow.

“So it’s professional,” says Eve. “I’m destined to be the one to catch her.”

“Do you think she sees it like that?” asks Bill.

“This is big, Eve,” continues Elena. “I know I’m always the one preaching that these marks mean nothing, but she’s a bloody psychopath. You have no idea what she thinks of these marks. Or what she’s going to do next.”

“It’s fine,” says Eve, sparing one final glance to the gruesome letters on the victim’s stomach, before she forces herself to look away and return to her own desk. “She’s just trying to send me a message.”

“Exactly,” insists Elena, following Eve across the office and leaning against the side of Eve’s desk. “She knows your name and she’s probably got your initials on her body. What next? What if she comes looking for you?”

“Then it’ll make our job a hell of a lot easier!”

“I really think we should tell Carolyn,” says Elena. “This is a big development and I think she needs to know.”

“No!” protests Eve. “Carolyn doesn’t need to know. Not yet, at least. This is my mark and I don’t want her to know about it.”

“Back me up Bill!” pleads Elena.

As both Eve and Elena turn to look at Bill, he just shrinks back in his chair and holds his hands up in surrender.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” he replies. “If Eve doesn’t want Carolyn to know then it’s her decision.”

“Kenny?” says Elena, in one final plea.

Kenny hesitates before answering, his eyes flitting between Eve and Elena. There is a brief moment in which Eve wonders if the mark on his arm, though concealed by the sleeve of his polo shirt, will persuade him to sign with Elena, but he eventually shakes his head.

“Sorry Elena,” says Kenny, shooting her an apologetic glance, before he elaborates by saying, “I don’t think that we should tell Carolyn about this. And I trust Eve.”

“Thank you Kenny,” says Eve, giving him a grateful smile. She can’t imagine how mortifying it would be to have to admit to Carolyn Martens that the assassin she has asked them to trace has Eve’s initials on her stomach.

“Fine,” Elena says with a frown, disgruntled at being outvoted three to one about telling Carolyn about the marks. “So what is our next step?”

Eve pauses for a few seconds to collect her thoughts, which feel a little bit as though they’ve been put in a blender and torn to shreds by this latest discovery. The confirmation of the one thing that Eve has been trying to pretend isn’t real may have answered one question, but it’s raised a dozen others too. 

What does the ‘V’ stand for? That is the biggest question on Eve’s mind. The killer must know Eve’s name now, for her to have connected a mark on her stomach to somebody who might learn about the body in the art gallery. And with Eve’s name, the assassin would only have to do a little bit of digging to gain access to all sorts of other private information. All Eve has is a letter on her stomach and the memory of a face.

There are other questions too. Why has the universe, after more than forty years of letting Eve quietly get on with her own life, decided to pair her with an actual psychopath? How did the assassin find out about Eve? Why has she decided to etch Eve’s initials onto this particular body?

Well, there is one thing they could do to get answers...

“We go to Munich,” Eve answers Elena’s question. “She wants my attention, so let’s show her that we have it.”

“All of us?” asks Kenny. “Shouldn’t some of us stay here and continue working on what we’ve got already?”

“Probably,” Eve concedes.

Eve glances across at Elena, who immediately shakes her head and holds her hands up in protest.

“Don’t look at me!” she says, shaking her head at the suggestion. “I’m not chasing a deadly assassin across Europe. I’m very happy with staying at home and staying alive. Anyway, Bill is the one who actually speaks German.”

Eve acknowledges this with a small incline of her head, then shifts her attention onto Bill instead.

“She has a point,” Eve says. “What do you say, Bill? Fancy a few days in Munich with me?”

“Are you sure you want me there?” asks Bill, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I mean, I don’t want to be a third wheel for you and your soulmate.”

Eve glares at him, unimpressed.

“Okay, for that you don’t get a choice,” she tells him. “You’re coming with me, end of discussion. Kenny and Elena, are you both alright to hold down the fort here for a couple of days?”

Eve doesn’t miss the way that Kenny and Elena make a point of not looking at each other as they both nod, and she remembers that they have each other’s marks. Neither of them have spoken to Eve about it since that first day, and Eve wonders if they’ve even mentioned it to each other yet. Eve knows that they both claimed indifference to the marks, but there is a part of her that thinks they would make a cute couple and wonders whether two or three days alone with each other will be enough to give them a nudge in each other’s direction.

“Fine with me.”

“Not a problem.”

They both mumble their responses at the same time, and Eve smiles past the ache in her abdomen that has been there since she saw the assassin’s artwork on the newest body. 

At least this case has some direction now.

“Let’s go to Munich!”

- - - - -

There are few things that Villanelle enjoys more than being correct. Being right about something is basically just evidence that she is amazing.

Being right about Eve Polastri being the woman from the coffee shop is a euphoric feeling. Villanelle lurks outside the gallery and waits, nearly going giddy with excitement when a taxi pulls up across the street and the woman she’s been thinking about every time she masturbates for the last few weeks gets out of the vehicle. She looks even more majestic than Villanelle remembers, and though her hair is pushed back into a bun on the back of her head, there are a few loose flyaways close to her hairline that bluster about in the autumnal wind. Villanelle’s hands itch to touch it, to wind one of those curls around her fingers and loosen that thick mane from its elastic confines.

Eve’s clothes leave something to be desired. It seems that Villanelle must have conveniently pushed that part of their first encounter out of her mind, and she screws up her nose in disgust at the practical waterproof coat that doesn’t quite manage to conceal the crinkles of the blouse she wears underneath. It’s difficult to tell from across the street, but Villanelle suspects the shirt may be a cotton-polyester blend, which makes her feel a little bit nauseous.

Villanelle will have to do something about this awful wardrobe when they’re together.

A man follows Eve out of the taxi, in his sixties and balding on the top of his head. The pair seem close, laughing together about something that Villanelle is too far away to be able to eavesdrop on, and she sincerely hopes that he is just a work colleague and not anything more.

Eve and her companion are greeted by an official looking man in a suit at the entrance to the gallery, then all three of them bypass the sign left outside the door to let visitors know the gallery is closed until further notice, and disappear inside the building.

Phase one of Villanelle’s plan - lure Eve Polastri to Munich - has been a success. And that was probably the hardest part. Phase two - to get Eve alone and actually have a conversation with her - will be much easier now that they are both in the same city. The companion will have to be dealt with, of course, because Villanelle cannot let her first proper conversation with her soulmate be interrupted by somebody completely irrelevant, but Villanelle is certain that she can find a way to make sure he stays out of the picture.

Eve will be occupied for much of the day, and it excites Villanelle to know that Eve will spend the entire day talking about Villanelle, admiring Villanelle’s latest kill, trying to work out who Villanelle is.

Well tonight Villanelle will show her.

There are some preparations that she needs to make before she is ready to introduce herself to Eve. She will have to make a trip to the pharmacy, and she mustn’t forget to book the hotel room.

But first of all, Villanelle needs to buy a costume.

- - - - -

“You’ve got her on CCTV?”

Eve doesn’t know what she was expecting from their visit to Munich, but to be told that the kill was caught on camera within minutes of arriving at the scene of the crime was definitely not it.

“Yes, I sent the video across to Bill with all the other files,” says Weber, the German BND agent who is liaising with them on the case. 

To have footage of the assassin actually killing could be a complete game changer for this investigation. To be able to see more of her at all would be progress, but to actually watch her in action? Eve is … well, to say that she is excited about the prospect of watching a man get shot in the head is probably a little insensitive to the victim, but Eve wants to see this footage more than anything else in the world right now.

This CCTV is the breakthrough that they need. They’ll be able to study the assassin - her movements, her mannerisms, her kill style. And not just the kill too. If that has been caught on camera, then the staging of the body after she shot him will have been filmed too. Eve will get to watch the killer as she draws Eve’s own initials on the man’s abdomen with a knife.

Carving those letters into the victim's stomach is far more intimate than anything that Niko has done for Eve in at least the last five years, if not ever.

Eve turns to Bill, her eyes wide.

“CCTV?” she asks him. “Why didn’t we know about this sooner?”

“The German investigators were very thorough,” Bill answers with a shrug. “They sent over a lot of stuff. It’ll take Elena and Kenny a while to go through it all.”

“I will find it for you,” says Weber. “You can watch it now.”

He summons one of his colleagues with a wave of his hand. The pair start speaking in rapid German, which Bill appears to be following, and Eve is grateful for the distraction brought by her ringing phone. When she reads Elena’s name on the screen, Eve answers straight away.

“We were just talking about you,” says Eve. “How are you and Kenny getting on?”

“I’ve already told you, Eve,” comes Elena’s indignant reply. “There’s nothing going on between me and-”

“I meant with the investigation,” Eve cuts in, smiling to herself at Elena’s misunderstanding and making a mental note to revisit that topic at a later date, because there is clearly something going on, even if it is just in Elena’s mind. “Have you discovered anything useful?”

“Oh, not really.”

The embarrassment is evident in Elena’s voice, even over the phone, and Eve doesn’t need to see Elena to be able to picture the flustered expression that will no doubt be plastered across her face.

“There’s a lot of information to sort through,” Elena presses on. “We’re still trying to sift through it all to work out what’s important and what isn’t, then we’ll go through everything in the important pile in greater detail.”

Eve hums in approval and says, “Sounds good.”

“Oh, by the way, Kenny stumbled across something interesting. Apparently there’s CCTV of her … you know, actually doing it. Killing the guy. It confirms that it’s a woman - blonde hair, mid-twenties, athletic build.”

“Blonde?” queries Eve, because her own memory of the assassin from their admittedly brief encounter is of a brunette with bangs.

“Well we know that she likes a costume,” Elena points out. “She probably uses wigs too.”

Eve considers the idea for a few seconds, then concedes, “Yeah, I can see blonde hair working, actually. It would suit her complexion.”

Hearing Elena snort on the other end of the phone, Eve’s cheeks flush when she realises that she said that aloud, and she is quick to press on to avoid Elena commenting on it.

“So, have you seen the CCTV footage?”

“No, they didn’t send it to us,” answers Elena. “That’s why I called you. Kenny found some notes that were made from the footage - her description, her movements through the rooms of the gallery, and so on - but there were no video files in the stuff that the German authorities sent across.”

“That’s weird,” Eve says, with a frown. “Our contact here says it was sent to us. They’re just finding it now so that Bill and I can take a look.”

Hearing his own name, Bill’s head turns towards Eve and he walks towards her.

“Hang on, just give me a second,” Eve says to Elena, before lowering the phone. She covers the speaker, then hisses at Bill, “What’s happening? Have they got it?”

Bill grimaces and shakes her head apologetically.

“Apparently they’ve lost the footage.”

“Lost the - how do you lose CCTV footage of a murder?” Eve lifts the phone back to her ear and says, “Sorry, Elena. I’ll call you back in a bit.” Ending the call with a tap of her thumb against the screen, Eve turns her attention back to Bill and adds, “Elena said that they never sent it to us either.”

“Really?” asks Bill, his eyebrows shooting up across his forehead. “Now that’s interesting.”

“How does a federal government agency lose CCTV footage of an assassination?” Eve groans, running an exasperated hand through her hair and loosening the hair tie keeping it out of her face.

“They don’t,” Bill answers, with a simple shrug.

Eve’s eyes widen as she realises what Bill is implying.

“You think it never existed?”

“I think that it did exist, but somebody has gone to great lengths to make sure that it doesn’t anymore.”

Eve glances over at Weber and his colleague, both bent over a small laptop and murmuring conspiratorially with each other. Could one of them, or somebody else working in German intelligence, have removed all traces of this vital evidence from their systems? Eve cannot imagine that whoever ordered this assassination will want footage of the killer doing her thing to continue to exist, especially not when she has been completely anonymous for so long. But to get that footage removed before it can be shared around must mean that either the hit was ordered by the German authorities, or that the people responsible are powerful enough to have significant influence over the German intelligence service, perhaps even moles inside the organisation. And if they have people inside one government authority, how many others are they controlling from within?

“Who are we dealing with?” Eve asks Bill, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Somebody very powerful, which is why we need to be careful,” Bill answers. His eyes flick down to Eve’s stomach, then back up to her face, before he adds, “Especially you.”

“I’m always careful,” counters Eve.

“And I hope that you don’t live to regret those words.”

[red-will]

I don't know what to do with good white people.

I've been surrounded by good white people my whole life. Good white people living in my neighborhood, who returned our dog when he got loose; good white teachers in elementary school who pushed books into my hands; good white professors at Stanford, a Bay Area bastion of goodwhiteness, who recommended me M.F.A. programs where I met good white writers, liberal enough for a Portlandia sketch.

I should be grateful for this. Who, in generations of my family, has ever been surrounded by so many good white people? My mother was born to sharecroppers in Louisiana; she used to measure her feet with a piece of string because they could not try on shoes in the store. She tells me of a white policeman who humiliated her mother by forcing her to empty her purse on the store counter just so he could watch her few coins spiral out.

Two summers ago, my mother showed me the welfare reports written about her family. The welfare officer, a white woman, observed my family with a careful, anthropological eye. She described the children, including my mother, as "nice and clean." She asked personal questions (did my grandmother have a boyfriend?) and wrote her findings in a detached tone. She wondered why my grandmother, an illiterate Black mother of nine living in the Jim Crow South, struggled to find a steady job. Maybe, she wrote in her loopy scrawl, my grandmother wasn't searching hard enough.

This faded report is the type of official document a historian might consult if he were re-constructing the story of my family. The author, this white welfare officer, writes as if she is an objective observer, but she tells a well-worn story of Black women who refuse to work and instead depend on welfare. Occasionally, her clinical tone breaks down. Once, she notes that my mother is pretty. She probably considered herself a good white person.

In the wake of the Darren Wilson non-indictment, I've only deleted one racist Facebook friend. This friend, as barely a friend as a high school classmate can be, re-posted a rant calling rioters niggers. (She was not a good white person.) Most of my white friends have responded to recent events with empathy or outrage. Some have joined protests. Others have posted Criming While White stories, a hashtag that has been criticized for detracting from Black voices. Look at me, the hashtag screams, I know that I am privileged. I am a good white person. Join me and remind others that you are a good white person too.

Over the past two weeks, I've seen good white people congratulate themselves for deleting racist friends or debating family members or performing small acts of kindness to Black people. Sometimes I think I'd prefer racist trolling to this grade of self-aggrandizement. A racist troll is easy to dismiss. He does not think decency is enough. Sometimes I think good white people expect to be rewarded for their decency. We are not like those other white people. See how enlightened and aware we are? See how we are good?

Over the past two weeks, I have fluctuated between anger and grief. I feel surrounded by Black death. What a privilege, to concern yourself with seeming good while the rest of us want to seem worthy of life.

When my father was a young man, he was arrested at gunpoint. He was a Deputy District Attorney at the time, driving home one night from bible study when LAPD pulled him over. A traffic violation, he'd thought, until officers swarmed his car with shotguns aimed at his head. The cops refused to look in his wallet at his badge. They cuffed him and threw him on the curb.

My father is mostly thankful that he'd stayed calm. In his shock, he had done nothing. That's what he believes saved his life.

I think about this while I watch Eric Garner die. For months, I avoided the video, until we arrived at another officer non-indictment. Now I've seen the video of Garner's death, as well as a second video I find even more disturbing. This second video, taken immediately after Garner has been killed by a banned chokehold, shows officers attempting to speak to him, asking him to respond to EMTs. They do not yet know that he is dead, and there's something about this moment, officers shuffling around as an EMT seeks a pulse, that is so bafflingly and frustratingly human, so different from the five officers lunging and wrangling Garner to the ground.

In the wake of this non-indictment, a surprising coalition of detractors has emerged. Not just black and brown students hitting the streets in protest but conservative stalwarts, like Bill O'Reilly or John Boehner, criticizing the lack of justice. Even George W. Bush weighed in, calling the grand jury's decision "sad." But even though many find Garner's death wrong, others refuse to believe that race played a role. His death was the result of overzealous policing, a series of bad individual choices. It would have happened to a white guy. The same way in Cleveland, a 12-year-old Black boy named Tamir Rice was killed by officers for playing with a toy gun. An unfortunate tragedy, but not racial. Any white kid playing with a realistic-looking toy gun would have been killed too.

Darren Wilson has been unrepentant about taking Mike Brown's life. He insists he could not have done anything differently. Daniel Pantaleo has offered condolences to the Garner family, admitting that he "feels very bad" about Garner's death.

"It is never my intention to harm anyone," he said.

I don't know which is worse, the unrepentant killer or the man who insists to the end that he meant well.

A year ago, outside the Orange County airport, a white woman cut in front of me at the luggage check. She had been standing next to me, and soon as the luggage handlers called next, she swooped up her things and went to the counter. She'd cut me because I was black. Or maybe because I was young. Maybe she was running late for her flight or maybe she was just rude. She would've cut me if I had been a white woman like her. She would've cut me if I had been anyone.

Of course, the woman ended up on my flight, and of course, she was seated right next to me. Before the flight took off, she turned to me and said, "I'm sorry if I cut you earlier. I didn't see you standing there."

I often hear good white people ask why people of color must make everything about race, as if we enjoy considering racism as a motivation. I wish I never had to cycle through these small interactions and wonder: Am I overthinking? Am I just being paranoid? It's exhausting.

"It was a lot simpler in the rural South," my mother tells me. "White people let you know right away where you stood."

The problem is that you can never know someone else's intentions. And sometimes I feel like I live in a world where I'm forced to parse through the intentions of people who have no interest in knowing mine. A grand jury believed that Darren Wilson was a good officer doing his job. This same grand jury believed than an eighteen-year-old kid in a monstrous rage charged into a hailstorm of bullets toward a cop's gun.

Wilson described Michael Brown as a black brute, a demon. No one questioned Michael Brown's intentions. A stereotype does not have complex, individual motivations. A stereotype, treated as such, can be forced into whatever action we expect.

I spent a four hour flight trying not to wonder about the white woman's intentions. But why would she think about mine? She didn't even see me.

In elementary school, my older sister came home one day crying. She had learned about the Ku Klux Klan in class that day and she was afraid that men in white hoods would attack us. My father told her there was nothing to worry about.

"If a Klansman sat at this table right now," he said, "I'd laugh right in his face."

My mother tells stories of Klansmen riding at night, of how her grandmother worried when the doctor's son—a white boy—visited her youngest sister because she feared the Klan would burn down their home. When I was a child, I only saw the Klan in made-for-TV civil rights movies or on theatrical episodes of Jerry Springer. My parents knew what we would later learn, that in the nineties, in our California home, surrounded by good white people, we had more to fear than racism that announces itself.

We all want to believe in progress, in history that marches forward in a neat line, in transcended differences and growing acceptance, in how good the good white people have become. So we expect racism to appear, cartoonishly evil like a Disney villain. As if a racist cop is one who wakes in the morning, twirling his mustache and rubbing his hands together as he plots how to destroy black lives.

I don't think Darren Wilson or Daniel Pantaleo set out to kill Black men. I'm sure the cops who arrested my father meant well. But what good are your good intentions if they kill us?

When my friends and I discuss people we dislike, we often end our conversations with, "But he means well."

We always land here, because we want to affirm ourselves as fair, non-judgmental people who examine a person not only by what he does but also by what he intends to. After all, aren't all of us standing in the gap between who we are and who we try to be? Isn't it human to allow those we dislike—even those who harm us—a residence in this space as well?

"You know what? He means well," we say. We lean on this, and the phrase is so condescending, so cloyingly sweet, so hollow, that I'd almost rather anyone say anything else about me than how awful I am despite how good I intend to be.

I think about this during a car ride last weekend with my dad, where he tells me what happened once the cops finally realized they had arrested the wrong man. They picked him up from the curb, brushed him off.

"Sorry, buddy," an officer said, unlocking his handcuffs.

They'd made an honest mistake. He'd fit the description. Well, of course he did. The description is always the same. The police escorted my father onto the road. My father, not yet my father, drove all the way home without remembering to turn his headlights on.

Brit Bennett recently earned her M.F.A. in creative writing at the the Helen Zell Writers' Program at the University of Michigan. She is currently a Zell Postgraduate Fellow, where she is working on her first novel.

[shineonmalcolmbright]

Shine On, Bright: Chapter Nineteen

Table of Contents

Past

I’ve heard this song before.

Such a regular thought but one Malcolm cannot quite pinpoint why it’s a problem. For some reason, the Overlook only catered to those who enjoyed older music. The type he imagined being played on phonographs from movies he’s only ever heard or seen satirized but not seen himself. The sort where men with such square jaws mumble phrases like: Out of all the gin joints in the world, she had to walk into mine.

Malcolm sat up but his movement felt like the noise of scraping cloth across velvet. A dryness was to it causing him to wince. He had no idea how he got there or where he was for that matter. He laid in the middle of a large room in the Overlook.

Music played while glasses scraped away. There were a few people laughing and other people chatting, but never from anybody he recognized. He sat up though knowing this song. It sounded live as if somebody played it in the room. He sat up there looking around. Tables collected dust with chairs on top of them.

The music continued to play as well as all the other sounds, but it wasn’t even like anybody was around. A single glass sat at the bar though. There were plenty behind it without a sign of alcohol. Glasses for pure decoration and a single pint glass full of beer sat on the bar as if it were waiting for him or probably something more of age for drinking in the United States.

You must remember this. . . The song begged. A different tune than the one from the woman in. . .

“Hello?” Malcolm said to the bar staring at the single beer waiting.

He looked around him. The floor was pretty dusty, a mess except there weren’t any footprints on how he got there. Not at all. Instead, it looked as if he slid or crawled across the floor to lie underneath a table to watch old dry gum hang out to such sad old songs.

. . .There was a woman in Room 217. He was pretty sure he saw her, but couldn’t recall if it was moments ago or a few days ago.

At first, he thought she was showering and singing a different sort of sad song than the one currently playing. Not one to remember but one reminding him that, he’ll be seeing her again.

Only as he crept closer the memory faded as if somebody cracked it open like an egg and peeled the shell of it away. She’d been standing there and showering until he stood right before the mint green tub to realize instead, a woman was curled up inside of the bathtub looking dead, very dead, dead in the tub.

It’s still the same old story, A fight for love and glory, a case of do or die. . .

“Malcolm!” Martin stood in the doorway to the bar area. Malcolm didn’t move toward him because it’d be like he pushed his way through velvet. Something was wrong with his brain. Martin made his way across the room. His movement caused dust to fly up all over the place. “My boy, where have you been? What are you even doing in here?”

Malcolm said nothing while he continued to stand there. He realized his notebook was on the floor and went to pick it up but Martin got it first. His notebook and pencil. He looked down at it, at some of the words across the pages. Martin said nothing at first letting the music play and play and play while there were still the whispers of invisible conversations. Somebody clinked glasses together laughing as they said “Slainte” while others said “Cheers.”

Martin looked up from the notebook. “What’s this?”

Looking at the ground, Malcolm shrugged. “Research.”

“Research? What kind of research?”

Again, Martin paged through his pages notes on Family Annihilator and other murders he found hiding in the corners of the Overlook. A drawing of the strange Irish Elk topiary that attacked him with a few vague sketches of unrelated birds. Then in a corner, there were brief notes with a lot of question marks surrounding the woman he found in Room 217.

Martin stared at that single page for a few minutes before he snapped his attention back up to his son, “Malcolm. . .did you see somebody else staying here?”

Of course Malcolm had a finger pointing at the information about her. Even the quick vague hums he heard from her as he wrote showering (?) but also he wrote dead (?) and Who could she be? And how did she get here?

“No. . .” Malcolm whispered. “I think. . .it was just my imagination, I think.”

“You and your imagination.” Martin chuckled. He closed the notebook handing it back to Malcolm. “Either way, don’t you think it’s a little inappropriate to sneak up on somebody in the shower?”

All Martin got out of him was a nod while Malcolm stared at the floor.

“Is there anything you’d like to talk about?” Martin took one of the seats down off the table to sit so he’d be closer to eye level with Malcolm who refused to look up.

“I don’t think so.”

Martin smiled at him and Malcolm partially peered up. “I’ve heard it can get lonely out here so if you need to talk, please understand, you can always talk to me.”

Malcolm nodded while looking at his father.

“But I am going to have to draw the line at. . .” Martin used his thumb to point over his shoulder at the beer sitting on the bar. “. . .I am going to have to draw the line at drinking alcohol alone. You should come to me first so we can share your first drink, I’ll lay out the rule, but just don’t tell your mother.”

“. . .Right. . .” whispered Malcolm, taking a step to the side.

Malcolm met Martin’s eyes coming real close to let him know for a fact that the beer was just there, he somehow just woke up at a bar without any memory of how he got there. Didn’t sound the best defense but something simmered underneath the majority of Martin’s thoughts.

The loudest layer of his thoughts were a checklist. Going through all of the hotel responsibilities and making sure he didn’t forget the boiler room otherwise the entire place would blow up. Yet Malcolm almost clung too tight to a quiet one, it snaked his way out and into his heart for some reason. He couldn’t know. Does he? He’s smart. No. How would he?

“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” Martin asked Malcolm.

“No.” For added effect, Malcolm shook his head.

We’ll have to keep our eye on him. Martin chuckled giving his shoulder a little push. “You sure? You’re standing there staring at me and it’s a little weird.” What would I do if he even. . .?

“Can I choose the next song?” Malcolm changed the subject not wanting to go where his father was about to travel. Didn’t sound good. Something wasn’t right.

“Music?” Martin looked around. A different layer leaped to the top of his thoughts. What? What’s he talking about? What? “What are you talking about? What music?”

“Oh. Nevermind. . .!”

Malcolm scooted away from Martin, he hugged his research and pencil to his chest. He was about to make a quick exit when he realized Mr. Watkins now sat at the bar. At some point, he must’ve walked in when Malcolm acted all squirrely. Watkins raised a glass in his direction while somebody moved behind the counter, he cleaned a pint glass before putting it behind them.

As Malcolm took a closer look or really, it felt almost as if he stared longer at the shelves the more he realized bottles were full with light shining through them almost making it look as if they glowed.

“I love this song,” the bartender commented. He leaned over to turn up the volume on the radio. The tune of the Woman from Room 217 played over the speaker while Watkins carefully drank keeping an eye on Malcolm standing there.

Somewhere behind, Malcolm heard his father call out. “Is something wrong, Malcolm?” But Malcolm didn’t look back at him. “We can always listen to your Music head or whatever it’s called you like, no problem.” What does he know?

Malcolm inhaled deeply while he stared at the bottled alcohol and the bartender moved about there, cleaning up and wasn’t a person Malcolm ever saw before.

The bartender looked at him raising an eyebrow. “Can I help you out, son?”

Malcolm shook his head.

The music played:

I’ll be seeing you in all the old familiar place that this heart of mine embraces, all day and through. In that small cafe, the park across the way, the children’s carousel. . .

No answer came up because Malcolm darted off hugging his research closer to himself. He didn’t stop until he reached the elevators and collapsed into the wall beside them heaving for air. His head and lungs felt rock solid. Thoughts weren’t coming upright. He closed his eyes and struck a button listening to the it chug along with a pointer ticking away calculating the different floors. Something wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right. Not right.

But what wasn’t right?

[ashsblurbs]

M.I.A

Chapter 1 of Half of my heart is across the world

The air was hot and sticky. His lungs were burning from running too long. In reality everything hurt. He was pretty sure he had two broken ribs, a concussion, and not to mention the arc reactor was pushing harder in his chest then normal. Tony wished he still had his suit, but he had to leave it behind. He wished he still had Steve but sadly he had to leave him behind too.

“Go! I will be fine. I will be right by your side in a minute.” Steve shouted at the base of the cave. The hydra agents weren’t to far behind them Tony knew but the thought of leaving Steve behind to just be killed scared more than death of himself. Tony pulled Steve’s forehead to his own just to feel his touch one more time. “Promise me you won’t die. Promise me you will come home.” Steve wiped a single tear that slipped down Tony’s face. “I promise. Now go!” Steve shoved him out right before the open was closed by several fallen rocks. Enclosing Steve and the Hydra agents.

Tony blinked back to their last moments together. The last moments they were ever going to be together. Tony ran and ran. The jungle was thick with brush. He couldn’t know what was hiding among the trees; what could possibly kill him. He couldn’t think about any of that. All he could think about was surviving for Steve. Once he was able to get back home, he was going to look for him. Tony knew deep down Steve was still alive. Even though hope seemed slim. He wasn’t going to give up. He kept running and running. There was no end in sight until he heard a scream. “Tony! Steve!” Tony pushed closer to the sound. “I’m here!” He pushed the brush back to find his friends, Rhodey, Bucky, and Sam. Rhodey ran ahead of the other men and caught a collapsing Tony. “Next time. You bring backup.” Tony smiled feeling relief blanket over him. He was going home. “Where’s Steve?” Bucky came closer trying to see his friend. Thinking Steve must be right behind. Bucky looked down at Tony and knew his answer. “He’s gone isn’t he” Tony nodded yes with tears streaming down his face.

A strong fist slammed against his jaw bringing a metal taste in his mouth. “Is that all you got. Hitler punched harder than that?” Another punch landed in his ribs. Steve recoiled slightly but just gritted through the pain. He knew his actions of staying behind were worth it. Knowing Tony was safe and away from the situation. Knocking the rest of the rocks to the opening of the cave with his shield which meant trapping himself to certain death. None of that mattered. All that matter in this cruel world was that Tony was safe. All the pain he was going through would never compare to the pain he would have gone through if Tony was not part of his world anymore.

His wrists were bound. He was dangling from the ceiling, making it hard to escape. The pulling from gravity didn’t help his crack ribs either. Thank God for speed healing or the pain that was shooting through his body would be unbearable. “Captain America, you will tell us where Tony Stark went, now!” Steve spit some blood into the mans face. “Never, you will have to kill me first.” The man brought out some kind of weapon that he would guess would just shock him. The agent turned it on sending electricity through his body. Screams escaped from Steve’s mouth. They didn’t stop until he finally passed out. The man came closer to him and gripped his jaw. “Oh, we won’t kill you now. We will wait to kill you in front of him.” He pulled Steve’s dog tags out of his suit and ripped them off. “These will bring him back here. The sliver of hope. The idea he will see his soldier once again.”

Rhodey sat on the edge of Tony’s bed watching his friend’s breath even out finally after having several panic attacks back to back for hours. Each one his friend would scream out his missing boyfriend’s name. “We will find him I promise.” Rhodey walked out of the room slowly closing the door not to wake up the other man.

“Hey.” Rhodey felt soft hands catch his arm as he continued to walk down the hall. The woman spun him around and he saw the look on Carol’s face. He saw the look she got when she was worried about him. “Hey, yourself.” Rhodey leaned down and placed a light kiss to her cheek. “How is he? Still screaming in his sleep?”

“He’s finally knocked himself out. Bruce said he is stabled but will take a couple of weeks to heal.”

Carol grabbed his hand, leading him to the living room of the compound. Where Sam and Bucky were scavenging every corner of the world Steve might be located. This was how they found Tony but no luck for Steve. It was like Steve had vanished off the face of the Earth and he would never be found. The beeping of the radar pounded in their ears over and over again driving them insane.  “Turn that damn thing off.” Bucky slammed his fist hard on the table resulting it to shatter in a thousand of pieces. Sam shut it off shaking his head. Blood ran down Bucky’s hand dripping slowly onto the carpet. “Bucky hurting yourself isn’t going to bring Steve back.” Bucky huffed and stormed over to the kitchen to grab some paper towels.

“Yeah well sitting around here and waiting for this fucking thing to saw here he is he’s right here and dead. Would that sound better Sam.” He wrapped the towel tighter wanting the blood to stop running. Bucky knew he was being irrational, but it was hard knowing his friend might have died and he wasn’t there to protect him. Bucky stormed away before he said anything else that he would regret later.

The rest of the group stared where Bucky stormed off. Sam huffed and stood up to go after his friend. Rhodey and Carol just stayed not knowing what to do next. Rhodey laid his head onto her lap feeling tiredness come over him. “You need to get some sleep James.” Rhodey hummed in agreement as he slowly closed his eyes. “I just wished I had done more for all of my friends.” Carol ran a hand down his arm, tracing patterns on his hand leading him to fall closer and closer to sleep. “You did enough James. We have Tony and Steve can take care of himself. No need to worry.” That was who Rhodey was. He wanted to protect his family.

Steve blinked open his eyes looking around realizing he was moved to a cell. The ground was dusty, and the wall made out of a clay with names sketched into it. Steve found his hands were still bound with some kind of rope. Did these idiots really think rope was going to keep him contained they were wrong? Steve yanked his arms hard to loosen the bound, so he was able to slip his hands out. He moved closer to the wall with the names and ran his hand down each and everyone of them. Sarah, Jacob, Troy, Allison. Steve picked up a jagged rock and started to crave out one name and one name only. Tony.

Sam opened the door to find Bucky struggling to wrap the bandage around his still bleeding hand. It appeared that the man didn’t even clean the wound. All he was worried about was stopping the bleeding. “Let me see it. Your doing this all wrong.” Bucky scuffed but with no fight handed Sam his hand. Sam took hold of the discarded rag and gently wiped off all areas. “Bucky, why?” Sam didn’t stop what he was doing, he was trying to pull out the remaining pieces of glass. Bucky winced in pain. “This was finally the chance where one of us wasn’t going to die. This was our chance to live together. Both us got our lives ripped away from us early on and bam, it was gone again for Steve. It's not fair Sam. Steve finally found the love of his life like I might.” Bucky's words trailed off as Sam finished the last rotation of the bandage around his hand. Bucky and Sam met each other’s eyes both knowing what the last part was going to be but refusing to finish it. They were friends that was enough for the both of them. They both snapped out of what they were thinking when there was a bang on the door. “Yeah.” Rhodey spoke from the other side not wanting to interfere with their conversation but to just give them the news. “We have a signal. We may have found Steve” Sam and Bucky snapped backing looking at each other with wide eyes Steve was coming home.

[happytroopers]

Day 3: Betrayal

i’ve never written for slick before!!

surprise, you don’t die in this one!!

This one does get a little long- and I’m planning a part two

_______________

Being a nurse in the 501st wasn’t easy, sometimes when you were frustrated you swore that they always assigned the most reckless troopers to this legion. Between General Skywalker(who sometimes you thought just tried to see if something could kill him) and Captain Rex- who was always beside Skywalker when the Jedi attempted something ridiculous-  Regardless, you enjoyed your job. You were making a difference in this forsaken war. 

That’s what got you stuck on Cristsophsis. The republic wasn’t exactly losing the battles- but there were too many near misses for your comfort. For example, in a sneak attack earlier that day, separatists cut Republic forces off in a way that look suspiciously like they knew you were there. They’re ambush left you knee-deep in injured troopers.

___________

*a few hours earlier, before the Jedi, Cody, and Rex, arrived* 

“You’re being careful, right?” Your mother’s grainy voice glitched over the call. The signal wasn’t even good enough for a hologram- but even just hearing her voice made the rough day a little better. You smiled fondly, closing your eyes and imagining her sitting at her kitchen table, and breathed a small laugh.

“Yes, mom. I’m always careful. Besides, I’m not even in combat this time. Just waiting for the boys to get back, and then they’ll set me to work.” You assured her. She sighed on the other side of the line.

“Speaking of boys, Where’s that boy you’re always talking about?” She teased, you didn’t have to see her to know she was smirking. You blushed. 

“Mom! I can’t talk about that here! He could get in trouble.” You scolded, checking over your shoulder for any listening ears. You only found Slick smirking by the door. He jerked his head back, telling you everyone was back. “They just got back Mom, I gotta go.”

“Well, your father’s gonna be sad he missed your call. Be careful honey, I love you.” She sighed sadly, the worry leaking back into her voice. You smiled sadly, she always hated goodbyes. 

“Give him my love. I love you too. Bye for now.” You nodded, clicking the off button. Slick came behind you, kissing the top of your head and placing his hands on your shoulders as you fiddled with the signal transponder. “I can never get these things to turn off.”

“Here, I got it for you. They need you in the medical bay.” He offered, letting you out of the chair. You stood up, stretching to peck his lips. He seemed tense. 

“It was bad, wasn’t it? You alright?” You questioned as you shrugged on your work coat. He didn’t answer, just smiled softly. 

“You’ve got your work cut out for you, sweetheart. Better get going. I’ll meet up with you later.” He told you, motioning you out. Your eyebrows crinkled but you nodded, smiling softly at him- but he was already turned around working on the transponder. 

You could tell something was wrong but decided it would have to wait. So with a last worried glance, you stepped out into the corridor. Deciding the medics and medical droids were probably overwhelmed, you broke into a jog once you turned the corner- nearly running into General Kenobi (who was being trailed by General Skywalker, Commander Cody, and Captain Rex). 

“Sorry, sirs.” You politely apologized, moving aside before resuming your journey. You could feel General Kenobi’s eyes on you. 

“It’s alright.” He called after you, but you had already turned another corner. 

Finally, You slowed to a stop as you entered the bustling med bay. A medic immediately ushered you to a medical bench, explaining as he went. 

“They were ambushed. Damn seppies were basically waiting on us.” He growled, “All the critical injuries are being taken care of, but so many of our guys got-”

“Got it. I’m good. Just get me a patient.” You smiled assuredly. The medic- with a tattoo peeking out of his armor’s neckpiece- nodded, motioning for an all too familiar soldier to stumble towards you. 

“Gus- is there ever going to a mission where you don’t pay me a visit afterward?” You scolded, sitting him down. He peeled off his helmet to reveal a mischievous grin. 

“Why break tradition?” He winced as his wrist flopped with his hand gesture, “I think you’d miss me too much.”

You couldn’t help but smile fondly, “You’re so full of it. Give me your hand, it’s clearly bothering you.”

“Anything for the Sarge’s girl.”

You rolled your eyes. Gus was a close friend, one of Slick’s men. Gus, along with Chopper, Punch,Jester, and Sketch, had become your closest friends. There was rarely a time that you weren’t with at least one of them- or with Slick. They very happily adopted you as a sisterly- occasionally motherly- influence on the group. To your amusement (and sometimes annoyance), they often as protective of you as Slick.  They were your best friends- basically your second family. 

And you had Slick to thank for that. Even before you started dating, he was always so nice to you. Checking up on you after a battle- or at least sending one of the boys if he was busy. On the rare occasion, you were in combat, he tried his best to keep an eye on you. He always offered a seat at dinner, walked you home from 79′s. The whole nine yards. You loved him more than life itself. 

“Yeah, you sprained it pretty good. I’ll get you a bacta patch to wear overnight under a brace. That should fix that if you’ll go easy on it.” You explained, gloved hand holding the swollen wrist as you rubbed bacta gel on it. Then you looked up to his face, he had a blooming bruise on his temple and it was crusted with dried blood. Gus followed your eyes, smiling to put you at ease. 

“Yeah, clanker got me pretty good there, huh?” He joked, tilting his head so you could see it better. 

“Kriff, Gus.” You muttered, dabbing at the wound before reprimanding him. “No wonder you’re stumbling around, you probably have a concussion. You’ve got to be more careful!”

He smiled at you, “Yes, ma’am.”

That only earned him rolling eyes as you checked- which proved what you thought. A mild concussion. 

“Alright, grab an ice pack and mild pain reliever on your way out. I’ll come by the barracks with the brace later, it’ll take me a while to find one. Go drink some water and, afterwards, get some rest.” You ordered as he stood up. 

“You give orders almost as good as the Sarge.” He joked as he began to walk away. Another trooper was already ushered to your bench. 

“Just go.” You smirked, already starting the patch up for the next trooper- a shiny with a rather unfortunate facial tattoo. As you worked, you noted that Gus didn’t seem near as tense- something was definitely bothering your lover. 

____

With the other ten civilian nurses, five medics, and fifteen medical droids, you worked through every sprained wrist, mild concussion, a fractured rib, busted lip, and every other injury that walked into your medical bay. It had taken two hours, but you were finally done for the moment. Until your next shift- but that was plenty far away, plenty of time to eat, shower, and sleep, you thought happily, as you cleaned up your area. 

Leaning over to pick up some dropped gloves, you sighed disdainfully at your other find. A dc-18 pistol discarded under the bench- definitely Gus’s based on the painted patterns on the grip. You’d give it to him when you gave him the brace, you decided, checking the safety before tucking it in your waistband. 

So, ever so tiredly, you made your way to the mess hall- idly daydreaming about Slick sneaking into your quarters that night to cuddle, which he usually did after a battle. When you finally made it, they were already shut down for the night- much to your disdain. A little irritated, you decided to just go straight to Slick’s men’s barracks, maybe one of them would have some snacks. 

So you shuffled towards the barracks, ready to just hang out with the boys until Slick got done for the night. Then you could check in on him, and hopefully get some quality time with the Sargent.

As you walked in, head hung in exhaustion, you fished the pistol out of your waistband. To your surprise, the barracks door slid open flooding the corridor with yelling. 

“There’s no way she could do something like this!”- that was Punch

“Now if you all calm down, I’m sure we can figure something out.” - that was Slick, you’d know that voice anywhere. 

Cody and Rex were standing in the middle of it, trying to regain control of the situation. 

“(Y/N) loves this battalion, and she’s loyal to the republic. You’re wrong!” - Gus, who looked ready to fight

“Gus, you need to calm down, they’re only doing their job.” Slick answered him. Your eyebrows furrowed, what were they accusing you of?

“Sarge, that’s your girl! How are you so calm about this?”- Jester asked incredulously. 

“There’s no way she’d hurt any of like that!”- that was Chopper. 

Finally, you had enough of the yelling so you shouted, “What the hell is going on here?”

Every trooper in the room snapped their head to you, Cody and Rex immediately pointing their own weapons at you, “(Y/N) (Y/L/N) drop the blaster.”

“Wait, what?” You asked, immediately following the orders, “Gus left this in the medical wing! I brought it back with the brace he needed! What’s going on?”

Rex kicked the blaster away while Cody rushed forward to restrain you while hissing, “How much, how much did they pay you to sell information?”

Your mind was racing only, mouth gaping as you tried to process the information, “Sir, I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about!” 

“You’re a civilian, you left a comm running after a personal call, we know you’re the mole,” Rex explained, handing Cody a pair of cuffs. Your eyes widened, immediately seeking out Slick’s. 

“No, no, you have to believe me, I wouldn’t do something like this!” You frantically assured them, panic rising up. 

“Go easy on her!”

“She’s not resisting!” 

“Sarge, there has to be something else.” 

You heard three voices but were so shellshocked you couldn’t find the troopers who said them. All their worried faces blurred together. Then there was the angry faces- Rex, Cody, and a few of the scattered troopers who watched disdainfully. 

Your eyes were moving so fast, as your panic rose. Your breathing was frantic, and suddenly Slick was in front of you- eerily calm, “(Y/N), we’ll figure this out- you don’t have to say anything yet.”

“Slick?” Your voice was quiet and broken as Cody and Rex pulled you away. “Slick, I didn’t- I wouldn’t-”

You expected him to follow you- he never let you go through anything alone. But he didn’t just stayed still with his men, watching you get pulled away. Tears pricked your eyes, why wouldn’t he come with you? Why wasn’t he helping you? 

“(Y/L/N), come on.” Cody warned, so you finally stopped dragging your feet as the door slid shut- cutting you off from your family, cutting you off from Slick.

How could he just leave you? 

____________

Five minutes later you were handcuffed to a table in an interrogation room. You were anxious, hungry, and tired.

Ten minutes later they had turned the air down. You were shivering, wishing they’d just come in and talk to you. 

Fifteen minutes later and your tears began to spill over. How could they think you betrayed them? You had given so much for the Republic. Where was Slick? He left you alone- surely he knew you were innocent. 

Twenty minutes later your head was resting on the table when the door was sliding open. 

Cody and Rex walked in, eyes narrowed in on you. Under other circumstances, how terrible you looked would have been comical- but you couldn’t muster the energy for anything other than sad eyes. 

“(Y/L/N), can you tell us where you're from again?” Cody asked, standing across from the table you were cuffed to. Your voice was scratchy as you answered. 

“3rd level coruscant born and raised. My family still lives there.  I-”

Rex interrupted you, “And why did you leave a comm channel open in the communications room- right before us and the generals came back to discuss the battle? You seemed in an awful hurry when you ran into us.”

You stammered your answers. 

 “I-i-I uh,” You paused to collect yourself, “I don’t know if you remember it, but I received clearance from Commander Cody to make a personal call. You can trace it if you want- it was too my mother on Coruscant, a family friend is sick in the hospital.”

“That doesn’t explain why you left the comm open and running. Like a spy.” Cody chimed in. You snapped your gaze to him, wringing your hands.

“Slick came in to tell me that they needed me in the medical bay. It always takes me so long to figure out how to shut them down. So he offered to shut it down for me, so I left him in there and went to the medical bay. Then I ran into you.” You explained. Cody and Rex shared a look, and you couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad thing. 

“And why come armed to the barracks?” Cody asked, sitting down. You bitterly laughed, wiping your hands over your face. 

“That was a misunderstanding, I swear. Gus was in the medical bay, he carries a dc-18 pistol, it must have fallen out of his holster when I was caring for him. I sent him for food and rest, and didn’t find the blaster until after I was done with my shift. I was already coming to give him a brace for his wrist, so I figured it wouldn’t be that big of a deal to bring it to him on my way.” You stumbled through that explanation. 

“And your relationship to Sargent Slick? One of his men called you ‘his girl’.”  Rex asked, watching you carefully- seeing your cheeks reddened.

“I suppose you could say we’re an item. Have been for two months now. If this is about the relationship- I know of at least thirteen other civilian/soldier affairs.” Your eyes flitted to Captain Rex, who you knew for a fact was with an engineer that worked on the resolute. “We keep each other sane during the bad times.” 

The last statement was barely above a whisper. Cody and Rex shared another look, “Have you noticed anything odd about then men? You spend more time among them and some of them are more comfortable around you than us.”

You noted this was the first question not about you, but were grateful for the change in topic, “Oh, uh, most of the men are just frustrated with the battles on this planet- I guess the ambushes make sense if you’re accusing me of being a mole. But some are more tense than others.”

“Like who?” Rex pressed. 

“Well, I know he can’t be involved, but something’s been bothering Slick since he got back.” You answered, “And of course the medics are in a tizzy- these attacks aren’t easy on the men as you know.”

“We’ll be back.” 

____

They came back after fifteen minutes, uncuffing you, “What you said, checks out. We’re sorry for the false accusations.”

Despite the frustration, Rex’s apology at least seemed sincere. Cody helped you up and motioned you out, where Slick was waiting for you. 

“Back to square one.” Cody muttered as they left the two of you. 

“Maybe not.” Was the last you heard of Rex as they turned a corner. 

“Sweetheart, are you ok?” Slick asked. You whipped around to him with a glare. 

“No thanks to you.” You hissed, walking away. The exhaustion, fear, anxiety, and hunger had formed into anger. And it was all directed at Slick- he didn’t do anything to help you. 

“(Y/N), you know that’s not fair. They’re my Commanding officers, I can’t argue with them.” He tried, following you and placing a warm hand on your still cold shoulder. “Sweetheart, you’re freezing.”

“Yeah, that’s how they make you talk in an interrogation room.” You growled, ripping your shoulder away “Don’t change the subject. You didn’t have to argue, but you hand me over like a.. like a.. like a sacrifice. Gus, Chopper, and Sketch were more helpful than you.”

“(Y/N),” he grabbed your arm, whipping you towards him, just strong enough of a hold so you couldn’t get away. You gave him a warning glare, and he dropped your arm, “I let them take you because I knew you were innocent- they wouldn’t find anything on you. Sweetheart, I know you’re angry and I’ll contact you once I’ve gotten everything in order.”

With that he breezed away, leaving you again. Contact me... Find anything on me... like a sacrifice.

Slowly everything clicked. Your heart stung with betrayal. Were you not enough for him? What did the separatists give him that could be worth this? 

But none of those questions mattered. You knew how he was thinking- and you knew what you had to do. 

______

This is way longer than it had to be, but I enjoyed thinking about the 501st from a different angle. I’ve never written for Slick (honestly I think I like Chopper, Gus, and Sketch even more) 

[shijiujun]

[ENG] History3: Trapped Novel - Chapter Two

~6,500 words (proofread by @weilongfu​)

Translation Masterpost can be found here

Disclaimer: Translations are entirely mine - these are not official translations and some phrases have been changed for better English interpretation so you’ll definitely see better/different translations elsewhere. Also keeping in mind when we translated this we aren’t exactly thinking about the style of writing and this translation is as close to the novel as we can make it XD So yes, some parts may be a little awkward to read. And yes some teeny weeny details and words may not turn up in the translation because the Chi to Eng mind acrobatics didn’t work out. If you see asterisks, scroll all the way to the bottom for notes!

Full chapter below the cut

Chapter Two

The sound of a gun’s silencer echoes from inside a black sedan, and both Wang Kun Cheng and his driver are found dead inside with bullet wounds through their right temple, just hours after their meeting with Xing Tian Meng.

Time of death, 9pm.

Meng Shao Fei lies on his bed, thinking back to the meeting with Interpol during the day, where Team 3 and Interpol exchanged information on this case. Although Wang Kun Cheng’s men insist that the person who murdered their leader was Tang Yi, but as seen from Team 3 and Interpol’s investigation, there were no signs of struggle and fights inside the club where both parties met, and   moreover, Tang Yi has a perfect alibi.

As Wang Kun Cheng was shot at close range after he left the club, it is impossible that Tang Yi, who was at another location attending an evening gala dinner — they have CCTV footage to prove that he entered the hotel at 8.30pm and left only at 1am in the morning —  was the culprit for the murder. They aren’t ruling out the possibility of a third party committing the murder at Tang Yi’s orders, but the surveillance cameras in the area were tampered with and damaged before the murder happened, so before they can find further evidence and witnesses, Tang Yi is definitely not the culprit. However, he is curious about one thing… in the 48 hours after news of Wang Kun Cheng’s death was made known, Cambodia’s drug syndicate’s leader Chen Wen Hao immediately returned to Taiwan. Both Chen Wen Hao and Wang Kun Cheng used to be members of Xing Tian Meng, especially Chen Wen Hao. Xing Tian Meng is able to grow to its scale today because it was he and Tang Guo Dong who built the organisation up from scratch.

Even after Chen Wen Hao was sentenced to prison for 24 years due to the skirmish with Si He Hui, but during this time, the person who visited him most frequently was Tang Guo Dong. From this, it is obvious that they were very close to each other and had a deep relationship. If this was so, what reason would Tang Yi, who took over Xing Tian Meng in Tang Guo Dong’s place, have to go create trouble with Chen Wen Hao’s men, and even going so far as to kill the man?

Unable to sleep no matter what he does, Shao Fei finds himself leaving the bed and walking over to his bulletin board, filled entirely with profiles of people and information related to Xing Tian Meng. Staring at the drawing he made, he mumbles, “Four years ago…”

Four years ago, Chen Wen Hao immediately fled for Southeast Asia the moment he was released from prison, and his whereabouts have been unknown ever since until now with his return to Taiwan. Four years ago, Tang Guo Dong and Li Zhen both died on that hill, and no one knew why they met in secret, and there were so many rumors about Li Zhen illegally colluding with the mob. Four years ago, Tang Yi was shot at the scene and managed to live after many attempts at trying to resuscitate him. He became the only survivor of the incident, the only witness who possibly knows what happened on that day.

Meng Shao Fei looks at Tang Yi’s portrait sketch again, and asks it, as if he’s speaking directly to Tang Yi himself, “Aren’t you going clean with the mob? Aren’t you staying away from drugs? And didn’t you say you would never kill a person? Why are you giving up on your principles NOW? Why did you go touch Chen Wen Hao’s people?”

Shao Fei cannot think of any possible answer, and scratches at his head in frustration, pacing back and forth in his apartment.

The Tang Household

Standing at the balcony and looking into the night view in the distance, in Tang Yi’s hand lies a black, metallic lighter. He recalls what Boss Tang said to him eight years ago…

“Drizzle olive oil in the wok and circle it for two rounds? Can we do three rounds?”

At that time, Tang Yi had just turned 20 years old, and the thing he liked to do most was to bother Boss Tang in his space when he could, asking him to pass his cooking skills on to him.

“That’s fine too. The point is you have to make sure the entire wok gets the same amount of heat, that’s why we circle it,” Tang Guo Dong stands next to the stove, an apron tied around his own waist and guides Tang Yi to pay more attention to cooking as he smokes.

People always say that the lines on one’s foreheads represent the passing of time and age, as it catches up with you, and with every horizontal line therein lies a story that belongs to it, but in Tang Yi’s eyes, every mark on Boss Tang’s face is the culmination of both wisdom and duty. No matter how severe the problem is, once it lands in Boss Tang’s hands, the problem can be solved easily, just like no matter how complicated the cooking and recipes are, he is always able to handle it, all the while smoking at the same time.

In comparison Tang Yi is impatient in both his personality and cooking and thus, he deeply respects this man who is both like a father and teacher to him. He wonders if there ever will be a day, where he’s able to catch up to Boss Tang and this 30 year age gap, and from Boss Tang’s mouth hear-

I feel at ease leaving everything to you.

“Don’t smoke when you’re cooking,” Tang Yi says, immediately dropping the garlic and bell peppers he’s holding and snatches the cigarette pressed between Boss Tang’s lips.

The man whose cigarette was snatched away smiles a little helplessly, then crosses his arms and continues guiding Tang Yi, “After you put in the noodles, you need to stir it in the wok, otherwise it’ll stick to the base.”

Tang Yi looks at the food cooking in his wok and says, delighted, “It looks just like yours!”

“We’ll have to try the dish to know.”

Tang Yi tastes a spoonful of the food from the wok, frowns, then picks up the spicy sauce next to him and adds another half a spoon in, “Not spicy enough.”

Tang Guo Dong, who tried the dish at the same time, is frowning on the other hand, because of the spiciness he is tasting in his mouth. “Xiao Tang, you’re eating this so spicy?”

“Strange, why is it that no matter how I cook I just cook it the same way you do?”

“To govern a country is like cooking, have you ever heard of this?”

“No.

Tang Guo Dong smiles, then opens his mouth to explain, “All these years from handling and dealing with the gang’s every single matter no matter how big or small, I felt that, when we do things, we cannot be overly impulsive and rush into things, nor can we be complacent and passive. we have to think through each detail carefully in order to do things well. Take cooking for example, every brother is like an ingredient, you need to understand each ingredient’s taste to be able to put it in a dish, and then the taste of the finished dish will be the best.”

Tang Yi is intrigued by this analogy, and also curious about how Boss Tang sees him, he asks, “So which ingredient am I?”

“Lotus root.”

“Lotus root? Why a lotus root?”

“Did you forget the first time we met, how much dirt you had all over your body? Isn’t it just like the lotus root that’s just been harvested and pulled out from the soil?”

“Oh, so you detested me this much actually,” Tang Yi says, sulking as he brings the wok over to the person who’s plating dishes at his side.

The person most important to him just called him a dirty little runt, how could anyone be happy?

Tang Guo Dong laughs and takes out his cigarette box again. “Hey, Xiao Tang, you were born into unfortunate circumstances and grew up in a terrible environment, you managed to keep your spirit and character pure. I hope you never forget this, and that you don’t ever change.”

At this, Tang Yi returns Tang Guo Dong’s smile and replies, “I got it, Lao Tang. I will keep being like this.”

As long as Tang Guo Dong likes him like this, then Tang Yi will become the person that he likes, because to him, there’s no one else in the world who’s more important to him, more important than Tang Guo Dong.

“Actually, there’s another reason in persevering in cooking,” Tang Guo Dong adds somberly, taking off his apron and walking over to Tang Yi’s side, opening a wine bottle and pouring a glass for himself.

“What is it?”

“People like us who face death every day and are used to it, we don’t even know when we’ll die and go to meet our makers. If we can’t even deal with the basic necessity and function of eating in our lives, then what more fun in our lives can we have? So we have to be serious towards every meal, and that means also that we have to live our lives seriously.

“I understand. So when I’m done learning cooking from you, I’ll let you taste my cooking.”

“Done learning? You little shit, you only just learnt this little bit and you want to represent the Tang family and con people outside already?”

“I have confidence that I don’t need too much time to learn your ways.”

Tang Guo Dong puts up his thumb and praises, “Okay, you’ve got ambition. But if you want to take the wok and metals away from me, it’s not that easy!”

“I won’t disappoint you… although-“ Tang Yi looks at the failed finished product in the wok today, and laughs, “It looks like we still have to eat this not so delicious dish, let’s hope when we are done we won’t need a trip to emergency.”

Watching Tang Yi’s back as he picks up the plate and walk towards the dining room, Tang Guo Dong, who’s lived more than half a century, stops smiling, and in his heart, he makes a decision.

At a Japanese restaurant

The various members of Team 3 are gathered at a restaurant undercover as guests and wait staff for the ongoing investigation on Wang Kun Cheng’s death. They are currently surveilling a particular guest, who’s discussing business with another person.

Suddenly, a tall figure walks into the store, and once Shao Fei, who’s seated right at the entrance of the restaurant sees him, he stands up and brings the other person to a corner in the restaurant.

“Why are you here?”

Walking into the restaurant and stunned at seeing Shao Fei, Tang Yi abandons his original intentions for coming here and turns to leave.

“Since the police are investigating a case, I will not disturb.”

On the other side of the restaurant, Zhao Li An, who’s dressed as a waiter, is just about to run over to stop Shao Fei, but Zhou Guan Zhi stops him by holding onto his arm. He eyes Zhao Zi, indicating that they should continue as planned, or they will risk ruining the mission this time.

Shao Fei grabs onto Tang Yi’s elbow, staring right into his eyes and asks, “Since you’re already here, you might as well assist us on our investigation. Do you know a person called ‘Chen Wen Hao’?”

Tang Yi’s expression suddenly becomes stiff, and this does not go unnoticed by the cop who’s been hounding him for the past four years.

“Looks like we have the same goal, we’re here for the same person,” Shao Fei continues, his eyebrows raised.

“So you killed Wang Kun Cheng just to lure Chen Wen Hao back here. And for you, Xing Tian Meng’s leader who’s also trying to wash everything clean at the moment, to care so much about a Cambodian drug syndicate leader, there can only be two reasons. Firstly, you’ve made him come back because this was Tang Guo Dong’s mission for you.Or two, Chen Wen Hao has something to do with the double homicide from four years ago.”

Shao Fei’s guesses are so close to the truth, that in that moment, Tang Yi’s repressed rage emerges again — these four years, he has wanted to kill this person who’s only ever ruined all his plans countless of times, but countless of times, Tang Yi has also had to end his murderous thoughts towards this police officer.

Such action is out of character for Tang Yi — if Hong Ye and Ah De are unable to comprehend why he’s doing this, Tang Yi himself has no idea either.

“Have I hit the nail on the head, is that why you want to run?”

“I have nothing to say to Officer Meng,” Tang Yi snaps, gritting his teeth and turning away to leave the store.

He follows the stairs outside the restaurant to where he parked his car. His tone filled with anger, Shao Fei who’s only ever seen Tang Yi’s two sarcastic and cold expressions, is momentarily stunned. He breaks out of his trance, then rushes out of the restaurant to chase Tang Yi, his hand pressing against Tang Yi’s chest and stopping him from moving forward, his eyes incredibly sharp.

“I’m getting closer to the truth, correct?”

If he isn’t getting closer to the truth, why would Xing Tian Meng’s poker-faced leader make the effort of snapping at him?

“Officer Meng has his own mission that he’s not carrying out, and instead he’s here to obstruct my freedom again?”

“If my hypothesis is correct, then following you is the only way I can find out the truth.”

Tang Yi pushes Shao Fei’s hand away and walks over to the driver’s side to open the door, but Shao Fei grabs onto his wrist instead, slamming shut the door that’s just been opened.

“I’m asking you to leave, did you not hear me? These four years my tolerance towards you has reached a tipping point. Meng. Shao. Fei! Don’t test my patience!”

He pushes Shao Fei away, hard, and settles in the driver’s seat, shutting the door behind him securely. Unexpectedly, Shao Fei circles the car to the passenger side and unceremoniously sits inside the car, holding onto the brake.

“Tang Yi, if I don’t get my answers today I’m not letting you leave!”

Tang Yi points outside and shouts, “I’m warning you for the last time, get out of my car.”

“Hmph!”

Shao Fei turns to grab for the seatbelt, obviously having no intention to leave.

“You!”

Angrily, Tang Yi swings his right fist out to restrain both of Shao Fei’s hands, reaching to his back and grabbing the young police officer’s gun, that Tang Yi knows he has usually stuffed into the back of his waist, then pressing the muzzle of the gun to Shao Fei’s temple.

Just as Tang Yi is about to throw Shao Fei out of the car, the driver’s seat door is flung open from the outside, and reflex has Tang Yi moving the hand holding onto the gun towards the person outside, but his opponent quickly strikes at his hand, the gun falling to the ground.

Losing his most useful weapon hardly means that he has no other way to defend himself. He rushes out of the car with tight fists and immediately starts to land repeated blows on his attacker, who’s clad in a black suit. Shao Fei on the other hand is also facing a similar attack by a person wearing a black baseball cap and fighting him intensely.

Eventually, both Tang Yi and Shao Fei are forced into a corner by their attackers, pressed back to back. Unconsciously, they leave their vulnerable backs to one another, exchange a glance and then simultaneously attack. Punches and kicks going against the two men with retractable batons and knives, they are soon overpowered by the weapons.

“Boss wants you to meet him,” says the man attacking Tang Yi, pushing him to the floor and pressing a knife at his jugular.

===

As the black van follows along the left and right curves of the mountainous road, the occupants of the vehicle find themselves swaying from left to right as well.

“I can’t believe I’m handcuffed by my own handcuffs.”

Tang Yi side-eyes the man next to him, and scoffs, “It’s not like this is the first time.”

“Hey do you have to speak like this? If you didn’t take away my gun, would we be in this situation?” Shao Fei retorts, holding up his right hand that is currently attached to Tang Yi’s.

“Shut up!” warns the man seated in the third row of the car, one hand holding up a knife.

Tang Yi turns around to look at the man in black seated right behind them, and says, “Kidnapping a police officer is going to get troublesome for you guys.”

The man ignores Tang Yi; instead, it is the man seated in front driving the van that shoots both hostages a look through the rearview mirror, and smiles icily, “You should worry about yourself first!”

Their hands handcuffed together, Tang Yi taps Shao Fei’s pinky finger with his own, and once their gazes meet, Tang Yi gestures at Shao Fei. Shao Fei nods in understanding, then in an irritated tone, laments, “Why is it that when you guys do bad things you always run towards the mountains? It’s not that I want to comment, but this method lacks so much creativity that it really isn’t OK-“

Shao Fei yells immediately, after ensuring that Tang Yi’s right hand is creeping towards the handbrake of the van, “NOW!”

Bam!

Tang Yi kicks at the driver’s right arm, sending the man forward against the steering wheel, and at the same time Shao Fei leans forward to pull the handbrake up. The van strikes against the walls of the mountain and the impact stops the van immediately. Before the driver can react, Shao Fei has already moved into the passenger seat and with a kick, knocks the driver out.

He sees Tang Yi getting punched in the face by the other guy in the back, and Tang Yi, with his hand movement restricted, can barely defend himself against the attack. Seeing that the other guy is rushing towards Tang Yi with a knife in his hands, Shao Fei moves back to his seat and stands between Tang Yi and his attacker, getting a slash across his arm for his trouble. Then, they use the handcuff chains between them to trap their attacker’s wrists, and Tang Yi strikes the knife in his hands to the ground.

In the chaos, Tang Yi sees Shao Fei’s wound on his right arm, bleeding profusely.

And right in that moment, Tang Yi loses all composure and logic that he is so proud of. He swings his fist repeatedly at his attacker, and doesn’t stop even when his face is all bloodied from the impact of his punches.

“We have to go!”

Shao Fei is afraid that Tang Yi will just kill the man, so he opens the door and pulls Tang Yi, who has lost all control, out of the car. They give up on moving along the visible and easily trackable roads and instead choose to head inside the dense forest to escape.

In between the trees, four other men — their attackers’ accomplices who were travelling behind them in another van — split up to look through every nook and cranny of the forest.

“Damn it, they can really hide huh?”

“Did you find them on your side?”

“No.”

“You, and you, go that side and look.”

“Yes.”

They continue their search for an hour to no avail, and they do not realise that the Xing Tian Meng leader they’re trying to find is actually hiding behind a big rock, covered in green moss.

Tang Yi is using his entire body to protect and shield Shao Fei, until the noise grows faint and more distant from their hiding spot, only then does Tang Yi heave a sigh of relief. He turns around and crouches low to the ground, using the rock as a backrest.

Maybe it’s because fleeing for their lives is an intense sport, or maybe it’s because the both of them were suddenly so close to each other earlier, so close that Shao Fei can even catch a hint of Tang Yi’s cologne, Shao Fei feels his face heating up strangely. All he can do is raise their hands up, still cuffed to each other, to distract himself.

“If only we didn’t have this.”

“Who brought it here?”

Having just experienced a life or death situation, Tang Yi’s tone as he speaks to Shao Fei has changed somewhat from before. From being ice cold and distant, Tang Yi is now talking as if he would make fun of a friend.

Unable to retort, Shao Fei rolls his eyes instead, but in the next second see Tang Yi using his right hand to pinch at this left thumb, and just as he’s about to ask, he hears the sound of a bone being dislocated.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

With his left thumb dislocated successfully, Tang Yi’s hand leaves the restraints of the handcuffs, and then easily snaps his dislocated thumb back into its original place. Shao Fei can feel how painful that action just was just by looking, but Tang Yi just did it with barely a sound and a frown.

“This can also work?”

Shao Fei, with wide eyes, watches as Tang Yi just walks off with a shake of his hands, then follows the man to hopefully somewhere more suitable to hide at, a hand covering his own wound.

===

Ding dong ding dong!

“Ah Fei!!! Ah Fei are you inside?” Zhao Zi stands outside Shao Fei’s apartment door, one hand pressing at the doorbell and the other dialling Shao Fei’s number, but all he gets is Shao Fei’s voice message.

“This is Meng Shao Fei, if there’s anything urgent, please leave a message.”

“Ah Fei if you don’t pick up the phone, Boss is really going to throw me out!”

Zhao Zi’s pitiful complaint echoes down the empty stairway. After half an hour of no reply, all he can do is give up. He walks down the stairs, worried.

“I’m at the alley near Ah Fei’s house. He’s not at home and I can’t get through to him on his phone. Oh, okay. We’ll keep in touch. I’ll contact you guys after I find him. Okay, bye.”

Hanging up on the call with his team’s colleagues, Zhao Zi recalls how Boss always scolds him for not using his brains, and at the spur of the moment, he leaves his phone in his jacket’s pocket and pulls up the zip, then does a handstand and begins walking on the ground on his hands.

He giggles. He’s actually still pretty smart, as long as he make all the blood rush into the top of his head, and when that happens, his brain will begin to work at a higher capacity. Maybe he’ll be able to find a way to find Shao Fei like this even! Just as Zhao Zi smiles gleefully to himself, a pair of cool blue leather shoes step into his line of vision, and as his eyes follow along those long legs all the way up to see who this person is, he sees the man who he brought to the station previously. Tang Yi’s bodyguard, the man called Jack.

“Are you looking for me?”

Zhao Zi puts both his legs down and dusts his hands off, but Jack grabs him by the back of his shirt collar around his neck, and picks him up. “Let’s go!”

“Huh? What are you doing? Where are you bringing me to?”

Like a rabbit whose neck was just bitten by a wolf in the wild, Zhao Zi follows the man called Jack helpless, leaving the alley at Shao Fei’s house.

“What are you catching me for?” asks Zhao Zi later.

He doesn’t know when he was struck unconscious. All he knows is that when he woke up earlier, he found himself incarcerated in a dark room. In the room sits only a single lamp and the big bad wolf who caught him, and brought him here.

“Where did Meng Shao Fei bring my boss?”

Zhao Zi opens his mouth wide, surprised, and asks, “Ah Fei is really with Tang Yi then?”

“Are you pretending to be stupid?”

Jack, with a whole head of red hair, glares at the rookie police officer, his eyes tinged with a glint of danger and sharpness. Jack doesn’t know what tricks Zhao Zi is playing here, but he takes out his phone, and plays the surveillance footage from the camera at the Japanese restaurant’s entrance for Zhao Zi to see.

“They’re really together! I’m looking for Ah Fei urgently, do you know where they went?” He sighs. “Forget it. You definitely don’t know either, otherwise you wouldn’t have brought me here… Damn it, if we don’t find Ah Fei soon, it’ll be my turn to write 3000 words in my apology letter,” Zhao mumbles, standing up from the chair.

“Call him!” Jack commands, taking out his phone and presenting it to his ‘hostage’.

“I tried, but his phone is switched off.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I said, if I can’t get through to him, I really can’t get through to him.”

Jack holds onto his own phone, and coldly says, “Then give me his number, I’ll call.”

“I’m not going to give it to you! I’m a police officer and at the very least I need to ensure that my colleague is protected and safe, so I won’t give you Ah Fei’s number. I absolutely will not!”

Intrigued suddenly by this fearless boy, Jack circles around Zhao Zi, then stares at him head on, unnervingly.

“Even if you glare at me I won’t.”

Jack takes a step forward, approaching the boy who’s hugging his knees and curling into a ball on the couch.

“Even if you beat me to death I won’t.”

Bam!

Wrapped in fingerless leather gloves, that fist suddenly slams against the back of the couch, and the sound of something being hit echoes in the room.

“No matter what you do, I won’t!”

Zhao Zi is so afraid that he’s already covering his own ears, his entire body shaking in fear, and yet he still refuses Jack in a clear, loud voice.

Jack’s lips curve in a smile. He turns around and walks out of the dark room, and locks the door from the outside.

“Hey! Open the door! Open the door!! Don’t leave me here alone! Hey!” shouts the rookie cop at the top of his lungs as he strikes at the door, the rookie cop who’s not afraid of threats but is apparently, afraid of the dark.

On the mountains, in an abandoned structure

In order to hide from either Wang Kun Cheng or Chen Wen Hao’s men, both Tang Yi and Shao Fei chose to take temporary refuge at this abandoned house first. They started a fire earlier with the wood that Tang Yi found to keep warm, and it is the only source of light in the dark place.

“Can you really not help me open this?” Shao Fei asks, shaking the handcuff still attached to his right wrist.

Tang Yi sends Shao Fei a look, then stresses, “It will hurt!”

“Please, I, Meng Shao Fei, have survived even bullet wounds, will I be scared of this pain?”

Carelessly, Shao Fei reaches his hand over, but the moment Tang Yi grabs onto his thumb and starts to twist it, Shao Fei begins to yell out in pain, “It hurts! It seriously hurts!!”

“I thought you aren’t afraid of pain?”

“Stop twisting it!! Okay okay, I’ll just keep on wearing it then!” Shao Fei implores, his face entirely pale as he hits at Tang Yi’s arm to let him go.

Tang Yi smiles knowingly, as if expecting this outcome all along, and returns to his position by the fire. At this, Shao Fei steals glances at Tang Yi with astonishment, and mumbles, “Fuck. How can this not hurt? Does that guy have any pain nerves in the first place?”

Leaning against the wall, Tang Yi watches as Shao Fei picks up the unused wood and head towards the inside of the house, and he asks, “What are you doing?”

“The weather is so cold, I’m going to start a fire inside and at night we’ll sleep in there.”

“I’m going to take the first watch,” refuses Tang Yi.

It’s as if his rejection just erected a tall and cold wall between them both, but Shao Fei is already used to the way Tang Yi is, so he merely shrugs. He picks up the lighter sitting next to the wood, and says, “Up to you. If you’re not afraid of the cold you can sleep here by yourself, I’m going inside, and lend me this-“

“Don’t touch that!”

Suddenly, Tang Yi who was just a few seconds ago sitting next to the fire, snatches the lighter back from Shao Fei’s hands.

“Why are you so fierce? If you don’t give me the lighter how am I going to start a fire?”

Tang Yi does not reply, only picking up glowing branch from the fire and passing it to Shao Fei. He listens as Shao Fei’s mumbles return to where he was earlier, and as he looks at the lighter sitting in his palm, Tang Yi recalls…

Four years ago

“Here.”

After lighting a cigarette, Tang Guo Dong passes the lighter in his hand to the young man standing next to him.

“Why?”

“I thought you liked it?”

“No work, no reward,” Tang Yi places the lighter back in Tang Guo Dong’s hand, and seriously looks at the man. “What do you want me to help you with?”

Tang Guo Dong is stunned for a moment, and then he laughs, “”Xiao Tang, it’s really so hard to lie to you! I think you, too, know the answer to this question. Help to dismantle Xing Tian Meng, and start to move everything into legal businesses.”

“Aren’t you already doing that?”

“I need someone to continue doing it for me.”

Tang Yi frowns, and once again snatches the cigarette away from Tang Guo Dong’s mouth. “Don’t say that as if you’re going to die soon.”

“When you’re in this line of business, you must always be prepared for death.”

Tang Guo Dong exhales, then opens his left hand where the lighter rests in his palm. He asks, “So what is it? Do you dare take it?”

“Hmph. You failed at your request, so you’ve switched to challenging me instead?”

Tang Guo Dong laughs, taking the cigarette back from Tang Yi, and replies, “You’ll accept it, because you hate drugs more than anyone else. But to make sure you take care of everyone, you need to have money, that’s why no gang in the world will stay away from drugs. Since we’ve decided to call a halt to it, we must be prepared.”

“The person you’re meeting tomorrow… is there a problem?”

“No.. it’s just,” Tang Guo Dong shakes his head, then reaches out with his left arm and hooks it around Tang Yi, “Just treat it as a back up plan. Please. If one day I’m not here anymore, you have to continue with the work of washing Xing Tian Meng clean.”

Hesitantly, Tang Yi looks at Tang Guo Dong who’s speaking with so much emotion. Tang Guo Dong, who is both his father and teacher.

“Xiao Tang! Humans are really too weak, we’re always looking for excuses so we can escape, finding excuses so we can make mistakes, and even blaming our failures on fate, but we forget that for every decision and action we make, we have to pay its price. After all, the money we made from drugs is dirty money, and even if we survived long enough to earn the money, we wouldn’t get to spend it. I don’t want our brothers to live a life standing at the edge of death. I’m not afraid to be laughed at, but it took me a few decades to realise that the best life is one where we live normally.”

“What’s good about a normal life? We’ll only get bullied.”

Just like that year’s 12-year old Tang Yi and 10-year old Hong Ye, two children stranded on the streets, homeless — that was normal enough a life, was it not? But ‘normal’ didn’t feed them, and it would only ensure that they get bullied by children older than they, and if they didn’t meet Tang Guo Dong then, they probably wouldn’t have made it to adulthood. They definitely would not be like this now, having experienced the happiness of being doted on by someone.

Tang Guo Dong turns around, leaning against the railings behind him and thinks about the past. “Maybe the you right now won’t be able to understand, but some people, because of me, were robbed of the ‘normal life’ he should have had. I owe him too much, and in this life, I am unable to make amends.”

“Who? A woman?” Tang Yi asks curiously, looking at the man who, with every sentence, is becoming even more serious.

However, Tang Guo Dong has no intentions of answering that question, and instead just smiles. “One day there’ll be a certain someone who will make you understand what it means to lead a normal life, and what a beautiful feeling it is, to be able to lead this life. So, do you accept?”

The lighter is once against thrust under his nose, and this time, as Tang Yi looks at the wisps of white smoke in the air, he promises, “I promise you. If you’re not around anymore, I will still make sure Xing Tian Meng is washed clean, even if I die-“

“Hey hey hey! You’ve only got one life, don’t waste it.”

Tang Guo Dong tries to stop Tang Yi from saying such inauspicious words, but the 24-year old merely looks into the sky and repeats what the man just told him, “When you’re in this line of business, you must always be prepared for death.”

“You!”

Lines pulling at the edges of his mouth as he smiles, Tang Guo Dong looks at Tang Yi, doting.

“Lao Tang.”

“Hmm?”

Tang Guo Dong throws the butt of his cigarette on the ground and steps on it, then proceeds to light up a second stick.

“I want to ask you a question.”

“Nnn!”

“Why did you pick me? Xing Tian Meng has so many other uncles, and brothers, no? Even if you wanted to find someone younger, there’s still-“

“It can only be you.”

“Why?”

“Because only if I hand it over to you will I be at ease.”

Tears quickly fill his eyes and his vision blurs. Tang Yi looks away, because finally, he’s hearing the words he wanted to hear most.

I’ll be at ease, handing everything over to you.

On the mountains, in an abandoned structure

Tang Yi returns back to the present from his thoughts, only to see that Shao Fei is already lying on the wooden boards, prepared to sleep.

“I really envy you, you can sleep anywhere.”

Lying on the boards, Shao Fei covers his own body with his olive green jacket, as he removed the jacket earlier to treat his own wound, and says, “As human beings we need to be adaptable and take whatever comes, a young, rich master like you who can’t sleep without a bed will never understand.”

“Do you know how to train, to escape?”

Shao Fei looks at Tang Yi at his sudden, seemingly irrelevant question, not understanding why he’s bringing this up at all.

“You have to train when you’re young. First, you twist the thumb inwards. Wait for the bone to grow again and then twist it broken again. Grow, then break. You practice it repeatedly until you’re able to do it. I ask you, which rich master from any family grows up like that?”

Shao Fei looks at this man, who now seems so different from the man he imagined in his head, and asks, “Who forced you to?”

“No one forced me to, I wanted to do it myself. Being part of any gang… we are closer to death, and when you want to survive, you’ll force yourself to do a lot of things.”

“So it’s not that you can’t sleep… but you don’t dare to sleep?”

So when Tang Yi said that he would keep watch earlier, it wasn’t because he was distancing himself, or putting a wall back up in between the both of them, but because the man before his eyes doesn’t feel that he has a person he can truly rely on and trust.

At this sudden display of sensitivity from the usually impulsive and fiery character that is Shao Fei, Tang Yi is speechless. He then laughs wistfully, walking to where there should have been windows installed in this entire building. Leaning against the rusty surface and looking at the clear sky and moon, he says, “I’m only pretending to go legal with Xing Tian Meng, actually I am-“

Shao Fei gets up from where he’s seated and interrupts Tang Yi’s sarcastic monologue. Bowing, he apologises, “It’s my fault! I was wrong. I was too full of myself, to be so sure that it was you… Tang Yi, I’m sorry!”

Tang Yi looks at the man before him, and somewhere deep inside his heart, he is moved by Shao Fei’s words.

“Hey, I’ve already said so much, you should at least give me a response!”

“This is my first time seeing a monkey who knows how to reflect on himself.”

“Hey! Who are you calling a monkey? Let me tell you, even if you’re sincere in trying to wash Xing Tian Meng clean, I will be keeping my eyes on you. The moment you do anything illegal, I’ll still arrest you!”

“Keep your eyes on me?”

“Yes! Keep my eyes on you. Both eyes!” Shao Fei points his fingers at Tang Yi.

In that moment, Tang Yi’s mouth curves into a smile that Shao Fei has never seen before, and says, “Okay. Then I’ll keep on letting you keep your eyes on me.”

“Then I- I’m going to sleep. Good- good night…”

Suddenly, Shao Fei can feel his cheeks heating up again. He flees back to the corner he was lying at earlier, pulls his jacket over himself and pretends to sleep.

[galadrieljones]

that he may hold me by the hand: chapter 2

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Albert Mason  

Rating: Mature (Adult Themes, Violence, and Sexual Content)

Summary: After saving Albert from stumbling off a cliff in the Heartlands, Arthur invites him to Valentine for a drink. What ensues after that is a quiet love story, in which both men find themselves completely undone.

Masterpost | AO3 | Epigraph

Chapter 2: We don’t have to talk.

Arthur showed up to Strawberry a couple of days early. He played a bunch of blackjack in the speakeasy and won the pot so many times he began to piss people off. He knew how to cheat and calculate cards. He never made for sleight of hand anymore, though he used to. He chewed on coccaine gum at the speakeasy counter on the night before he was set to meet Albert and struck up conversation with a widow who boarded in an apartment in town. Her name was Wanda Eugene, and she had once been married to a rustler named Cody and claimed to have lived in Texas for most of her life.

“I ain’t met a lot of women married to rustlers no more,” said Arthur.

“Well, he’s dead,” said Wanda. “So.”

They were drinking whiskey. “You miss Texas?”

“Most days.”

“What’s keeping you from going back?”

She had wide, tired eyes, but she was mild-looking. Pretty in a plain sort of way. She was probably about Arthur’s age with a tight braid down her back and wearing blue jeans. She said that she could not go back to Texas. She said that every time she even thought about going back, she was met with nightmares of the way her late husband had died. “Shot by a Ranger,” she said. “Three times in the back. They thought he was somebody else. Fucking two-bit assholes.”

“Jesus Christ,” said Arthur.

“Jesus was not there that day, I can assure you. I hate lawmen. I wish they’d all die.”

She openly asked him to spend the night with her then. She said he seemed big and rough, and she missed that sort of man. She was sick of the soft-handed. Arthur found himself oddly flattered. “I ain’t much for temptation, Mrs. Eugene. If I was, you might just be it.”

“Is that a No then?”

“It is.”

She sighed. “Good grief. I’m just so goddam lonely. I’m starting to forget what it is to feel.” She finished her whiskey and ordered another from the bartender who was missing a front tooth. “One for my friend here, too,” she said.

Arthur knew the feeling of which she spoke. He missed the human body. He often wished he still got the inclination to sleep with strangers. And when it came to working girls, he had lost his interest. He felt beyond their wiles, as he could tell that they were all so deadened to touch, they hardly noticed their own needs, and this was not what he wanted. He just wanted something warm, something that would react to him. For a moment, he reconsidered her offer, but ultimately, he just smiled.

“You got a wife, I bet,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he lied. It was easier to lie.

The next day, Arthur woke up late with a headache. He had some oatmeal in the lounge. The proprietor of the hotel in Strawberry was annoying. He spoke regularly of the town as if it were the center of the universe. Arthur wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up and take a vacation. But he didn’t.

He waited and read the newspaper. The front page went on about Valentine and all that had gone down there. SHOOTOUT IN VALENTINE. A whole lot of shit. Arthur sighed, folded the paper in half and set it away. He wore his hat and sat in a chair by the window and smoked, thinking of anything else. People went in and out of the door. He didn’t see Wanda again.

Albert arrived about half-past noon, looking dead beat and like hadn’t slept in days.

“Mr. Mason,” said Arthur, rising to meet him.

Albert sneezed and refused a hand shake.

“What’s going on?” said Arthur. “You sick?”

“I am,” said Albert, blowing his nose into a handkerchief. “I caught a terrible cold a few days back. Truth be told, I thought it would have subsided by now.”

“That ain’t no good.”

“No sir. However, it is good to see you.” He straightened up and removed his hat. He smiled, his kind eyes. He didn’t look so bad upon further inspection. A little puffy maybe.

“It’s good to see you, too,” said Arthur. He took Albert’s bag, told him to take a seat. “You know, we can postpone our journey, if you wanna rest up a bit.”

“No, no,” said Albert. “I’d prefer not to. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“As have I, but I don’t want you to get any sicker.”

“You are a true gentleman, Arthur. But I assure you, I’ll be fine.”

They left about an hour later, packed up their horses and rode northwest. Albert sneezed most of the way but kept up. He was a better rider than Arthur had realized. It was easy to underestimate him. He made a mental note not to do that anymore.

They followed the river. When they got to the heart of Big Valley, Albert slowed his horse and shouted for Arthur to hold up a second. They were in the middle of a huge, purple field of lavender. The breeze was coming through, rustling the plants. There was a flock of sheep nearby, and a young man shepherd on horseback. Whitetail everywhere. “My lord,” said Albert. He got off of his horse, took a few steps and looked around. “Do you see all this?”

“Yes, sir,” said Arthur. He leaned forward to pat Amelia on the main. “It sure is majestic. I knew you’d like it.”

“Like it?” said Albert. “It’s magnificent.” He looked at Arthur, serious, no longer sneezing, just full of reverence. “Thank you for taking me here. I’ve already forgotten why we’ve come, but I am quite certain I never want to leave. It is truly Arcadia.”

Arthur smiled, very pleased. He dusted his hands together and hopped right off his horse. “To find the bear, we gotta go out to the edges of the valley,” he said. “It’s a little more dangerous out there. Kind of barbed territory. There’s cougar and boar. It ain’t friendly. But here, here I reckon we’re pretty safe.”

“If you say so,” said Albert. “I’d like to get a few shots of all this, if you don’t mind. The fields. They smell so darn good. I wish I could capture that in a photo.”

“Only way to do that is in writing, I expect.”

“Absolutely,” said Albert. Then, “Do you write, Arthur?”

The question took Arthur by surprise. He glanced up to the sky. A couple of sparrows took off, whipping up out of the foliage. “Sometimes,” he said. He hooked his hands over his belt in a casual fashion. “I have been known to write a little.”

Albert smiled. “I should like to read it someday, your writing.”

“Oh, no,” said Arthur. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a journal,” said Arthur. “It’s just ramblings. Sketches here and there. It ain’t really intended for an audience.”

“You’re an artist?”

He blushed. “Well, I—”

“Say no more,” said Albert, still effusive but seeming to catch his drift. “I’ll quit prying.”

“That’s okay.”

Albert assembled his camera, his tripod. He took many pictures of the fields. He took pictures of the sheep and the shepherd, the little dog with two different colored eyes that herded the sheep. Arthur watched. He ate a can of strawberries with a little tin spoon, smoked four cigarettes. He and Albert talked of stuff he would later forget about, idle things. Arthur managed to get a few sketches in—one of the dog, one of Albert photographing the dog. They fed the horses and before long, the sun was losing steam and the light growing long and lost across the valley. The bubbling streams filled with herbivores, coming to drink. Albert put away his camera with the loss of the light, and with this, it was too late to go looking for bear. They decided to make camp.

They washed their faces in the creek, set up a couple tents. Arthur caught a fish for their dinner while Albert sat by the fire, rolling cigarettes. He had a particular talent for this. His tobacco product was very neat and looked expensive.

Arthur cleaned and cooked the fish. After dinner, he poured some whiskey into a flask, and night fell. They sat, warming themselves by the fire. Albert gave him one of the cigarettes, struck a match, lit it, and then lit his own. Albert’s cold seemed to be clearing with the fresh air, but now it was getting chilly, and he had grown tired. Arthur rolled some more cigarettes. His were looser than Albert’s, not quite as meticulously sealed.

They sat and smoked for a while, existing. Arthur had a flask of whiskey, which they began to pass. At some point, Albert cleared his throat and sat up to speak. “So, Arthur.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How has everything been going, since I saw you last?”

Arthur glanced at him. He plucked a big old piece of grass from the earth, the cigarette hitched to the corner of his mouth. “Fine,” he said. “Just fine.”

“Are you still living in the Heartlands?”

“No,” he said, shredding that piece of grass between his fingers.

“Oh?” said Albert. “Where have you moved?”

“Further south,” said Arthur, laying the pieces of grass side by side. “Near a big old lake.”

“Flat Iron Lake?”

“That might be the one.”

“Good fishing, or so I hear.”

“That, it is.”

The fire crackled and sparked. It was like molten lava. Albert smoked and blew the smoke and flicked the ashes to the earth. He could tell that Arthur didn’t really want to talk about it. His head was a little stuffy. He blinked, took a drag.

“How you feeling?” said Arthur. “Your cold.”

“Better,” said Albert. “A little tired, but no worse for the wear.”

Arthur picked up a pebble then, tossed it into the fire. Albert took a drink from the flask and watched as Arthur picked up another pebble, held it in his palm, and then he absentmindedly closed it in his fist. He turned his fist over, sort of shook it, and when he opened his hand again, the pebble was gone. It was a marvelous surprise.

Albert laughed and set the flask down between them. “You know magic?”

Arthur seemed to have surprised himself. “A little,” he said, smiling. “I learned sleight of hand when I was kid, for cheating cards. My dad taught me, before he died. And I know a magician, too. He’s taught me a couple of things here and there. We’ve traded tricks over the years.”

“Your father, what did he do?”

“Rob banks mostly.”

“I see.”

“Anyway,” said Arthur.

“I must say,” said Albert. “I’m impressed. Is there anything you can’t do?”

Arthur turned red—like a fast, hot streak in which he seemed to vibrate, but only for a moment. “You flatter me.”

“Maybe you can show me how to do that. It’s a great parlor trick.”

“Do you hang out in many parlors, Albert?”

Albert found this to be funny. He laughed. “Oh, no. Not anymore. Perhaps a long time ago. Back in Pennsylvania, when I was a teenager. But I’ve done with all that.”

"All what.”

“The social circus. What have you.”

“Ah.”

“My interest in photography came about precisely so that I could have an excuse to get out of the house. I suppose that it took, though I am quite dreadful. Still, I try. I enjoy it a great deal.”

“You’re not dreadful, Albert. Quit talking about yourself that way.”

Albert knew that he was right. He was gratified. He took another drink from the flask, passed it. Arthur was a big man beside him. He’d never really sat next to him before. He was taller than Albert, though not a great deal—just enough, and his width, his wingspan, it could intimidate. Albert was not intimidated. He looked down, finished his cigarette, tossed it into the fire. The air was cold, and he shifted toward Arthur a little, almost absentmindedly.

“Hey,” said Arthur after a little while, swigging from the flask.

Albert jumped. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I was just gonna ask, how did that meeting go with the gallery owner?”

“Oh,” said Albert, scratching at his beard a little. “It went well. Thank you for asking. I have another meeting in a few weeks. I’ve promised more material. From the Big Valley, of course.”

“That’s real good, I expect?”

“Yes, sir. It is.”

Arthur stared at him. He seemed a little sad, but it was way in the back somewhere. He took a drink of his whiskey and then looked back at the fire. “Good.”

“Arthur,” said Albert.

“Yep.”

“Thank you for taking me here,” he said. Arthur looked back, genuine. “I’m very fond of the terrain.” Albert took a deep breath. “I’m fond of you. I’m glad you’re with me.”

Arthur looked down at his hands. “Yeah, me, too,” he said, then he looked up and smiled, warm. He had little scars on his face. They were like little pieces taken away, or dents. Here and there. His hands were big and worn. Albert watched as he reached into his front pocket, took out a couple more cigarettes. He held one out for Albert. Albert took it. Their fingers touched. Something kicked up between them, but it was momentary.

“I think I’ll save this.” Albert smiled. “For now, I should be off to sleep. I’m still under the weather. I’d like to be fresh for tomorrow.”

“Good idea,” said Arthur, lighting the cigarette. “I’m gonna keep watch, just for a little while. There’s cougars around here. Sometimes they’re drawn to the smell of a campfire.”

Albert stood up, dusted off his pants. “It’s chilly,” he said. “Don’t stay up too late, and be careful.”

“Don’t worry about me. You get some sleep now, Mr. Mason.”

“Goodnight, Arthur,” said Albert.

“Goodnight.”

Back in his tent, Albert removed his boots and his hat. He scrubbed his scalp a little. He smoothed his beard, looked down at his fingers where he held the cigarette. Then he tucked it into the band of his hat. He lay back and closed his eyes. He could smell the smoke from Arthur’s cigarette, coming in through the tent flaps. Arthur’s tobacco was fresh and cut with a little bit of sweetness. He couldn’t tell what, but he could tell that Arthur had dried and treated it himself. It was not store-bought. Albert felt disoriented all of a sudden, like he was coming apart a little. He turned onto his side to go to sleep.

Meanwhile, Arthur fell asleep next to the fire, hardened into the dirt as a root. He hadn’t meant to drift, but the night was peaceful, and he’d got woozy from the booze and it made his eyes droop. He rarely dreamed in those days. It was almost as if he was too locked down, too unwilling to look behind the curtain of his own subconscious, for fear of what he might find there. But that night, he had a dream. It was a very simple dream. He dreamed that a pretty buck had come down into the valley while he slept. The sky was a cold and lonely mountain, far away, and he was beneath it, waiting. The buck had twelve points. It entered the moonlight, emerging from a shallow den of trees on the edge of the lavender field. He wanted badly to sketch it, but he knew that he was sleeping, and it would be gone by the time he woke. He dreamed that the buck came over to sniff around the campfire. It sniffed around his face. Its cold nose was on his ear. He tried to make sense of the feeling. He awoke.

What he awoke to was nothing so peaceful. He felt that cold touch on his ear, but it was no buck. It was the mouth of a gun, pressing on his face. It was nudging him into consciousness.

“It’s him,” said a voice.

Arthur opened his eyes. It was dawn. He saw a young man—maybe twenty-four or twenty-five years old—a ruffian with missing teeth in the front wearing a long black coat. He looked serious. He was holding a shotgun to Arthur’s head.

Arthur felt the adrenaline, sucking into his chest and yanking him from the dream. Like being plunged into ice cold water, and it near on made him nauseous. He eased his hands over his head, turned onto his back. “Easy,” he said. “Easy, boy.”

“Shoot him,” said another voice.

“Colm said bring him to Hanging Dog alive,” said the boy.

Arthur was suddenly terrified. He glanced to the tent. He saw that it had been roughed up. Then he saw the other guy—he had Albert by the throat with a pistol to the head, and Albert looked white with fear and a little queasy. He was ragged, unnatural with his hands up like that. It triggered something in Arthur. He initially made to lunge, but he caught a boot to the gut for that, sending him to his side curled up like a goddam snail. The sound he’d made was ugly. He felt bludgeoned with regret, as he knew what he was going to have to do. “You’re making a mistake,” he said.

“You’re coming with us,” said the boy. “You go quiet, and we’ll let your friend here live.”

“Yeah, I don’t really believe you.”

“Arthur?” said Albert. “Arthur, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” said Arthur. “Try not to talk too much, Mr. Mason.”

“If you say so.”

“Get up,” said the boy, nudging Arthur with the gun.

“You nudge me with that gun one more time, boy, things ain’t gonna pan out too smooth for you in the end.”

“Get up.” He nudged him again, this time too hard.

It went by in an instant after that. Arthur was fast when he wanted to be, ruthless. He grabbed the barrel of the gun with both hands, shoved it up, hard, cracking straight into the kid’s dumbass face. It sort of exploded on impact, his nose neatly broken as he stumbled backward, allowing Arthur to usurp the weapon and shove the boy into the dirt and shoot him dead. Arthur then pointed the gun at the second man, the one who had Albert. He was a young man as well, even younger by the looks of it, and Arthur felt terrible inside, like he was looking in a mirror. “Let him go, or I do you up, too,” he said.

The boy sent Albert forward to his hands and knees with little hesitation. Then he stared at Arthur in abject horror for a moment before picking up and running as fast as he could in the other direction. Arthur lowered the gun, let him go. He went to Albert who coughed and beat his fists into the dirt a couple times. He seemed to have got the wind knocked out of him. Arthur hauled him to his feet and steadied him hard. “You okay?” he said, dusting off his vest. “Albert? Talk to me.”

Albert was out of breath, his shirt untucked but he did have his boots on. “Good heavens,” he said. He lurched forward a little with his hands on his knees. “Is that man dead?”

Arthur patted him on the back. “I’m afraid he is. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Better him than me.”

“They ambush you in your tent or something?”

“No,” said Albert, popping up now, wiping his face with the yellow handkerchief from his pocket. “I went down to the creek, to get some water. They ambushed me there.” He sneezed.

“You went down to the creek alone?”

“I thought I could handle a few whitetail,” he said. “Those men showed up, asked me who you were. I wouldn’t tell them, so the one grabbed me, dragged me back here, and then the next thing you know, you’re shooting people, and my entire life is flashing before my eyes.” He sneezed again.

Arthur straightened up and sighed. “Bless you.”

“Thank you,” said Albert. He took a deep breath. “Boy I’ve got some luck, don’t I.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” said Arthur. “But we do need to get the hell out of here.”

“I couldn’t agree more. You know, I think the shots I got yesterday, of the lavender fields and the herd of sheep, those are better than anything I’ve gotten so far? No black bear, but bears be damned. I’m through with predators.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I am.” He turned to Arthur then, slowly, finally catching his breath. “Thank you. For saving me.”

“Of course. I wasn’t gonna let them kill you,” said Arthur. “And I sure as hell wasn’t going with them.”

“Did you know who they were?”

“Not really,” said Arthur, scratching his head. He looked around, making sure nobody else was coming up the horizon. “I mean—I know there’s rough stuff around these parts. I should’ve been more careful. I thought we was safe.”

“With you, I am always safe,” said Albert. “I just wish I were a little more aware of my surroundings. It’s always been a problem for me. As you well know. When I was a boy, my father used to shout at me to get my head out of the clouds. Told me to quit chasing the damned butterflies. That was before the cholera got him, of course.”

Arthur threw the shotgun over his shoulder by the strap, studied Albert. “Cholera, huh?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Well, don’t be too down on yourself. You held your own back there.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“You didn’t give in to those men. That’s very brave.”

Albert smiled in spite of himself. Then, he stumbled forward, just a little. Arthur caught him by the shoulders. “My word,” said Albert. “I guess I’m still a little dizzy.”

“Just try to breathe. In through your nose, out your mouth.”

“You’re kind, Mr. Morgan.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “I ain’t kind, Mr. Mason.”

“Well, to me, you are kind.” Albert smiled and took a deep breath. He seemed to blink many times as if to acclimate his vision. “Now, if you don’t mind, let’s please go.”

They packed up their camp, stowed the bedrolls and the tents and all of their earthly goods upon their horses. Arthur let Albert hang onto the canteen. They then mounted up and began riding back toward Strawberry at a pleasant trot. Arthur did not think about how that man he had killed back there, the man trying to abduct him, was an O'Driscoll. He tossed Albert an apple and then shined one up for himself.

“What are your plans now?” said Arthur as they came around the curve. The rocks, the terrain in these parts was beautiful, but treacherous. “You heading back right away?”

“I thought I’d stay the night at the hotel,” said Albert. “Take the train back to St. Denis in the morning.”

“Sounds good,” said Arthur. “Maybe I’ll go with you.”

“Oh?”

“Sure,” he said, biting into that apple. “Where I’m camped, on Flat Iron Lake, it ain’t far from Rhodes.”

“Rhodes?” said Albert. “My, what a dreadful little town.”

“You’re telling me.”

“You know I stopped through there once,” said Albert, “just looking for a drink at the parlor house they've got. Four different men asked me where I stood on the War of Northern Aggression. Of course, they were all neanderthals, and far be it from me to correct them on the fact that it’s 1899. I thought I’d keep my front teeth.”

Arthur laughed out loud at this, tossed the apple core to the weeds. “You still make me laugh, Mr. Mason, the way you talk sometimes.”

“Well,” said Albert, a little bashful for this. He trotted up alongside him. “I certainly do try.”

[im-the-king-of-the-ocean]

I know I already sent a prompt in for Joby, so you don't have to do this, not at all, but you got my attention with the addition of Galadrilake, so maybe, quite possibly (you don't have to do this), 37 for Galadrilake?

For reference, this takes place in an au where trolls still exist and everything, and Jim is Barbara’s son from a previous marriage.  However, rather than finding out about trolls bc Jim becomes the Trollhunter, Barbara meets Blinky and they fall for each other.

Basically, everything’s the same but: I haven’t decided whether or not Jim is the Trollhunter, he’s still human, and Blinky is officially his stepdad.

I’m sorry I’m not sorry

37: “Don’t you dare die on me!”

.

It was never supposed to be like this.  Then again, it was never supposed to be anything.

Blinky never considered himself much of a romantic.  He’d always preferred his books to such things.

He regretted his lack of contentment with what he’d had now.  Sure, he, personally, may have ended up here regardless, but…

Blinky gazed down at the woman cradled in his arms.  He stroked a lock of hair away from her face.

…at least he’d be alone.

Barbara coughed.  She stirred, and then wiggled around for a better position.  Blinky’s arms immediately went to helping her find it.  She didn’t look up at him.  He wished she would.  That, or protest, argue, tell him she was strong enough all on her own.  Anything that sparked that bold, brash personality he hoped was still in there.

Breathing heavily, Barbara collapsed against Blinky’s chest.  Her eyelids fluttered shut.  Her skin felt cold and clammy to the touch.  That worried Blinky, but it wasn’t like there was much he could do.  Except wrap his arms around Barbara, hoping that would help warm her up, remind her that support was still there.

The door to their cell opened.

“Don’t you dare die on me,” Officer Kubritz greeted Barbara before her eyes went to Blinky.

He glared back.  “She would be better if she weren’t locked in here!”  He spat.  “You have me.  I can assure you, I have an encyclopedic knowledge of all troll kind.  You have no need for Barbara.  Release her!”

“Tell me, Mr. Blinky, was it?”  Kubritz strolled into the cell, her heels clicking against the cement floor.  “Does that encyclopedic knowledge cover troll-human hybrids?”

Blinky glowered and tightened his grip around Barbara, but didn’t reply.

“I see.  Has there ever been such a thing before now?”  Kubritz regarded him with an icy expression.  “Surely someone as knowledgeable as yourself would know?”  Her frown deepened.  “I do expect an answer this time, Mr. Blinky.”

“No, there has not.”  Blinky grumbled.

“Of course.”  Kubritz chuckled.  “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?  My people have studied trolls before.  We know quite a lot about your kind.  There isn’t really all that much that you could tell us that we don’t already know.”  She smirked down at Blinky.  “You should feel proud, Mr. Blinky.  You are still helping the advancement of our knowledge.”  She gestured for her armed men to advance into the cell.

“Please.”  Blinky gasped when he realized, even if he could fight, this is a battle he wouldn’t be able to win.  “Don’t hurt them.”

After her men pulled Barbara away from Blinky, Kubritz stepped forward to inspect the doctor.  “Oh, rest assured Mr. Blinky, I don’t intend to.  Just study.”  Kubritz placed a hand on Barbara’s very rounded, very pregnant belly.  “After all, your child will be the first of its kind in the world.  We wouldn’t want to jeopardize this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity you’ve given us, would we?”  Kubritz signaled her men to take Barbara away.  Once they were gone, she turned back to Blinky.  “Good new for you, though.  You’re being released.”

…

“Wuzzat?”

Barbara wrapped her hand around her son’s chubby fingers and moved them so she could see the illustration on the picture book page he was pointing to.  “A cat,” she told him softly.

“Wuzzacat?”  Arthur, named for a close friend of the father he’d never met, attempted to stick his fist in his mouth.  His mother stopped him and gave him a spoon to suck on instead.  Unbeknownst to her, getting a spoon had been his entire plan all along.  They were only allotted so many spoons each day and his mother insisted he not eat them all at once.  Arthur didn’t really get why.  There would always be more spoons tomorrow.

“A cat,” Barbara began to explain.  “Is a type of animal.  They’re furry and they say ‘meow’.”

“Live outside?”  Arthur looked up at his mother with wide eyes.  He blinked, uncomprehending of why there were tears in her eyes all of a sudden.

For as long as he could remember, the ‘outside’ had been a distant, faraway concept.  Kinda like the imaginary land he made up in his head and went to when the facility doctors had to run tests on him he didn’t like.  His three-year-old mind couldn’t conceive of the idea that there was a world beyond his own he’d never been too.  His whole life, it had always been just him, his mother, and the various officers and doctors who ran the facility they lived in.

“Yes, cats live outside.”  Barbara closed the book.  She wiped her tears away on the back of her sleeve.  “How about you go draw for a bit?  I need some rest.”

…

“This green is nice.”  Jim showed the color swatch to Blinky.

Blinky nodded, but didn’t speak a word.  Jim didn’t push.  Re-Painting Day was always hard on the troll.

They sat on the floor of an immaculately-clean nursery, surrounded by an eclectic gathering of toys and necessities for a toddler.  Or, at least the kinds of things the Internet told them a toddler would need.  They didn’t actually know.  They didn’t actually have a toddler.

“Or, we could try this light yellow.”  Jim continued on through the swatches.

Originally, the nursery had been set up by both Barbara and Blinky, back when they’d found out about their pregnancy.  Barbara had wanted to paint the walls herself, and had even started sketching out cartoonish animals on one (the first year they’d done the Re-Painting, Blinky and Jim had come to a silent agreement to never cover over the pencil lines).

Now, each year, on the day they calculated would be the baby’s due date, Blinky and Jim redid the room.  They replaced the unused toys, books, and other things with new belongings their research told them a one year old, a two year old, a three year old would require and repainted the walls in a new pastel tone.  They tried to keep things as gender neutral as possible, as they didn’t know whether Blinky had a second son or a daughter, or whether Jim had a brother or a sister.

Originally, it had been their way of trying to say they would get Barbara and the baby back.  Now, it was their way of memorializing them.

They had no way of knowing their date was about a month off from Arthur’s actual birthday.  He’d been born early.