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pocketjoong · 4 months

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☾₊‧⁺˖⋆noctem⋆˖⁺‧₊☽ 〘act 1, chapter 2〙

〘Synopsis〙『Your hatred of dragons is a hate born of witnessing their flames consume your village, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake. The worst of all is the beast that haunts your dreams, the very dragon whose memory fuels a burning desire for revenge within you. But life has a way of unsettling even the most steadfast convictions. And when you stumble upon a truth that shatters the boundaries of your understanding, you begin to question the very essence of the world you live in.』

〘Pairing〙『Night Fury!Seonghwa x afab!Reader』

〘Genre〙『FANTASY, ACTION, SMUT』

〘Word Count〙『2.5k』

〘Chapter-specific Warnings〙『Based on How To Train Your Dragon. Canon-compliant violence. Mentions of dragons attacking the mc's village. Mentions of fire. Passing mention of injuries. MDNI.』

〘Banner Credits〙『@playmetheclassics』

please note: there will be NO taglist for this series

By the time you finish tending to the injuries of those who had been sent to the infirmary, the sun is rising in the distance. A weariness settles over you as you dress the wounds of the last person you have to tend to, and you look forward to the two weeks of peace after a dragon attack.

You rinse the grime and blood from your hands in the basin tucked in the corner before rushing out of the building. Relief washes over you at the sight of familiar figures at the edge of the cliff that overlooks the port. Even though they’re merely silhouettes against the morning light, you know each of them well enough to recognise them by their shadows.

As you move closer, you note that Yunho, Wooyoung, and Mingi, the village blacksmith, look battle-ravaged and tired. But they are watching the sunrise with content smiles. You approach them with a smile of your own, but you can’t help but scan their figures for any injuries that might need healing.

Amusement dances in your brother’s eyes at your worried expression, “I'm fine. Mostly unharmed save for a few small bruises and the soot lining my clothes.”

When you turn your focus to the others, you find them grinning back at you. “And you guys?”

“No open stitches or any new injuries. I told you I’d be careful,” Wooyoung declares, his tone light-hearted.

Mingi ruffles your hair while he offers his own reassurance, “I’m fine as well. I stuck to my workshop until the very end, only leaving when Yunho and Wooyoung needed assistance with the ballista.”

“Let’s go back home and get some rest. Wooyoung and I have a meeting to attend at the hall in a few hours,” Yunho says, leading you towards your home with a guiding hand on your shoulder. Mingi trails behind silently, waving in farewell before taking the dusty path to reach his house, which also doubles as his workshop.

You, Yunho, and Wooyoung share the house overlooking the village. All three of you moved here after losing your families to a brutal attack years ago. Despite being only a few months older than Wooyoung and barely a year older than you, Yunho seamlessly assumed the role of guardian for both of you. The weight he shouldered at the tender age of twelve, stepping into the shoes of a village leader after the tragedy, often made you feel bad for him. His duties far exceeded what any child should bear, but he bore them with a grace beyond his years.

The dream claws at your consciousness, a relentless reminder of the incident that tore through your family. You can handle the sympathetic looks of your fellow villagers, but the nightmares are another story. You hate them, for they persist, leaving you exhausted and weary even after a full night’s sleep.

You unlock the door, ushering the two males inside. As the door creaks open, the comfort of the space envelops you like a familiar embrace, and you can’t help the sigh of relief that leaves your lips.

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

You know you are dreaming, but the panic that grips your throat is a tangible force that twists your heart and leaves your hands shaking. It’s a suffocating reality that is too familiar, too hauntingly real.

Your surroundings are too hot, too bright, and suffused with smoke that blinds your vision. The orange flames dance menacingly in front of you, searing painfully against your skin. Your brain is screaming for you to do something, to move. But you are frozen in the face of danger and struggle to comprehend the unfolding nightmare.

There’s a presence beside you, but the ringing in your ears drowns their voice. Squinting through the smoke, urgency compels you to find an escape route. If you don’t move, you’ll be burnt to a crisp by the flames, and you won’t let a dragon be the reason you meet your end.

There’s no time to waste, you realise when there’s a crash in the adjacent room. The sound is what finally jolts you into action, and without hesitation, you grab the person next to you and bolt towards safety.

The relief when you escape the fire all but vanishes as the sight in front of you changes, and you find Yunho trapped in the claws of a massive dragon. His desperate struggle mirrors the fear etched in his eyes. The image shakes you to your core. It’s new, and you know why you’re seeing this: every time Yunho is out fighting the dragons during an attack, you can’t help but worry about his safety.

There’s a beat of silence as if the world has stopped around you before you jump towards the creature holding him hostage. But you’re too late. You meet the ground with a crash while the dragon takes off, taking Yunho away from you.

You jolt awake, your heart pounding so hard that you feel it wants to escape your chest. You’re covered in cold sweat, and you feel it trail down your back. You gasp for air, for the relief that comes with your lungs being filled with oxygen. Instinctively, you look down to check your hands, half-expecting to find the remnants of blood and soot on them.

Dazed and disoriented, you rise, stumbling towards the bathroom. Looking into the mirror, you wince at your wide-eyed and tear-stained face. You’re breathing fast, too quick to be considered normal. Staring at your trembling hands, you run them beneath the water before splashing the cold substance on your face.

Feeling a presence next to you, you turn around to find your brother gazing at you worriedly. But before you can ease his worry, Wooyoung walks in through your bedroom door, which is now wide open courtesy of Yunho.

“Is everything okay?” Wooyoung breaks the silence, voice is still gravelly from sleep. You feel bad for waking them up and worrying them like this, but right now, all you can focus on is the raging panic inside of you. “I heard you screaming, Y/N.”

You blink; your throat definitely feels raw, but you can’t remember hearing yourself scream.

“I think it was a bad dream,” Yunho mutters softly, eyes still trained on you.

Dream?

It’s almost as if everything falls into place when you hear Yunho’s words. You had the nightmare once again, the same one you had had since you lost your family during an attack when you were ten years old. With clammy hands, you tightly grip the bedside table in a futile attempt to steady yourself. Stumbling, you crash onto the floor as you try to calm your furiously beating heart.

Yunho scrambles to kneel next to you, brows furrowed in worry. “Y/N, breathe with me, c’mon. ’S okay, you’re safe.” You let him tuck you into his chest, the touch becoming an anchor to help you ground yourself. You breathe deeply, timing your breaths in tandem with Yunho’s. You remind yourself over and over again that he’s safe and sound.

“Was it the same dream?” Wooyoung’s voice is closer now, and you open your eyes to see him in front of you. You shrug as an answer to Wooyoung’s question.

“I’m sorry for waking you up,” you whisper apologetically, but they quickly shush you.

“Do you want to go back to sleep?” Wooyoung murmurs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as if he already knows your answer, “Or would you like to help me with lunch?”

“Brunch,” you declare, carefully disentangling yourself from Yunho, who has fallen asleep. Little snores leave his mouth, and you suppress a giggle. You grab a pillow from your bed, gently supporting his neck to ensure he sleeps comfortably even if he’s on the floor. Quietly, you follow Wooyoung into the kitchen.

“What are we making?” You question, standing in the middle of the room while Wooyoung rummages through the cupboards.

“How do omelettes and buttered toast sound? Yunho bought bread from the village baker last evening, and I’m sure we haven’t run out of the jam we prepared,” he stops his hunt and starts gathering the things needed for the proposed meal.

“We also have some leftover meat pie,” you inform him, fishing out the pie from the pantry and setting it on the table. Grabbing a large bowl, you crack some eggs while Wooyoung chops the vegetables, the two of you falling into rhythm easily.

Wooyoung reaches over to add the chopped vegetables to the bowl, stirring them with the eggs as you place two pans on the stove. Soon, you have two omelettes sizzling in unison. Carefully, you add different spices and ingredients to each one based on your individual preferences. Spotting extra vegetables, you throw them in a pan to sauté them while Wooyoung handles the omelettes.

“Wow,” Yunho walks into the kitchen, drawn in by the aroma of food. He peeks over your shoulders. “That’s a feast right there.”

Eventually, you and Wooyoung finish cooking and carry everything to the table with Yunho's assistance. The three of you happily devour the food, joking, teasing, and laughing between bites.

“I have to go into the forest to gather more herbs. It’s amazing how fast we burn through them after the attacks,” you sigh, already tired by the mere thought of having to haul a huge batch of herbs from the forest.

“Be careful,” Yunho warns you. “The forest is safe right now, but you can’t be careful enough.”

“Don’t worry,” you reassure with a smile. “I’ve done this so many times.”

After bidding goodbye to the two males, you follow one of the trails behind your house that leads into the forest. You hum a small tune as you walk through the woods. Despite the village being attacked every fortnight, the forest is safe because the dragons avoid lingering for fear of getting captured. The chirping birds and the small animals frolicking around in the undergrowth lift your spirits. You take a deep breath, unable to stop yourself from breaking into a smile.

The sound of a nearby waterfall catches your attention, prompting you to change course towards the opening through the trees. However, you halt in your tracks when you spot broken trees and upturned earth, suggesting that something came barreling down from the sky.

The only thing that would crash down from the sky is a dragon.

Unsheathing your shortsword, you slowly approach an outgrown rock where the wreckage seems the worst. You take a deep breath to calm yourself before peeking to check if you’re right, only to hide behind the rock once again quickly. There, on the other side, is a dragon you’ve never seen before.

It doesn’t take a genius to identify it as a Night Fury, also known as ‘the offspring of lightning and death itself.’ The beast’s scales are pitch black, adorned with small horns that spike from above its eyes, down its neck, back, and tail, the tip of which fans out like that of a whale. Surprisingly, it doesn’t look as terrifying as its reputation suggests, resembling more of a feline than a vicious reptile. For being a dragon dreaded across the seven seas, the beast looks tamer than the ones you’ve come across over the course of your life.

Peeking from behind the rock again, you realise the dragon is tangled in rope. There are signs of struggle, showing that it tried but failed to free itself from the binds. As it seems to be asleep, you approach cautiously, awed by the sheer size of the creature. The dragon likely hears you because, even though it can’t move, one of its eyes opens, fixing a stare at you. It releases a warning growl when you move even closer, but you scoff, knowing fully well that it won’t be able to harm you.

“You know, you really look more like a cat than a dragon,” your tone is belittling as you tilt your head to meet the dragon’s gaze head-on.

The dragon emits what seems like a scoff, earning an eye-roll from you. “You should be nicer to me. After all, I could kill you, and then what would happen, huh? Your little family would find it harder and harder to attack us, considering that you’re the one who makes it difficult for us to bring down the rest of your kind.”

It hits you that this would be your first dragon kill, and for some reason, it gives you a sense of satisfaction. Eliminating the Night Fury is a step closer towards your goal to avenge your family and the countless others who were destroyed by these beasts.

Raising your blade, you look down at the beast with a blank expression. The dragon gazes at you with big, pleading eyes, its pupils round and sparkly like that of a cat. Your grip on the weapon falters, and sensing your hesitation, it lets out the most pathetic of whimpers.

“You have some nerve, really,” you sigh, the urge to harm the creature gradually ebbs away the longer you look into its eyes. It’s a living, breathing creature, and it goes against all your ideals as a healer to kill a sentient being. “First, your kind kills my family, then you guys literally cause so much damage to my village every time you attack, and here I am, wanting to spare you? Why can’t you be as ugly as a Gronckle?”

The dragon blinks at you in confusion.

“Stop looking at me like that!” You scold it, only causing the dragon to huff, this time in amusement. Sensing that you’re not going to kill it, the beast lets out another whine and closes its eyes.

Sighing once again, you use your sword to cut through the ropes, loosening the bonds that bind the poor creature. That is your second mistake because the moment it is free, the dragon lunges at you, pinning you against the rock as you gasp in shock. It growls at you, keeping you restrained with its claws.

“Oh, isn’t that just lovely?” you mock the dragon. You know you’re playing a dangerous game, but you can’t stop taunting it. “I save your sorry life, and you thank me by pinning me to a rock? Quite the peculiar way to express gratitude, I must say… and quite kinky.”

The beast regards you with a look of sheer disbelief, scoffs dismissively, and turns around to fly further into the forest. Only when it crashes into an outcrop of rocks, do you notice the unsteadiness of its flight.

Is it injured?

Your brows furrow as a pang of worry pierces through your heart, but before you can act on it, the realisation of how late it it dawns upon you. You haven’t even started collecting the herbs you had ventured into the forest for. Deciding to return tomorrow to check on the dragon, should it still be around, you start the laborious task of gathering the herbs you need.

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hometoursandotherstuff · 25 days

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This is a business/home opportunity, and the best kind- it's a French Fry shop. But, alas, it's in Homer, AK. The french fry friers should keep you warm, though- it's so cheap, just $212K and it was only built in 2020. Has 1bd/1ba. Take a look at it.

So, I guess customers come up to the window for delicious hot fries in summer b/c it's a seasonal business.

I'm confused. The shop looks pretty big, and all they sell are fries?

There's a lot of equipment and the listing says that it can prepare other takeout foods.

This is the whole shop on the first floor.

And, back here are the stairs to the living quarters. Woah, they look like they should be in my Death Stairs posts.

So, here we are up in the cozy apt. There's a ladder- maybe it goes up to a sleep loft?

This is nice- a balcony overlooking the ocean.

This is weird. No kitchen up here?

It does have a bedroom.

Wow, it's right on the ocean (well, actually a bay).

On a small strip of land. There's a boat basin behind it.

I don't know what to think, b/c it's Alaska.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/4025-Homer-Spit-Rd-UNIT-11-Homer-AK-99603/2054774024_zpid/?

#live/work alaska #alaska real estate #houses #house tours #home tour #homes under $300K

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annasinterests · 8 months

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going out, she's getting into something

|| main masterlist ||

a/n: here's my contribution for the season, witches! i had SO much fun writing this piece and i hope to get out more for this month! i definitely didn't think it'd be this long but i absolutely loved where it went. also ten points if you could tell when the tone shifted because i started listening to mitski LOL

the dividers are by @saradika — be sure to check them out! 🤍

word count: 10.4k

pairings: arthur morgan x f!reader

warnings & tags: minors dni, halloween time!!! tried to be historically accurate but then again this is fiction y'all, readers having the time of her life honestly, pining, cursing, mentions of alcohol, perhaps some errors??, and some wholesome moments here n there :) — please tell me if i missed anything!

“I already told you girls, the answer is no.”

She didn’t look up from her washing basin as she gave a firm response, her voice tinged with fatigue from the relentless persistence on this matter.

Miss Grimshaw– the unyielding matriarch of the gang– always looking out for the best interest of the camp, even if it meant extinguishing your hopes of a joyous venture beyond its confines.

Normally, you’d accept the answer and move on. But this time, that wasn’t the case. No, you’d been going at it all this week, employing every conceivable tactic to sway her decision– most of which involved volunteering for additional chores atop your designated ones already– because today wasn’t just any other day.

It was Halloween.

And you were damned if you weren’t going out to celebrate it in all its glory.

“Ms. Grimshaw, please,” you continued to beg, “I won’t ask for a thing more!”

The ceaseless scrubbing paused, her hands moving to wipe across her skirt before pressing them against her forehead, muttering words only audible to herself. You stood before her eagerly, hands folded neatly over your apron, shoulders squared– striving to project an aura of innocence that might influence her.

She shook her head as her hands fell hard on her lap, huffing out a frustrated sigh. “Go ask Dutch. If he says it's fine, then you girls can go.”

The elation you felt at her response made you want to dart away before she could have second thoughts, yet your feet remained in the same spot of the muddy grass your heels slowly sunk into. She eyed you as she stood up, your presence a mystery even though she’d already granted your request.

Even though she kept you all on a tight leash, her actions were rooted in sound judgment.

The whole reason there was any stability at camp at all was because of her, no matter how long or short you stayed in some places. She possessed an innate sense of what needed to be done, always placing the welfare of the camp, and more particularly, her girls, at the forefront, even if she had a funny way of showing it sometimes.

“Won’t you come out, too?” Maybe it was naive of you to ask, given she almost never step foot outside camp unless absolutely necessary.

Her hardened stare softened for a moment, peering behind you at camp momentarily as if she really were contemplating it. Her gaze returned to you, her eyebrows drawn together with the faintest curl on her lips.

“What happened to not asking for another thing?”

With a small smile and nod, you excused yourself and set out to find Dutch.

Much to your surprise, he wasn’t in his tent, and a lack of an answer of his whereabouts from Ms. O’Shea didn’t help. Nor did one from Javier out on the post claiming that he hadn’t seen him ride in or out today. And through your thorough search around camp, none revealed a trace of the man you eagerly sought.

On your way back to his tent for a second try, you recognized a figure donning a signature white shirt and black vest standing at the far end of camp, where the view was best of Horseshoe Overlook.

Your smile grew wider with each step to approach him, only calling his name when you were within a few feet.

“Dutch! Can I-”

While your voice caught his attention, it had also gotten the man who stood just nearby him, concealed by the trees until now. You came to an abrupt stop, flickering your widening gaze between the men, feeling hot embarrassment creep onto your cheeks.

It’d been Arthur.

He’d only looked over his shoulder to you, still facing the canyon with his thumbs tucked into his gun belt. The brim of his hat rested just above his eyes as he appraised you, running his eyes up and down your figure.

“I’m sorry..” Your hands instinctively folded against your stomach, “I didn’t realize you were..”

A low chuckle rumbled from Dutch’s chest as he approached you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Nonsense, Miss. Arthur and I were just enjoying the view. Why don’t you join us?”

Your gaze shifted from Dutch’s to Arthur’s, who maintained his position with his chin tucked over his shoulder. He gave no indication as to whether or not your presence affected him, and a slight unease settled in as he was usually quick with a polite comment or sarcastic remark, but he did neither and continued to look at you.

Returning your attention to Dutch, you found him patiently waiting for your response– one hand lingering on your shoulder while the other was outstretched in an invitation to join them at the plateau.

Your lips curled up into a small smile as you walked forward, Dutch appearing to your right and Arthur to his.

The view was nothing short of breathtaking. Below and in the distance, dense forests and mountain ranges stretched for miles, a white veil of mist shrouded at the peaks, and the Dakota River flowed through the canyon, its waters reflecting the brilliant blue of the sky.

What made the scene even more enchanting was the weather– the sun shining bright with barely any clouds to obstruct its rays, its warmth a delight on your skin. The air was crisp in a way that each breath rejuvenated your lungs, a cool and fresh quality trademarked by the fall season.

“What do you think, Miss?” He asked without averting his gaze.

You turned to him, stealing another glance before you, “Pretty as a picture, Dutch.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he softly echoed your sentiment. “Indeed it is.”

For a moment, your eyes fell to Arthur. Like Dutch, he made no move to look away, fully immersed and reveling in the simple pleasures of the moment. His hat still lowered over his eyes, shielding sunlight from those bright blues that could be the sweetest or most intimidating sight. His facial scruff was perfectly tailored for the season– substantial yet manageable, complementing his rugged appearance.

Even in his relaxed stance, you could see his clothing fighting to fit around his muscles, especially in the shoulders and arms. The cuffs of his sleeves clung snugly to his forearms, the contours of his strength evident in raised veins and muscular definition. His thumbs remained tucked into his belt, his large hands lazily curling over it, an embodiment of quiet strength and presence.

A flurry of thoughts swirled in your head– the loudest among them an undeniable realization of just how incredibly attractive this man was.

And how this definitely wasn’t the first time you were thinking this.

You hadn’t realized that you were looking right at him while your thoughts were running wild, and immense embarrassment hit you like a freight train when your eyesight focused on him staring right back at you.

To compound your mortification, your initial reaction was to smile– a smile that aimed to conceal the fact that you had been thoroughly checking him out. You tried to maintain some air of sweetness and innocence, but you knew he could see right through it.

It faltered when he broke contact and looked down, his hat serving as a convenient shield to hide his face entirely. You squeezed your eyes shut and bit your lip, cursing your own lack of composure. It was painfully obvious. You’d gone ahead and made a fool of yourself in front of the man.

Dutch’s voice interrupted your thoughts and commanded you to pull your attention back.

“Camp’s in mighty fine shape thanks to the help of you women here,” he remarked, finally looking at you. “Your contributions are always valued.”

You smoothed out your skirt, a chuckle leaving your lips. “Wouldn’t be as good as it is without Miss Grimshaw. That woman is the glue that keeps us together, I swear by it.”

“That she is.” He agreed, “But with all the effort you ladies put in, I ought to say that you girls deserve a little time to yourselves. Not in camp, that is.”

Your jaw slacked and eyes sparkled with excitement. Barely able to contain the thrill that coursed through your body, your hands began to gesture emphatically as you started up.

“Actually, that’s why I was looking for you!” A grin spread on his face as he took notice of your demeanor, “The girls and I have been dying to go out!”

You caught Arthur lift his head to you, but continued on.

“We would love to go out to town,” you reached out and grazed his arm as he listened, “pleeease, Dutch. Just for tonight?”

He nodded, that reassuring hand finding your shoulder again. “Of course, how could I say no to that?”

You beamed at him, buzzing with even more excitement.

“Where would you ladies like to go? Valentine? Perhaps even Strawberry?”

You bit down on your lip again in a futile attempt to suppress the wicked smile that grew on your face, sheepishly shrugging your shoulders. “Saint Denis?”

“Saint Denis?” Arthur interjected before anyone could speak, stepping in front of Dutch and briefly glancing at you, “Dutch, that’s–”

“Quite alright if that’s where they want to go,” Dutch smoothly derailed his refute, “Arthur.”

But Arthur, being the obstinate man he was, didn’t heed the cue. He furrowed his brows and tilted his head, “That's far, Dutch. Too far.”

Dutch fell silent for a moment, drawing a hand to his hip and shifting his weight to one foot. You wanted to say something to counter Arthur’s point, but you knew his standing with Dutch, so contradicting him could jeopardize your argument, especially after Dutch had already expressed his approval.

“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing we’ll all be going to Saint Denis tonight.”

Dutch’s ability to orchestrate a plan that convinced everyone to head down to Saint Denis was a mystery to you, but the best part was that you had absolutely no responsibility in their efforts to move camp for a night.

Because the only thing you had to focus on was having fun.

After Dutch’s final say, Arthur grumbled, shook his head, and retreated back into camp. It likely didn’t improve his mood when you broke the news to the girls and you all erupted in joyful shouts and jumped around, clinging to one another out of pure delight.

Or when you all approached Lenny and Javier in front of him to ask if they’d take you to town and they agreed without putting up the slightest fight.

Or when you couldn’t resist teasing him by suggesting that he wear his best costume for the evening ahead, earning you a glare that you couldn’t help but smirk at.

You hadn’t even had the chance to get out a proper goodbye to the boys as Tilly grabbed your hand and practically dragged you off the wagon to emerge yourselves in the scene of the town, disappearing into the crowds on the paved streets and dodging the ever flowing trams.

Jack O'Lanterns adorned nearly everywhere you turned, perched atop picket fences that lined the slums to the mansion district. Hay bales, while adding to the festive atmosphere, served as a dual purpose as both sustenance for horses and a playground for children to climb upon– an amusing sight that elicited giggles from you.

Karen had led you all into the markets where several vendors hunkered down for the long night ahead, selling various treats and services from harvest foods, to jewelry, to fortune tellings. They all beckoned and invited you over with their expert sales tactics, and usually you would be able to just ignore them, but given today, you gave in to a woman at a jewelry stand.

You and the girls encircled her table and ogled at all the shiny pieces before you, your hands hovering over a splendid array of rings, earrings, and necklaces. With the utmost care, you picked up a ring to examine it further, capturing the saleswoman's attention.

“Oh, that’s gorgeous.” Mary-Beth leaned in to admire it with you, “I’ve never seen somethin’ quite like that before.”

She was absolutely right; it was one of the finest pieces you’d ever seen, far surpassing what you’d observed other women wear. It was a tri-colored gold ring– a dainty gold rose in the middle, flanked by a pink and green leaf to each side, all set against a band crafted with a delicate weaving pattern.

“Would you like to try it on?” The woman offered with a kind smile. “See how it fits?”

You slipped it on your ring finger with ease, gently turning your wrist to admire it from different angles. It hugged against your skin like it was meant to be.

But when you looked down at the price tag, you quickly changed your mind.

“This is a very lovely piece,” you took it off and placed it back on the table, earning a raised brow from Karen, “but it’s more than what I can offer.”

The woman simply nodded at your honesty. You were well aware that most items in these markets were overpriced, with prices inflated to maximize profit, but you felt that this one was truly worth it’s value. With a polite smile, you stepped away from the table and began to walk off with the girls, your heart feeling a little heavy but knowing it wasn’t the end of the world.

But a gentle hand on your elbow caught your attention, pulling you away from the group– the woman.

She took your hand and cupped hers over it, feeling a small object fall into it. Silently, she observed as her hand revealed what she’d given you.

The ring.

Your mouth formed a small ‘o’ shape and your eyes widened, quickly covering it with your other hand.

“Ma’am, I can’t possibly– I don’t have enough–” Her hand on your arm again made you quiet.

“You could’ve easily stolen it from me, but you told the truth and walked away.” Her smile was warm as she plucked the ring from your hand and slipped it on your finger. “Not many people do that here in Saint Denis.”

You looked at her sympathetically, holding her hands in your own, “How can I repay you?”

She grinned and leaned in to whisper, “Come back if you wind up stealing from anyone else.”

You muffled your laughter with a hand over your mouth, giving her a knowing look as she playfully shooed you off with a wink.

You were certainly going to pay her another visit.

Rejoining the girls, you discreetly but excitedly displayed your new possession, allowing each of them to take a turn at holding it up to their faces for a closer look, their voices filled with admiration for its beauty.

Moving out of the markets, you came across the park of Saint Denis. A massive tent had been pitched across the field with people busy setting it up for the evening’s events, clearly designed to cater to a younger crowd. Beneath it were several rows of seats arranged in front of a stage that featured a couple of large basins evenly spaced apart– instantly recognizing it for apple-bobbing. Taking notice of the flairs of red gingham about the area, it made you smile with the detail put into celebrating the day.

The girls had been chattering excitedly about something you hadn’t been fully tuned into, but you snapped back to attention when Karen seized your hand and urged you to run.

Spinning around, Mary-Beth and Tilly were a few paces ahead to your right while Sadie came bolting closer from your left, a wicked grin spread on her face as she pointed towards the other two girls.

“Jump on that trolley!”

Without a second thought, you began weaving in and out of the crowd, your knees kicking your skirt up with each leap. Laughter escaped from you as you heard the startled cries of townsfolk being pushed aside in your hasty getaway, though you really had no idea why you were running at all.

You grabbed Tilly’s hand and hauled yourself up as Mary-Beth did with Karen, whipping around and sticking your hand out for Sadie who was too far away for your liking. Your heart was pounding as the men behind her were catching up, your smile from the adrenaline dropping and turning into panic.

Glancing back, you saw the trolley was due to turn a corner, inevitably too quick for Sadie to keep up with. Your panic escalated until you spotted a way to effectively cut off her pursuers– a tall stack of hay bales just waiting to be tipped over.

Swiftly, you sat on the rail and leaned back with the three girls holding your legs and waist, giving you the ultimate leverage.

“Sadie!” You shouted. “Cut the corner when I say!”

A thumbs up from her was good enough for you. You quickly alternated your gaze between her and the approaching corner, slowly leaning back and stretching out your arm until you couldn’t anymore, your adrenaline pulsing through your entire body now.

With one last look, you yelled your cue, and at the last moment threading your fingers through a band of twine and yanking with all your might.

Slowly, then all of once, they came tumbling down like you intended, fellow townspeople causing an even bigger commotion– or distraction, for your case. The men had no choice but to stop, tripping over the bales and crashing into other people, your plan executed perfectly except for one crucial detail– Sadie.

Frantically, you scanned the crowd, gripping the rail so hard that you were sure to put a dent in it. Shit– Had they got to her after the cut?

Before you could conjure a series of worst-case scenarios, she came sprinting from your right and jumped on to the trolley with ease, all of you ushering inside and taking a seat to catch your breaths.

“I keep tellin’ ya' to trade that skirt for pants, girl.” Sadie smacked your knee, “With quick thinkin’ like that, it’s a waste you don’t get out more.”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head. The thrill of doing jobs got you antsy, seeing it was something that you could seriously enjoy once in a while, but being a caretaker was what you were at heart. You liked providing stability in a different way.

“What in the hell was all that about?” Karen asked before you could while fanning herself with her hand, “You’re supposed to save the mischief for later, ya’ know.”

Sadie smirked and raised her hands defensively, “I may have miscalculated some things, but–” she dug into her pockets and revealed two handfuls of money, jewelry, and pocket watches. “I think it was worth it.”

You sighed back into your seat as Tilly, Mary-Beth, and Karen hovered over to get a better look, “I say we take that and go straight to a saloon.”

Sadie shot you an incredulous look, “I just worked my tail off for this, and you wanna spend it already?”

“No–” You dragged a hand over your face and huffed out a laugh, “For bets, idiot. Take more from their pockets, but the fair way.”

She contemplated for a moment. “I ain’t very good at table games.”

“I am!” Karen perked up.

You shot a sly look at Sadie, the dots connecting immediately. And just as you found your new activity for the next couple hours, the trolley slowed to a stop, and you all quickly hopped out the back and right into Doyle’s Tavern.

Hours in, Sadie was racking up more cash and treasures than all five of you could even carry.

It’d been more packed than when you first entered, the festive spirit flourishing through the establishment. On top of all the autumnal decorations already in place, skeletons dangled behind the bar and burning candles littered about to give the right impression of mischievous yet inviting. Round tables were busy with patrons, some full of drinks, others invested in rounds of poker or dominoes– like your own. And when you weren’t glued to a game, you were at the bar flirting your way for a free drink or charming men just to get close enough to discreetly pilfer valuables from their person.

Now, you sauntered over to Karen’s side after taking a brief stroll and glance at Sadie’s hand from the opposite side of the table. While you weren’t intimately familiar with poker, you knew what constituted the best possible hand, and it just so happened that your dear friend held that in her fingers without even knowing it.

You could see the men at the table underestimating her, their smug smiles stemming from her being the lone woman and their belief that they held the winning hand.

But none of them came close to a royal flush.

Nudging Karen, you whispered your observation, a smirk appearing on her face instantly. She shot Sadie a wink– the cue to let them have it– and watched the scene unfold as she splayed her cards across the table.

Their smug smiles dropped to open-mouthed astonishment and disapproving grumbles, slamming their hands down on the table and begrudgingly pushing their bets towards her. She kept her head down in a noble act, but it was really to hide the shit-eating grin on her face as the table cleared and her opponents drudged to the bar for another much needed drink after losing their fourth consecutive round.

Sadie joined you at the side as you all began to leave with the earnings. “God, why don’t we do this more often?” She mused while placing a chunk of wealth into your hands, “Better than the guys doin’ busted-up, ass-backwards jobs if ya’ ask me.”

Mary-Beth spun around and walked backwards as she received her cut, “Well we would if Miss Grimshaw wasn’t such a damn witch.”

“Mhm,” Karen agreed over her shoulder, “I wouldn’t be surprised if we saw her ridin’ a broom tonight.”

Amid their hearty laughter, you quietly chuckled. You knew that despite her being a hell-bound handler, she loved you girls more than anything.

“Y’all are terrible,” you playfully chided while poking them in the back, “both of you!”

The sun had set as you entered the streets of Saint Denis again, now lit up by streetlights, candles, and Jack O’Lanterns. Your eyes twinkled at the sights, the town completely transforming for the night life. Children roamed the sidewalks in noisy groups, no doubt ready to wreak havoc and fully embody the spirit of mischief. Townsfolk flooded in front of every tavern, saloon, and vicinity that promised alcohol, money, and a good time.

But what really caught your eye was the other women– more precisely, their attire.

Left and right you spotted the most beautiful Victorian dresses you’d laid eyes upon– rich in color and carefully designed with the best materials money could buy– and as well as soft and colorful medieval gowns that fluttered and flowed in the gentle breeze. You couldn’t help but stare in awe of their beauty and how well-fitting they were for the evening.

Sadie saw your hands curl around your money as your eyes flitted around and a sly smile curled the corner of her mouth. “Ya’ know, there’s a boutique just around the corner.”

You shrugged at the idea, but she insisted. “Don’t give me none of that– Go on, go get yourself somethin’ pretty,” she bumped you with her elbow, “I know you wanna.”

You bit your lip as a smile crept on your face, glancing down at your hands and back to her while slowly backing away.

“Give me five minutes.”

It was a lie.

Five turned more into twenty with trying on several different dresses before finding the one.

Initially, you tried on the first dress you saw in the window of the shop, a gorgeous navy dress with an integrated corset between the flared skirt and puffy sleeves. However, the bustle was more than you bargained for, and you certainly didn’t fancy the look of having a shelf on your backside. The mirror in the fitting room let you know that the ‘regal’ look was something you weren’t interested in.

The second was a significant improvement from the first. It leaned toward a more gothic style, featuring a mix of black and red satin, as if the red were a robe draped over the black gown, yet both were stitched together seamlessly. Strings criss-crossed over the bust and torso, giving it a unique backward corset appearance, and the sleeves were long and chinched near the elbows. It even came with a hood adorned with black lace trim– a distinctive feature compared to most gowns you had seen. You loved how it looked and felt, but there was a persistent voice in your head that told you it looked too cultish, especially with the hood. In the end, your conscience had guided you out of the fitting room and onto the next.

Picking through the collections had consumed more time than you had anticipated, and your impatience grew as you felt your precious night slipping away.

Nothing was catching your eye and you just wanted something.

You looked out the window to all the bodies strolling through the streets– laughing, smiling, talking– while you were wasting time away finding a silly dress to wear.

The sound of the bell above the door ringing brought you back as a couple customers entered the store, a trio of young women in animated conversation about accessories and making a bee-line for the displays. But as you eyed them, your gaze shifted to just the right of them, falling on exactly what you were looking for.

There it was– a long, crimson floor-length skirt cinched at the seam under the bust, paired with a striking black blouse. But this wasn’t just any black blouse. No, it had balloon sleeves with exaggerated cuffs adorned with buttons that matched the body, and a stunning combination of lace and mesh on the collar that extended gracefully from shoulder to shoulder.

Not wasting another second, you swiped it and practically flew in and out of the changing room, taking a look in the mirror afterwards and absolutely falling in love with how it looked on you. It was comfortable and conventional with a dash of sexy– a match made in heaven! You slid a wad of cash across the counter to the gentleman in exchange for a paper bag for your other clothes and were quickly out the door.

Clutching the bag, you navigated the labyrinthine alleyways and main roads of Saint Denis in search of your girls, thinking just when you found them, it was just another bunch that looked similar from afar. Head on a swivel, you did your best to avoid getting distracted by the lively celebrations around you, despite your strong desire to join in.

So set on your mission, you didn’t even think to look both ways before nearly stepping in front of an oncoming trolley– being saved by a large hards on your arm and waist.

“Oh!–” You palm flew over your chest as you gasped, “I– Thank you! I didn’t even see where I was going!”

“Quite some timing there,” the figure chuckled, “we just got here.”

We?

Looking up, you were met with Charles looking down at you with a kind smile, putting you at ease. In the not-so-far distance, you saw Dutch, Jack, and Kieran hitching their horses and making their way over to you.

“I see you girls have been busy!” Dutch declared as he grandly gestured to your new clothes. “Having fun I hope?”

You nodded politely. Fun and causing trouble, but who were you to spill about that?

A satisfied grin crossed his face, “We’re off to meet the others at Mayor Lemieux. Care to join us, Miss?”

Reuniting with the rest of the gang? Say less.

Before you could answer, you remembered the bag in your hand and looked down at it, your thoughts not lost on the men around you. Not that your old clothes were worth much in a town like Saint Denis, but they were still yours.

“You three go on, we’ll meet you there.” Charles insisted to Dutch, then turned to you as they walked away. “You can leave your stuff with me, it’ll be safe.”

You smiled as he just knew what to do, the protective side of the men you always appreciated. A short walk over to the stables, where he insisted on keeping his horse rather than in the open, and stowing your things later, you were back on track to the mansion district– after some jokes about all the wealth you’d been carrying, of course, and keeping a couple pieces on you for when you saw your market friend.

You marveled at the increasing crowd in the town– kids’ laughter echoed through the streets that mingled with the roars and singing reverberating from every saloon, and occasionally, there were startled shrieks of terror caused by juveniles of the night. You made comments about the atmosphere and were very careful to stay out of the way of the ongoing trolleys, a small inside joke brewing between you both.

In Charles, you felt a strong sense of safety and trust. He was one of the few men you believed to be genuinely good, his only flaw being part of a criminal gang, but even that could be justified with loyalty. He was kind and respectful, not just towards women, but towards everyone. He was someone to have on your side, always.

“So, is everyone really out here?” You inquired, “I didn’t think that Dutch could really rally everyone up to come into town.”

“For the most part,” Charles shrugged, “a couple of them wanted to stay and watch camp. Said they weren’t too big on celebrating.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Who decided to hang back?”

Charles chuckled and glanced at you, teasing, “What’s got you so curious? Expecting somebody?"

Your cheeks burned at his question. You hadn’t been thinking of him until this very moment.

“Maybe I was praying for a miracle that Micah didn’t come.”

He laughed louder this time, “Well, it was answered.”

You cracked a smile at your banter, but now your mind was totally elsewhere and remained that way well into the district, the buzzing of your thoughts stopping at the front entrance of Mayor Lemieux’s estate.

Before you was a huge mansion, white with pillars supporting the sprawling balcony that extended to each side of the house and a wide staircase that led up to an opulent wrap-around porch. From the outside alone, you could tell that every inch of this property was occupied between the amount of people and staff.

Charles led the way into the estate, making sure you didn’t lose him along the way as you looked about. You thought the exterior was grand enough already, but the interior proved to be much more. The flooring in each room varied, from carpet, to tile, to wood– all extravagant. As soon as you stepped inside, a staircase greeted you and split off into two more on each side for the second level, all lined with a rich red and gold carpet. The walls were lined with exquisite light fixtures and portraits of people you couldn’t even begin to name, and an enormous chandelier hung over the center of the entrance, adding to the luxurious ambiance.

Making your way to the back, you grabbed a drink and some hors d’oeuvres off a tray from a nearby server, nursing the drink and nibbling on the food a little bit at a time. As if you thought the place couldn’t be anymore rich, the gazebo and water fountain in the backyard told you otherwise. It was also now that you noticed that the estate had been on the water which reinforced its extravagance. Every single detail had been thought out to make this place the go-to spot for the people of Saint Denis between the assortment of food and beverages, games, decorations– everything.

Your favorite part, though? Finding your people again.

The girls cheered as you locked eyes at the same time, flocking to you and immediately forcing you to spin to show off your attire for the evening. Charles rejoined Dutch, Jack, and Kieran again as they watched you five with amused expressions.

“Next time, we’re comin’ with,” Sadie raised her glass to yours, “five minutes my ass.”

You sheepishly smiled at her and clinked your glass against hers while looking around, “Where’s everyone else? Charles said-”

“There she is!”

Your voice froze as you heard the familiar sound of a particular woman, turning around to meet them.

“Was wonderin’ when you’d show up.”

Your face dropped.

“Miss Grimshaw?”

She took complete pleasure in your utter surprise, sporting a smirk as she sipped from a glass of dark liquid. You approached her, gesturing to say something, but words eluded you, earning a chuckle from her. She savored her drink and waited patiently, her smug expression unyielding until you finally found your voice.

“I didn’t think you wanted to-”

“Celebrate the Day of the Dead? I don’t.” You raised your eyebrows at her bluntness. She took a few steps towards you, “But it beats bein’ in that camp for once. And free drinks ain’t so bad either”

There’s the Susan Grimshaw you knew.

You were quiet as she surveyed your attire, ruffling your sleeve from awkward creases and smoothing it afterwards. Her gaze drew up to your face, looking everywhere but your eyes, making sure all your hairs were in place and that you didn’t just walk straight out of a barn. She placed her fingers under your chin and tilted up to her.

“Don’t be dumb. Don’t be stupid. And don’t go diggin’ up graves. Ya’ hear me?”

You smirked. “No promises.”

She rolled her eyes as her hand dropped, smacking you on the shoulder. “Lord, y’all are the reason I have all these grays.”

She winked at you as she moved on from your conversation, and when you turned back to your friends, they had vanished.

Again.

You let out a suppressed laugh at the circumstances. Of course– if you weren’t glued to their hip, you were bound to lose them. And with as many people there were, finding them again wouldn’t be easy. So, you chose not to.

Swiping another drink from a passing server, you wandered about the property and drank while you observed the various scenes that played out. Suited men overindulging in beers and politics, staff lingering in the corner and gossiping in hushed tones, and young women trying to appear more desirable by loosening buttons or letting a sleeve slip off their shoulders.

The further into the night, the more increasingly bold and uninhibited people became, embracing the wicked and mischievous aspects of the holiday. You noticed it more as you went about the district, slipping in and out without attracting much attention– a level of anonymity you found strangely enjoyable.

The only interruptions were the occasional sightings of familiar faces when you were least expecting them– like Lenny and Kieran on the corner of a saloon, or Karen and Sean talking it up on the staircase of another mansion. Despite their lack of acknowledgement, you still grinned towards them and continued your exploration.

As you came across one of the last estates, you’d barely stepped foot on the property before hearing your name shouted out, causing you to jump.

“Over here, Miss!”

Realizing it to be Dutch beckoning you over, you relaxed and crossed the yard to join at his side, accompanied by a few unfamiliar men. You graciously made their acquaintance and accepted a drink offered by Dutch.

“Gentlemen, this here is one of Van Der Linde’s finest.” He bowed to you, eliciting a shy chuckle out of you, “Truly, she’s one of a kind.”

“You don’t have to tell us twice,” the man to your left winked in your direction. He extended his hand to you, “It’s a shame we haven’t met earlier.”

He was conventionally attractive; kept hair, clean shaven, chiseled features, well dressed. His accent you couldn’t particularly place but found it interesting nonetheless– carrying a definitive air of sophistication.

Taking his hand, he brought it up to his face and kissed the top of it– an act that normally would be acceptable, but you got an icky feeling from him. You bowed your head only to be polite, finding words unnecessary.

“What do you say, dear, let me take you for a drink and have the privilege of getting to know all about Van Der Linde’s finest?”

The bold request had you raising your eyebrows and an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You flushed with embarrassment, was this really happening right now, especially in front of Dutch? It felt so wrong. You didn’t realize how long you’d been silent until another voice interjected.

“She ain’t interested.”

Your eyes widened and back straightened at the deep drawl.

Arthur.

His imposing presence settled beside you, taking the opportunity to steal a glance at him while he was focused on the gentleman before you. It turned into a double-take once you realized what he was wearing.

His hands held his trusty gun belt over a pair of dark pants– jeans, maybe, but it was hard to discern in the dim light. He swapped his typical suspenders for a ragged dark brown leather belt, a unique change yet fitting one. And his shirt– God, his shirt– a white and red gingham button-up that he filled out perfectly with cuffed sleeves. Now that was different, and probably not his preferred style deep down, but you loved it. Even his hat was different, trading his father’s for a much fancier one with a wide front dip and roll, as well as the band featuring brass rifle bullets.

You couldn’t help but gawk. He looked so damn good, and also the only one out of the gang that actually dressed up for the occasion.

“Last I checked, I was speaking to the lady.” The gentleman puffed his chest a bit, elegantly gesturing to you.

Arthur chuckled lowly, his demeanor remaining cool, “Yeah, well, last I checked the lady wasn’t talkin’ back.”

The gentleman, clearly insulted, narrowed his eyes on Arthur as his fingers pinched the stem of his wine glass– the difference between their behaviors clear as day. During their small exchange, you kept your eyes on your hands that held a drink, though you weren’t interested in it much at the moment.

“It’s clear you’ve made her uncomfortable with your poor manners,” the irony of his words made the faintest smile curl on your lips.

Arthur laughed louder, turning to you and draping a hand behind your back while the other settled on his belt still, “Miss, have I made you uncomfortable with my poor manners?”

You met his gaze with a knowing look, biting your lip to fend off the smile that was deepening at him fucking with the man. You knew the answer, and so did Arthur, and you got a kick out of his way of making him look like a fool.

“What poor manners?” You raised your drink to your lips to further conceal your amusement while maintaining eye contact with Arthur, a smirk appearing on his face.

“See? She just ain’t wanna talk to you.” Arthur’s hand pressed against your back, directing you to move, while he tipped his head and gestured a farewell, “Now, you gentlemen have a fine night.”

As you walked further away you could hear bits and pieces of Dutch attempting to soothe the situation, which, to you, sounded like a lot of ass-kissing to salvage whatever relations he had built with those men before suffering a blow from Arthur.

Speaking of him– your skin was warm where his hand touched and guided you, steady as he maneuvered you both through the crowds. It was reminiscent of the feeling you’d had with Charles earlier, but with Arthur, it was different– more intense. Even from behind, you could sense his frame towering over you, feeling a warmth in your cheeks just at the thought of his broadness alone. He mumbled a series of ‘excuse us’ and ‘watch out’ as you moved along into the backyard, the scene nearly the same compared to Mayor Lemieux’s, of course the obvious difference was the actual yard itself.

It was only when you were nearly at the back that his hand dropped from you as he rested against a pillar, his eyes carefully scanning through the sea of people before returning to you.

“M’sorry about that,” his sincerity was evident. “Dutch’s been with ‘em all night, and I ain’t got a very good feeling about it.”

You appreciated his apology though it wasn’t really necessary. His intent was clear, and you admired him for it.

“Well, I’d say you’re my knight in shining armor, but it’s looking more like..” Your eyes danced around his attire again with a hint of a smile.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he shook his head and put his bottle to his lips, giving you a fine sight to see. “S’your fault I’m wearin this get-up, by the way.”

He pointed at you while leaning back, shifting his weight to one foot with the other crossed in front of it. His arms crossed against his chest in a way made his arms look ridiculously big, and you couldn’t help but wonder how this man didn’t have women lining up for him around the block.

“Oh, you say it like it’s a bad thing,” you retorted, taking a sip from your glass before gesturing to yourself. “And you’re not the only one, see?”

With a graceful twirl, you spun around, allowing your skirt to flare for a flashy effect. Arthur couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips as he watched you.

“Are you supposed to be somethin’, or?” There was a genuine curiosity in his tone that had you raising your brows, which caused him to stutter. “I-I mean, don’t get me wrong! It looks, you look–”

A laugh from you calmed his nerves, “I’m not, I just wanted to be festive, is all.”

He nodded and shifted his weight to the other foot, casting his gaze towards the crowd again. An awkward silence filled the space for a moment.

“What about you? What’s your get-up?” You grinned as he rolled his eyes at his word choice for costume. “And don’t say a cowboy.”

He fell quiet.

“An outlaw?”

Your laughter mingled in the air with Arthur’s, seeing a dash of red spread across his cheeks. It was exactly the kind of answer you had expected.

As it died down, his attention returned to the yard, and you couldn’t help but look at him. With his rugged looks, quick wit, and heart of gold, it was hard not to feel something for him. And for how much you were having a good time in the short duration you were with him, you couldn’t believe he ever protested coming out here.

Your heart fluttered for him. He could’ve been anywhere else right now, either at camp or drinking and getting into trouble, but yet he stayed with you, and it didn’t look like he was leaving your side anytime soon.

“Arthur–”

“We gotta move–”

The sudden urgency in his voice caught you off-guard. He stood from the pillar and a protective hand was on your back again, preparing to lead you away once more. Both of your gazes were fixed on several unfriendly-looking staff members who were combing through people with lanterns– grabbing them by the shoulder, holding the light to their face, then carelessly throwing them aside when they weren’t the face they were looking for.

Just your luck.

Quickly, Arthur guided you down the steps and to the right to what you assumed was a storage house. You kept an eye out while he found a way in, though your panic rose as they kept sweeping the yard and moving closer.

“Arthur, any day now would be gr–”

He pulled your arm into darkness and swung the door shut, immediately blocking it with an object that was too dark for you to see. The space was much smaller than you imagined and quite stuffy, the music and conversation muffled to your ears now.

Your heart hammered in your chest, surely this wasn’t because of a bruise to the ego? But then again, these rich folk seemed sensitive. You joined Arthur at the small window, just peeking around the curtain to watch the unwelcomed company grow closer, “Some staff this place has.”

“This place belongs to Angelo Bronté. And that ain’t staff.”

You scoffed, “Who?”

“Somebody we ain't need to piss off.”

You faced him, “And let me guess, you pissed him off somehow?”

As he turned to you, you became acutely aware of the lack of distance between you both. Just the slight inch forward and–

No– now was not the time to lust over him, even if your body was giving you all the telltale signs, especially the fire that burned in your core. But it didn’t help when he smirked at you for an answer, the dim illumination of half his face making him look criminally more attractive. You groaned at the overall situation– grappling with your desires and figuring how it wouldn’t be a true Van Der Linde outing if someone didn’t cause trouble.

Your fingers curled around the curtain as you watched them gather near where you’d been standing no more than ten minutes ago. Glancing back, you noticed another window that would lead just over the wall– your escape.

“Hey, there’s a–”

“Where'd you get that?”

You knitted your brows in confusion at him, letting a beat pass before seeing where his eyes had been glued to– your hand on the curtain.

The ring.

The dim light from outside still made it twinkle in the darkness of the room, catching his attention. You glanced at it before redirecting your gaze to the henchmen that had now come down the stairs and searched the opposite side of the patio behind some barrels. It was only a matter of time before they came looking where you were.

“Someone gave it to me, but listen–”

“Who gave it to you? His voice was insistent as he stared at you intently.

You stared back dumbfounded. Between wanting to have him right in this storage house and your pursuers less than twenty yards away, you couldn’t comprehend he was pestering you about this right now.

Letting out a huff, you blindly reached around for anything to give you a boost, finding your footing and hoisting upwards to reach the higher window. With one arm supporting yourself, the other made work with the pane, pushing it up little by little. It proved to be more difficult than you expected from its old age and scarce use. Your heart raced when you heard the twisting of the door knob and voices from the outside congregating around it.

Shit.

With a final push, you opened it all the way, whispering urgently, “C’mon!”

Arthur followed swiftly after you, his plunge to the ground a bit more graceful than yours, but certain he wasn’t looking anyway. Just as hit feet hit the ground, you heard the door bust open from inside, followed by several heavy footsteps and angry voices.

He grabbed your hand and pulled you to the right to run down the street, bumping into townsfolk along the way and hearing their unpleasant words go in one ear and out the other. But they weren’t the only ones disgruntled– so were more henchmen that were right after you. How many people did this guy have?

Your muttered profanity let Arthur know that trouble was on your tail, tightening his grip on your hand and looking for any way out.

An intersection was coming up as you ran further into Saint Denis, which meant more people, more places to hide, and more–

“Trolley!”

You pointed at it as it was approaching too quickly for your liking, hoping Arthur would see and redirect your route. But instead, he tugged for you to run faster.

“We’re not gonna–”

“Just trust me!”

Your eyes darted from the street ahead to the trolley, panic at an all time high as you were essentially running to your certain death.

You squinted as the bright lights blinded you, your legs pumping as fast as they could, and your shriek swallowed by the horn of the machine– you accepted your fate as an oversized bug smeared across its windshield.

You felt your body jerked to the side and slam against concrete. You were disoriented, your senses in chaos. This was it. The afterlife already– dark, cold, and full of..

Ragged breathing?

“Goddamn...” Arthur’s voice reached your ears.

You shot your eyes open at Arthur’s rasp, your heart painfully thumping in your chest and lungs aching with every breath. You heaved and peered around the corner to see Bronté’s men grouped in the street looking for a sign of either of you, but their efforts yielded nothing. WIth an angered look of defeat, they turned back towards the estate, and you let out a deep sigh of relief.

When you turned back, Arthur stood close to you, his gaze drawn to the men then falling to you after.

“You,” you poked at his chest, “are absolutely insane. Never make me do that again!”

“Remember,” his hand reached up for yours, “I’m an outlaw, not a liar.”

You shared a soft laugh, captivated by the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled and the soothing timbre of his voice. Your gaze shifted down to your conjoined hands, appreciating the gentle way he held yours despite his larger and rougher ones. His skin was warm against yours, and although you expected fireworks, it was more like a softness, surrendering to its familiarity despite never having experienced it before.

Lightly, his thumb grazed your palm and stopped at the band around your finger, gently turning your hand over so that the design was visible. He examined it closely, tracing the delicate details with his thumb.

“A woman in the market here gave it to me... Told her I couldn’t afford it, but she wanted me to keep it– insisted on it.”

He continued to look at it, taking in all the tiny details as best as he could in the dark alley. A faint smile appeared on his lips as his thumb ran over it, “Sounds like it was meant to be.”

His choice of words resonated with you, reaffirming the same feeling you’d had when you first tried it on.

A chuckle and grin from you caused him to tilt his head with a playful expression, slightly leaning closer to you, “What?”

You glanced at the ring and back to him, briefly holding your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment. Your gaze flickered from his eyes, down to his lips, and back up again.

“You believe in fate, Arthur Morgan?”

His smile faded and eyes slightly widened, but your soft gaze remained steady on him. Your hands left his and traveled to his shoulders, carefully smoothing out any wrinkles. His breathing quickened, especially after the sudden touch. He stared deep into your eyes, searching for any sign that would tell him it was all in his head, but it wasn’t. You knew what you were asking.

He lowered his head for a moment, his expression softening under your touch and drawing closer to you. When he met your eyes again, a fleeting look of sadness crossed his face as his hands found themselves under your elbows.

Being involved with someone like him came with hardships for both sides– a lifestyle that one had to keep and the other suffered because of it. It wasn’t fair, eternally caught in moral dilemmas and forever denied the chance to settle down. There wasn’t the luxury to cherry-pick from life’s offerings, to have it all. This was his life, and he carried the weight of it heavily.

“I don’t believe in a lot of things,”

But you didn’t care. You had embraced a life similar to his, akin to that of the Van Der Linde gang. If you hadn’t, would you all have winded up together anyway?

You understood the unconventional life you all led, far from the standard, civilized existence that others pursued. But it worked for you, and you had each other to rely on, and that’s what truly mattered. You saw beyond the surface, beyond the cold outlaw label that clung to him, a man with flaws and virtues. Maybe he lost his temper too quickly at times or wielded a sharp tongue, but beneath it all, there was love, kindness, and a sense of honor that ran deep within him.

The world may have painted him as the Devil incarnate, but you knew him differently. He was a good man, capable of both selfless kindness and quiet introspection. In your heart, you held this belief, and nothing could change that.

Life had conspired to bring you together. And in that union, there was fate.

“But I have my exceptions.”

He pressed his lips gently against yours, his arms snaking behind and around as yours curled over his shoulders.

It was slow and sweet just like how you imagined he would be– taking his time to know your body and touch. His hands spread along your back and held you protectively, your bodies melting into one another. The breaks between were short, too focused on the fact this was happening to pay attention to anything else but each other. Your hand moved to his cheek and ran your thumb along his beard, earning a hum of pleasure from the small act and had you smiling against his lips.

When you finally broke, you rested foreheads together, pushing up his hat slightly in the process. Even in a dark alley, you could still make out his bright blue eyes and a deep shade of red gracing his skin. You couldn’t even begin to conceal your toothy grin, nor could he.

“I have my exceptions, too.”

His hand reached up and curled around yours, “Hope I’m the only one, then.”

You pecked his lips before stepping back and lacing your fingers with his, gently tugging to walk, “I’ll think about it.”

He rolled his eyes at your wink but still grinned, happily following you around wherever you dragged him to. Slipping between alleys, you merged yourselves with the lively nightlife again– the same sights you saw during the day looked even better now.

As you strolled through the town hand-in-hand, a sense of domesticity settled upon you. Tonight, you weren’t part of a highly wanted gang, you were just another pair in the streets of Saint Denis– clinging to his arm, catching snippets of entertainment through saloon doors, and getting the other’s attention when something of interest was spotted.

One of the things you enjoyed most was Arthur’s reactions to when kids jumped out to scare you both, a prank played on anyone who dared to walk the particular stretch of the street. The younger the prankster, the more dramatic Arthur’s responses became. He would place a hand over his heart and tightly cling to you with feigned disbelief, saying things like “Haven’t been scared like that in years!” or, “Never even saw ‘em comin!” before saying some words of encouragement that fueled the next scare.

Teenage boys who attempted the same stunt received a more wary reception from Arthur, recognizing their motives often stemmed from a desire to appear cool in front of friends or impress girls, and that their pranks were much more juvenile. In most cases, his glare and sheer size alone were enough to send them fleeing, but those who dared to persist were subjected to his quick tongue and left them retreating like chastened dogs with their tails between their legs. Your laughter always followed the encounter, adding to the lingering sting of Arthur’s verbal reprimand.

Eventually, your route had led you near the markets again, and you eagerly pulled Arthur along to find your favorite stand. He chuckled and followed your lead as you navigated through the crowd, your excitement palpable.

“Oh please tell me you stole him!” Came a familiar voice around the corner.

You smiled at the sight of her and approached, seeing that her table had been decently cleared, a sign of a good night for profits.

Arthur politely tipped his head towards her with a shy smile, “Afraid it’s the other way around, ma’am.”

You felt a warmth on your cheeks at his answer and gently squeezed his hand before letting it go to dig out your promises tucked expertly within your clothing. “But I do come bearing gifts!”

Her playful frown turned up into genuine surprise at your reveal of assorted jewelry and trinkets– indeed impressed with your take as it was more than she anticipated. Carefully, she examined each one before placing them with her own wares for sale, whispering a praise about the item while doing so. As she spoke, her eyes flitted about her table, her gestures revealing a hint of embarrassment.

“I apologize that I don’t have more to offer, dear,” her eyebrows furrowed apologetically, “but please, do take whatever you like.”

You glanced over the table, hesitating as you hovered a hand over an item before retracting it, shaking your head slowly. The woman and Arthur exchanged puzzled glances, the woman’s expression now tinged with concern.

“It doesn’t have to be tonight, I’ll be here–”

“It’s quite alright,” you replied sweetly, though the confusion was still apparent in her expression. “I just wanted to repay you.”

She layered her hands over her chest in gratitude, and you felt the act of pure kindness from one human to another to be worth more than any dollar bill or piece of gold.

You also knew that besides the girls, each member that was out had surely pickpocketed or gambled their way into getting a cut for themselves and camp.

Her eyes peered over to Arthur for a moment, his posture straightening when she pointed a motherly finger at him. “Don’t let this one go, you hear?”

You giggled at her demand, and another wave of red kissing his cheeks only added to your amusement as he tipped his head at her once again.

Slowly, you exchanged goodbyes as Arthur placed a hand on your lower back and subtly scooched you along– only for it to be an excuse to slip a wad of cash towards the woman without you noticing. Her hands were quick to replace the cash in his hands for something small and delicate into his, darting her eyes between your turned figure and him before shooting a wink. Without looking, Arthur knew exactly what she gave him, and placed it right in his pocket before giving you his full attention as you continued through the strip.

A warm smile graced your lips as Arthur’s arm wrapped around your waist and he planted a gentle kiss on your head, feeling a tiny swarm of butterflies in your chest. His attention made you feel important with the way he had to touch you, like he needed everyone to see you on his arm, proud to have you by his side.

As the night wore on, you couldn’t suppress the heaviness of your eyelids. You tried to hide your yawns that wouldn’t stop coming after the initial one, but Arthur noticed after the second one. After exploring nearly all the sights of Saint Denis, with the exception of the mansion district, of which you had wisely avoided for the rest of the evening, he convinced you to rest at a hotel for the night. You protested at first, but another yawn and knowing look from him persuaded you to give in.

He’d slipped the clerk a little more than the average room cost, wanting you to have the best possible after such a physically taxing day. The clerk, more than willing to oblige, had graciously handed over the keys.

While the lofty bed and opulent room details were certainly appealing, you immediately took to the private balcony that gave the perfect view over the town, allowing you to continue enjoying the night from the comfort of your room. Your skirt fluttered in the breeze, mirroring the movement of the curtains as you leaned against the iron railing. A soft, ambient glow illuminated your figure, creating a picturesque scene that Arthur couldn’t help but admire– a sight he would undoubtedly sketch later.

He joined at your side, his presence reassuring as he brushed against your shoulder. You continued to gaze down at the bustling town below, the sounds of murmured conversation and laughter from the open buildings– mostly taverns and saloons– filling the night air. You rested your head against Arthur’s shoulder, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you.

“I know I acted like I didn’t wanna come out here tonight,” he mentioned as he looked down at you, meeting your gaze that reaffirmed his statement that pulled a smile from him. “But I’m glad I did.”

Adjusting to face him properly, he snaked his arm around you as he did the same, drawing you closer to him with a soft, affectionate look. You brushed noses as you settled in his space, your lips mere centimeters from his.

“I’m glad you did too.”

Your lips locked in a passionate embrace, and the cheers and woos from below had reached your ears, causing both of you to break into smiles at the unexpected audience. But he paid no heed to the commotion as he pulled you in for more, his hands finding your face to deepen your connection.

In a brief moment of separation, you took the opportunity to give him a suggestive smirk and nod to the room that told him everything he needed to know– quickly peppering kisses along your jaw and neck before swiftly sweeping you off your feet and right into bed.

If tonight proved one thing, it was that you needed to get out of camp more often.

Especially with Arthur.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x f!reader #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption fic #rdr2 #halloween fic

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ijuststareatstuffhereok89 · 1 month

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"Time & the Trickster" a Loki/Doctor Who crossover

Chapter 15: Journey's End

With no other alternatives, you and Loki face destiny.

CHAPTER WARNING (18+): I cried like a bitch writing this, make of that fact what you will

Previous Chapter · Epilogue MASTERLIST

It took both The Doctor and Loki to calm you down enough that you could think rationally, even as you felt like you were dying inside.

It was all over. Despite everything you’d done, despite all of your efforts to try and make it right, you’d only accomplished what you swore you would never do: you led Loki back to where he started, facing down a great and terrible destiny. And no matter what the wise, skinny alien said, you still felt it deep within you: it was your fault. You should have let go yourself and forced Loki to take Sylvie.

What the hell were you even saying?

Almost two months ago, you thought you were letting a kooky, deluded street rat sleep in your bed. You were regretting paying his bail. If you could only go back…

“We have about ten minutes before we arrive at the…the TVA,” said The Doctor. “Once we land, you’ll only have a moment to do what you need to.”

Loki nodded, still holding you tightly. “May I have a moment alone?”

He nodded a moment, before something caught his eye: lying near the basin was Sylvie’s stone, having fallen out of your hand in the scuffle. He slowly picked it up, bringing it over and kneeling beside Loki to place it in his hand.

The crack in the stone began healing at Loki’s touch. It glowed a much brighter green.

“Y/N, look!” he said quietly, showing you how the stone was practically regenerating.

The Doctor got an idea, based on something he’d witnessed happen once before, some time ago. Taking your hand, he placed it on top of Loki’s and the stone.

Something flashed before your eyes, but you didn’t recognize it. You withdrew your hand as quickly as The Doctor had placed it. “What..was that, Doctor?”

“I saw it too,” added Loki. “What just happened?”

“With everything in time and creation so unstable, the stone is able to show you echoes of places you may have been in other realities…ones where you are both together.” The Doctor remembered once how he’d held onto a fob watch in another’s hand and experienced the same thing.

“It means you have about five minutes to live your lives together,” said The Doctor. “I’ll give you privacy.”

He left you alone with Loki in the chamber, and your god took a moment to gently wipe a tear from your face. You leaned into his palm, letting his warm hand comfort you. He was holding the stone in his other hand. “What do you say, Y/N? Shall we take one last journey together?”

You nodded, whispering a delicate “yes” as you slipped your hand over Loki’s and the glowing time stone.

You and Loki materialized on a cliffside, overlooking a massive golden city of rainbows, gems, and gilded splendor. As if you were watching a film, you found your variants sitting by a small fruit tree, pink blossoms floating in the wind and adding perfume to the air. You were sitting on a silk blanket, a wicker basket of fruit and nuts at Loki’s feet.

“I grew up in that wing, the northernmost spires of the palace were my playrooms…” Loki was explaining to you where he grew up, showing you Asgard in its full glory. He took a moment from his story to pluck a grape from the basket and slowly place it between your lips.

Your spectator self sighed romantically.

“Y/N?” the projection of Loki took your hand and kissed it delicately before repeating the pleasure with each individual finger. You could almost feel it for yourself.

“I know what this is,” Loki said softly. “I’ve only ever been here once.”

“What is it?” you asked.

“The place my mother and fa—Odin—became engaged. He showed it to my brother and I once, and I determined the next time I visited the spot would be to propose to my mate beneath that tree.”

As if on cue, Vision Loki whispered into Vision You’s ear. She gave an excited yelp and leapt on top of Loki, throwing him against the ground and littering his face with affectionate pecks. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her so tightly you couldn’t roll off if you wanted to. You

You almost hated to hear it. This was no longer your future. Perhaps it never was. This future belonged to the variants acting out the tableau. Their glee was not yours.

“That means we would have…” Loki trailed off. You squeezed his hand, the stone in between pulsing slowly, erasing the world around you and bringing up another.

A woman in sky blue twirled dreamily in exquisite gossamer. It was only through a few moments of careful study that you and Loki were able to determine it was you.

You were in a bedroom. Loki sat watching your dance from the edge of the bed, his formal armor cast aside, leaving him in a white undershirt and leggings. He was laughing, his gaze lingering on your body with desire.

“My bride, is the alcohol still in your head? The feast and dance have ended!”

You stopped twirling to pout playfully. “But I feel so beautiful!”

Loki got up and laid a hand on your cheek. “And so you are, my Princess.”

A hot tear slowly rolled down the side of your cheek as you realized what you were looking at: a lost wedding night. You didn’t know whether you wanted to stay and see more or leave before anything made you cry harder. Loki saw your sadness, and squeezed your hand just as you could see the bridegroom sweep the bride off her feet, the laugher reaching a crescendo as the room fell away…

A Realm-wide celebration was being thrown. The royals stood on a balcony overseeing a large, cheering crowd as banners and confetti were thrown everywhere.

Thor, Loki’s brother, stood strong and victorious, raising Mjolnir in the air, a petite brunette at his side you recognized as Jane Foster. He was giving a speech as you tried to find you and Loki. Only you were present, hands folded politely as you listened.

“My people! The Dark Elves and Malekith are fully defeated, with the help of my brother, Prince Lo—” he stopped short, looking around him before looking directly at you for answers as to his whereabouts.

You smiled and looked past Thor. Loki, in full regalia, led two young boys dressed in miniature versions of their father’s armor onto the stage. Thor glowed with a big grin on his face. “You’re late for letting my nephews see my triumph, brother! Did naptime run a little long this afternoon?”

“Perhaps my dear brother the King shouldn’t mock fatherhood until he’s won the title for himself!” Loki quipped back, releasing the toddler princes’ hands. Both made a beeline for your wide, waiting arms.

Thor chortled. “I am King of Asgard! I am the father of a Realm!”

Loki rolled his eyes and went to join you at your side. Each of you picked up a giggling, star-eyed twin and looked affectionate at one another. The warm contentment was almost enough to envelope you like a thick fleece blanket.

“We…we had kids, Loki,” you whispered, hardly able to believe it for yourself. “Those are…ours!”

And they were perfect. One with his father’s raven-black hair, the other had your unmistakable smile and laugh. How old were they? Three?

He wasn’t saying anything, but you got the feeling from the look on his face that he longed for what he saw, and yet understood the tragedy of it. When he broke the silence, it was to say, “Two lives that we will never see.”

“That will never exist,” you added, your face getting hotter.

Loki shook his head. “They exist,” he assured you, “This isn’t a hallucination. The time stone doesn’t show visions, it shows time and timelines, and what we are seeing is a timeline somewhere in the cosmos that is very real, I promise.”

You weren’t sure if you were more jealous or heartbroken. True happiness was so, so far away! “Still, I…I...I can’t see this anymore!”

The disembodied voice of The Doctor interrupted you. “Which is well enough because you’re out of time.”

The spell of the stone fell away, and you and Loki were back on the floor of the vortex chamber, holding onto one another.

The Doctor was once again in the doorway. He looked solemn. “The TARDIS has locked down the TVA’s coordinates. Means we have about five minutes. Take the stairs on your right all the way up to the console when you’re ready.”

After he left you alone again, you could help but swear at Loki one more time. “Goddamn you, what were you thinking?”

He spoke with conviction. “That I would rather sit on that lump of rock at the end of the universe for ten eternities than choose another over you.”

You were beginning to feel frustration mixing in with your sorrow. “I told you I didn’t want your fate to be on my head!”

Loki tucked a finger under your chin, drawing your gaze upward. He was smiling like a condemned man would, trying to save face on his way up the scaffold. “I made the choice. I would make it again every time, Y/N.”

“Loki…” you whispered, unable to finish your thought as he drew your lips into one last kiss, the bright light leaking from the sealed vortex basin silhouetting your faces and painting massive shadows of you against the wall, joined as a single shape, attached at the mouth.

The intensity, the pace, the eternal-yet-fleeting perfection of a final kiss was never lost on you. Whenever you were alone in the apartment, whether Joey was at work or otherwise unable to hang out, you watched romances. The ones that made you weep at the end were your favorite. They all involved a goodbye as bittersweet at this. And they all involved the most beautiful, earth-shifting final kisses. All five of your favorite kisses from fiction were tragic goodbye kisses, each one filled with more heartache and passion than the last.

This one left them all behind. You tasted paradise on his lips.

The unmistakable sounds of the TARDIS breathing as it made its final appearance at its destination began to echo about the room, an alarm clock signaling that the miserable time was upon you.

One your mouths parted for the final time, Loki pulled you against his chest whispering softly. “Don’t cry for me, please, my star. I have chosen this. I wanted to give you your life. Live it, live well. Just…never forget that you need real people. Not just films and television screens full of false heroes.”

“It’s how I met you,” you quivered from under his arms. “It’s how I got to know you.”

“No,” Loki answered, rocking you back and forth. “Those actors and writers will never know my greatest adventure of all. There will never be an episode of that Tom’s television show when a mortal from the most forsaken reality found the power within herself to lead the god Loki across land and sea and returned him to the stars to save us all.”

Loki helped you to your feet, but as you began to climb the stairs to the console, he stopped you one more time, taking your hand and holding it as if about to propose.

“Y/N, you’ve been the hero of our story this whole time. I want you to bask in the world you’ve saved and be fulfilled. Please promise me you won’t dwell on what we could have salvaged, and instead lull yourself to sleep with the dreams of what you have yet to do.”

“I’ll try,” you said weakly, before correcting yourself. “I will.”

“I am so proud of you, my star.”

After kissing your hand, he looked deeply into your eyes. “And if you do, I promise you in turn, that any time you need me, if you look to the night sky and see a green star streaking above…I am thinking of you, and in my mind we are already back in that hot spring, counting each twinkling light above until dawn breaks over us again.”

You threw yourself against Loki’s chest so hard he nearly fell back down the stairs. He kept his arm around you, holding you close as you ascended together, finally meeting The Doctor at the TARDIS console.

He was leaning casually against the railing, looking gently sad as you finally relinquished Loki to where he’d needed to be all along.

“Are you ready?” he asked. You both nodded.

Loki graciously stepped forward and shook his hand, and even The Doctor couldn’t help but smile again. “I still can’t believe I met the God of Mischief today! You’re brilliant!”

“So are you, new friend,” said Loki. “And…uh…” he looked around the ship. “Safe travels!”

“Godspeed to you, my friend,” said The Doctor. “We’ve landed.”

As the TARDIS doors opened for Loki, you felt a firm hand on your shoulder keep you anchored to your position at the top of the front set of stairs. The Doctor was lightly restraining you. “I don’t think you should go.”

“But, what if he needs me?” you said quietly, Loki turning at the open threshold to give you one more, reassuring smile. “This is so much…what if he needs me?” you repeated.

“He does. That is why this is a sacrifice,” The Doctor answered, looking you sternly in the eye. “But he wouldn’t want you to see it happening to him.”

“Y/N?” Loki called up to you one last time.

You couldn’t speak. Your mouth opened and air fell out. You felt The Doctor take your hand in his, giving it a supportive squeeze.

“I love you,” he said. “And I would make the same choice every time.”

You finally smiled back, even if just for his benefit. “No regrets?”

Loki shook his head. “Never.”

The Doctor’s grip on your hand tightened as Loki turned his back to you, slowly stepping out and into his world. You could barely make out a large, gray-and-brown room with tech and a few figures waiting beyond the doors for him. A blonde man in a brown suit was looking both stunned and relieved. Mobius, you thought.

You had the idea from the stories of Mobius that Loki had relayed to you that perhaps their bond was more than he let on, but you weren’t jealous of it. If anything, you felt a kinship with Mobius. You were both about to lose the man you loved.

In a moment that felt both instant and endless, Loki left the TARDIS to meet his fate. The doors slowly closed behind him just as he turned back to get one last glimpse of you.

“Well,” The Doctor said, adding a little perk to his voice to try and lighten the mood, “We both need to get off this timeline before Loki does his work, otherwise we’ll be trapped here.”

He ran back to the console and began speaking a mile-a-minute again. “We should have several minutes to get everyone back to where they need to be before the lines are fully repaired and sealed, so…”

You couldn’t hear a word he was saying. You felt every emotion drain from your body as you became a shell, barely able to hold it together.

The Doctor looked at you with some pity. Not long ago he was alone in the TARDIS, fresh off of a loss of his own. Unlike him, you wouldn’t have someone new literally beamed into the room beside you to fill the hole in your heart.

He chose to speak softly. “Y/N?”

“…yeah?” you said meekly.

“Let’s…let’s go get your brother. We’ll meet him at the park five minutes after we left.”

As soon as the TARDIS hit solid ground, The Doctor took your hand and coaxed you outside. “We only have a few moments before our window of opportunity to hop around realities, so let’s collect your brother and return you home.”

You were still entirely numb from your painful farewell. You only looked straight ahead of you with glazed-over eyes as The Doctor brought you into the open air. “Look!” said The Doctor with a sweet, encouraging smile. He pointed upward. “He’s already doing it. Brave man, brilliant man, that Loki!”

The deep green of the sky was giving way to light blue that indicated mid-afternoon. The people who were panicking seconds ago were beginning to rejoice. The Doctor had been true to his word: he’d returned you to only minutes after you and Loki found him in the park. Granted, it was only in order to retrieve your brother, who had sadly missed everything in his never ending quest for parking space for your stolen car.

Joey’s jaw fell open as he came up around a bend, finally spotting you.

“Well, fuck a duck! Sis, what the hell--?”

“Ssh!” The Doctor silenced him. Joey couldn’t believe who he was looking at, and thus clammed up. You were ignoring all of this, watching the sky paint itself blue again with a cold tear in your eye.

“He’s got us all in his hands at this very moment,” said The Doctor slowly. “He’s thinking of you and saving your life right now!”

The air around you grew cool, calm, and sweet, and you knew it was Loki blowing you one final kiss from his new perch inside a new Yggdrasil, where he had been meant to go all along. You sucked in your breath. Even the wind had the lightest reminiscent scent of Loki’s hair.

“Thank you, my love,” you said quietly.

The sky gave one last flash of green before dissipating back to its natural hue. The Doctor leaned in and spoke only to you. “He heard you.”

“Do you really think he hears me, Doctor?” you whispered.

But he didn’t answer you this time, with only seconds left to deliver you home. “Well, now that we’re all back together, shall we get you two back to America?” asked the Time Lord.

Joey was still confused. “Where’s Loki? What did I miss? It’s only been, like, half an hour!”

You found yourself standing in front of Gino’s Pizzeria once more. It was the last place in all of time and space that you wanted to be. The Doctor had delivered you to exactly where he promised. As the three of you disembarked, any evidence of the greened-over sky or collapsing realities was gone.

Joey shrugged and stuck out a hand to shake The Doctor’s. “What can I say, man? I got to ride in your TARDIS and meet you and…just…thanks for everything!” He may as well have been meeting God.

The Doctor grinned. “Oh, my pleasure, Joey! Always good to meet someone who appreciates my work!”

“If you ever find your way back to our little pocket of space, look me up! I want to see those swaying mountains one day.”

“Oh, you know it!”

Joey took out his key and opened the side door, dwelling in the frame when he saw you needed one more moment.

The Doctor looked at you, while you couldn’t keep your eyes off the sky. It was sunset. The TARDIS must’ve skipped around a few hours in time while you flew back.

“Are you going to be ok?” he asked. When you didn’t reply, he put a hand on your shoulder. “Remember, our duty is to live.”

Swallowing, you turned into The Doctor’s waiting arms, holding him close. “Thank you for everything,” you said. “I’ll be okay.”

“Good,” said The Doctor. The TARDIS breathed as the last remnants of Loki's magic began to fade. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my ride’s about to leave the station!”

He turned away, but had one final thought, compelling him to spin on his heels one last time. “Oh…and Y/N?”

“Yes?” you perked up.

“He can hear you.” He winked, and you waved with a sad smile.

You and Joey stood in the alley and watched as the TARDIS flew off, back to the reality where he was needed most. You cried quietly as you stood for a moment after everything felt silent, and the last traces of the engine’s noise were undetectable.

It was all over. Everyone was where they were always meant to be.

“Hey Sis,” Joey asked, still hanging out in the doorway. “I still have some weed in my drawer. Let’s get baked, order takeout, and watch Thor.”

You smiled as you looked down. You were beginning to fiddle with the tarot pendant, the last reminder of your summer of wonderful insanity. Loki had called you his star. No matter how many realities separated you, nothing would ever change that.

“No,” you said. “I’m feeling the bowl and the food, but let’s watch Captain America instead.”

Epilogue to follow next week!

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tossawary · 3 months

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Posting about my reread like this in an attempt to help me remember some of these small details... I am quite bad at remembering things from the beginning of a book by the end of it, partially because small, easily overlooked details often become far more meaningful and therefore memorable on the reread.

Some quotes and thoughts on Binghe's birth + adoption, Tianlang-Jun, Su Xiyan, and the poor, unnamed washerwoman:

"Immediately after birth, Luo Binghe was abandoned by his parents, swaddled in white cloth, and put in a wooden basin that was lowered into the Luo River. This occurred on the coldest days of the year, and it was only thanks to fishermen pulling him out of the water that he didn't freeze to death as a baby. Because he'd been drifting along the Luo in the season when it was choked with thin ice, he was given the name Luo Binghe.

Luo Binghe spent his early years wandering the streets, hungry and cold - a dreary childhood. A washerwoman who worked for a wealthy family took pity on him, and since he had no children of her own, she adopted and raised him as her own. Mother and son were poor, and they suffered much humiliation at the hands of their rich patrons." - Chapter 1, pages 9-10

"As it turned out, Luo Binghe had been born to the Demon Realm's Saintly Ruler and a woman of the Human Realm; within his veins flowed the blood of the ancient, heaven-fallen demons as well as that of the human race. His father, Tianlang-Jun, had been sealed beneath a great mountain, trapped for all eternity. His birth mother had been a disciple from a righteous cultivation sect, but shortly following Tianlang-Jun's dealing, she had been expelled on suspicion of having secret ties to demons. She had died from a postpartum hemorrhage after giving birth to Luo Binghe, but prior to her death, she had set her son adrift from the lonely ship she'd birthed him on. It was the only way she had been able to give Luo Binghe a chance to survive." - Chapter 1, page 11

I view a lot of these small details as somewhat flexible, with the different levels of unreliable narration going on. We are being told these things by Shen Yuan, who may be misremembering these details (as any reader, myself definitely included, does), and who read them as told by Airplane, who may have retconned prior details as he came up with new ideas, forgotten small details as he wrote millions of words, or was just lying in the narration for later reveals that never came to fruition. Shen Yuan may have also been reading dialogue between characters who also didn't know what they were talking about or were lying to each other.

So, I can do what I want with a lot of this, I feel! Shen Yuan doesn't necessarily know what he's talking about here. (More details will be revealed later on, I remember, and I will be looking out for them.)

Interesting things to remember here! Tianlang-Jun was apparently probably sealed during the winter, maybe late autumn at the earliest, which was probably unpleasant for snake demon Zhuzhi-Lang. I'm currently imagining Tianlang-Jun leaving his nephew to essentially hibernate somewhere to avoid the weather, promising to stay out of trouble (actually planning to meet up with Su Xiyan), and then just not coming back.

Su Xiyan apparently gave birth to Binghe on a ship! That's interesting. I had forgotten that detail if I ever took note of it.

I knew that the book implies here that Binghe was found by the washerwoman a little later into his childhood, but I'd forgotten the fishermen detail. I usually intentionally ignore this and just go with the washerwoman finding Binghe (which is what the animated show did, I think), because if Binghe was honestly "immediately" abandoned by Su Xiyan, then he would have been a newborn! Someone HAD to have been looking after him. This is one of my pet peeves in fiction: Binghe HAD to have been breastfed by someone OR this world must have an equivalent to baby formula for him to survive. (This is the main reason I conceptualized Luo Jiahui in PINTWILF as a young woman who had recently had a stillbirth, just so she could breastfeed this newborn baby.)

It's possible that Binghe had a series of caretakers who fell through before his adoption, leading to brief periods on the streets as a young child, and/or he did a lot of "wandering the streets" begging and scavenging AFTER his adoption by an extremely poor woman (and the sentences there are just a little out of order). Even if demon baby Binghe COULD survive on other food somehow, newborns can't... walk... or crawl... or lift their heads.

If I have to stick to what's written here as closely as possible, then I would go with the following interpretation: newborn Binghe being found by fishermen, who take him to town to see if anyone has lost or abandoned a child, or if anyone is willing to take one in. The only person to agree is this washerwoman. People in town possibly donate some means (baby formula equivalent, kinky plot device plant that kickstarts lactation) to feed this baby or cruelly tell the washerwoman the baby will die. Possibly, the washerwoman goes deeply into debt asking these rich patrons for the means to feed this baby. As Binghe grows up, he spends a lot of time on the streets, begging and scavenging to help his extremely poor adoptive mother. End mostly canonical interpretation.

If we wanted to get a little wild, we could also go with the interpretation that Shen Yuan is incorrect when he uses the word "immediately". Either he misinterpreted something Airplane wrote, or a character relayed information incorrectly in PIDW, or the SVSSS just formed differently to Shen Yuan's impression based on very vague information that Airplane may not have been keeping consistent.

Maybe Su Xiyan actually lived for several months on this ship after giving birth, creating the seals and somehow managing to feed her newborn child (the poison that killed her is a problem with breastfeeding here, but idk, maybe heavenly demon babies can drink blood for all we know, which is something Su Xiyan would know but the washerwoman would not), before setting Binghe adrift. Binghe would be too young to remember this time with his birth mother. I'll have to see what Wu Chen from Zhao Hua Temple says when I get to his explanation of what happened to Su Xiyan in the third book.

#tossawary svsss #tossawary rereads svsss #pidw luo binghe #luo binghe #su xiyan #luo binghe's adoptive mother #luo jiahui #tianlang jun #zhuzhi lang #long post #spoilers

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thorsenmark · 5 months

Video

flickr

Living a Tradition of Solitude as I Head for the Mountains by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: A setting looking to the west while taking in a view down the Loneliest Road in America (US 50) while standing at the Nevada and Utah state line. My thought on composing this image was to get close to the highway and capture an image looking down the road. I decided on a focal point that was nearby what did close down a little on the aperture to have some more distant objects a little in focus.

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mutant-distraction · 4 months

Text

Three Rivers Petroglyph Site is a hidden gem, often overlooked by visitors traveling to White Sands or Ruidoso. It is located off US-54 at the end of a winding country road, 17 miles north of the Village of Tularosa. People in the area named the site based on three streams that converge there: Indian Creek, Golondrina Creek, and Three Rivers. Archaeologists credit the Mogollon with leaving thousands of images in the area: humans, birds, fish, insects, plants, geometric and abstract designs. The plethora of petroglyphs adorn the basalt boulders lining a low ridge at the north end of the Tularosa Basin, dispersed across 50+ acres.

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breannasfluff · 27 days

Text

Eldritch Memory - The End

To open his eyes is to relive a memory. Water draining away and a lid opening. Staring up at the glowing lights overhead, hazy as he tries to focus. The faint tug of divinity is like a string, stretching away to someone.

He is in the shrine. He knows nothing. He knows everything. He remembers….

He remembers…

Finally, he climbs out of the basin. At least he’s got clothes this time. As opposed to…yet the memory slips away. His slate is on the pedestal, and he picks it up. It’s muscle memory to tap at the screen and summon different clothes.

Then he pauses because…how did he know to do that?

Time is repeating, circling, twisting in a loop. The air calls to him, caresses him. Home, it whispers. Part of us.

Shaking his head, he puts the slate on his belt clip and leaves the room. There’s no voice to guide him, but the sense remains. Get out.

Down an overgrown hall, up some crumbling stairs. A halo of light beckons him on and then—he is outside. He doesn’t linger, just heads for the edge of the overlook.

Hyrule is laid out before him, oh so familiar. He knows this land. Yet he doesn’t know himself.

He stands there for…well, long enough that the sun’s shifted before he turns to make his way down. There’s a multitude of things to explore, starting with the apple trees.

At some point, muscle memory has him taking the slate from his hip and tapping a glowing marker on the map. Then he dissolves into blue light.

Hateno, his mind supplies when he reappears. Unfortunately, it doesn’t give him anything else. Yet the familiarity here is stronger. Even better, the thread of divinity is so close it pulses, nearly visible. He follows it across the bridge and to a house.

The divinity is linked to a girl with blond hair, pulling weeds near the house. Both hands wrap around the stubborn plant and tug. It comes out and she falls back with an oomph. Then she looks up and sees him.

“Link?”

Link. Of course. That’s his name. How could he forget? And this is—is…

“Link? Is something wrong?”

Is it? “Who are you?”

There’s a sharpness to her gaze as she pulls herself up. Brushing her hands on her skirt, she walks over. “Link, what happened? You feel…different.” She reaches out and lays a hand on his arm.

There’s a spark—a connection—and a missing chunk slots into place. “Zelda.”

And not just Zelda, but the Calamity. The shrine. Waking up and fighting and saving the land. Living in Hateno and traveling. Being strange, yet being accepted by the land and its people.

And more recently—

Read the rest here!

#eldritch memory #eldritch wild #lu wild #lu time #lu sky #lu warriors #lu twilight #lu flora #lu legend #lu hyrule #lu four #lu wind #lu fierce deity #linked universe #linkeduniverse #breannasfluff #my writing

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rabbitcruiser · 2 years

Photo

Musket Shot Springs Scenic Overlook, UT (No. 3)

The Uinta Basin (also known as the Uintah Basin) is a physiographic section of the larger Colorado Plateaus province, which in turn is part of the larger Intermontane Plateaus physiographic division. It is also a geologic structural basin in eastern Utah, east of the Wasatch Mountains and south of the Uinta Mountains. The Uinta Basin is fed by creeks and rivers flowing south from the Uinta Mountains. Many of the principal rivers (Strawberry River, Currant Creek, Rock Creek, Lake Fork River, and Uintah River) flow into the Duchesne River which feeds the Green River—a tributary of the Colorado River. The Uinta Mountains forms the northern border of the Uinta Basin. They contain the highest point in Utah, Kings Peak, with a summit 13,528 feet (4123 metres) above sea level. The climate of the Uinta Basin is semi-arid, with occasionally severe winter cold.

Source: Wikipedia

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neonovember · 1 year

Text

Careful

Mafia!au x Steve Rogers

CHAPTERS: 1 2 3 4 5 6

summary: your escape to Brooklyn was harboured by secrets and a harrowed past, left abused and betrayed, you accepted your destiny of being swallowed by the crowd. Until the King of New York showed up in front of you and wanted a piece of you for himself.

divider by @firefly-graphics !

Taglist 🏷️ (send an ask to be part of my taglist for this series!)

@tinkerbelle67 @patzammit @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @nomadstucky @nessie2183 @shamelessfangirl-3 @namelesssav @marvel-phoenix @euphoric-goddess @roseeatta @abschaffer2 @louderfortheback @stupendouslovegardener @wandamaximoff-simp @thedonswife13 @hpsimpspot @samsgirl93

The sound of chirping birds sifts through the linen curtains draped over the balcony doors, and the gentle breeze of the early morning cause goose bumps to arise across your body strewn about the disturbingly large bed.

Through the haze of half-sleep, you peek one eye open, catching the enormous ceiling-high windows overlooking a meticulously manicured lawn, with tinted cars parked on the cobblestone driveway and everything's all wrong and this isn't your house.

Your heart drops to the depths of your stomach, and everything slows like a picture, you squeeze your eyes shut to will yourself back into the slumber you had just felt before but all you are met with is a nauseous burn crawling up your throat.

You can't think twice before you shoot up from the bed, miraculously finding the bathroom just in time before pouring the entirety of your stomach into the porcelain toilet. You weren't one to get sick, no matter how much you had used that excuse at work, and the putrid stench of day-old liquor rang familiar in your mind as you continued to dry heave.

You don’t waste time before reaching for the flush, watching the disgusting weakness of your strength wash away into the underground sewers, you can't bare to look at yourself and you wish you could wash away the embarrassment just as easily.

Your preoccupation with yourself has momentarily distracted you from the alarming reality of the foreign room you had awakened in, and you suddenly feel that fear blooming within you for the first time in weeks. You hadn't really noticed, but you were less scared of well, everything when Steve had inserted himself into your life, and now you wished you could go back.

Your ears perked up for any sign of movement outside your door but it was desolate, you reached for a candle stick perched on the basin before opening the bathroom door. Eyes surveying the expansive room, you can't help but expect your husband to barge in, laughing down at you as you were captured within his palm yet again.

The prospect wasn't entirely outlandish, you know your husband owned several properties he kept in secrecy, and you hadn't had the stomach to find out what he had them for. Yet something was gnawing at the edges of your mind to step forward, like an unconscious shadow within you, guiding your body towards the door and stepping into the room you had run from. The fear was there, as it always was, but you weren't holding your breath, your body didn't chill from the air of evil that always seemed to emit near your husband.

Your eyes survey the expansive bed situated in the middle of some sort of guest room, even despite your hasty escape, the room looked impeccable, wainscotting outlining the ceiling-high walls, with the shine of sunlight pouring in from the balcony windows like honey.

The marble floors reminded you of your own bedroom you had occupied for years months ago, and suddenly the elated feeling of luxury leaves just as easily as it came.

It unnerved you, being in the presence of such opulence after months of your bare quaint apartment. Even though you had lived in it for years before, it was never truly yours, this life was never truly yours. You were only ever borrowing it until your husband would find the balls to get rid of you.

Your eyes catch a note on the bedside table however, and written in that elegant ink that belongs to only one man that had strung you along in the palm of your hand is placed on a silver tray, along with a pill and a bottle of water, still cold from the tap.

Your fear begins to dissipate from your stomach, as you realise that your anonymity had remained unchanged, and you weren't back into the cage of your husband's imprisonment.

You reach for the note, eyes skimming the perfect lettering you secretly envy;

“You got into a little trouble last night, brought you here to keep you save”

You scrub your face with a hand, mentally thanking him for not delving into the details of what you knew was a haunting moment of weakness.

God, you can’t believe you had done that, let yourself get so weak you sunk back into an addiction you thought you had overcome. It was harrowing how quick it had happened, one moment you were walking home and the next you were crowd-surfing across the bar.

“P.S, take the pill, it’s Advil and if I really wanted to poison you I would’ve done it in your sleep”

You scrutinise the white chalky pill anyway, observing the A outlined in the middle, you roll your eyes before looking down at your attire. Pink striped Pajamas.

You bristle as you realise he would have had to undress you whilst you were in a haze of drunkenness.

And suddenly that’s enough to reignite the temper that had been stamped out by the waves of liquor you had foolishly consumed.

He had lied to you, even if you felt protection here, he had lied, and he did it straight to your face. Did he think you were foolish? Just a stupid girl from a town no one knows that he could take advantage of? You couldn't bear to keep the fueled rage burning within you.

Reaching for the Advil, you swallow it with gulps of water that ease your parched throat, before searching around the enormous room for the clothes you had gotten drunk in. You find them folded neatly on an ottoman to the side, and make quick work of slipping them on before storming out of the room.

You don’t know where you're going, the endless hallways are as foreign to you as the paintings occupying the walls, but you follow the dyed carpet’s twists and turns hoping to stumble into Steve’s office.

Your mind is too preoccupied with the rage brewing within you, your eyes fail to catch the figure watching you closely from one of the hallway doors, causing you to stumble into a brick wall of pure muscle and heat.

You catch yourself at the last minute, looking up to meet familiar slate-grey eyes peering down at you in interest

“You’re up already?” Bucky says, his hand coming to steady you but retracting at the last minute and falling back into the pocket of his suit jacket.

“I want to speak to Steve” You reply, ignoring his attempt at small talk, or more so his declaration of your consciousness.

“Steve? Well-” Bucky beings before you cut him off momentarily

“Don’t give me that bullshit alright? I need to speak to Steve, now” You reply in indignation, Bucky watches you carefully, eyes scanning across your face as he nods slowly. You don't notice his eyes fixated on your fists wrapped in a tight fists. Your voice falters toward the end and you hope you sound as confident as you feel.

“Follow me” Bucky replies with a sigh, and as you walk side by side with Bucky, the click of his dress shoes clashes with the gruff sound of your work boots. You would never harmonise with this life, it's as clear as the shoes you wear.

You try and memorise the left and rights that Bucky takes you, as a kind of backup in case things go wrong and you need a way out, fast. It’s irrational you know, but you can only blame your husband for destroying your idea of rationality.

Bucky turns down a corridor, and you are immediately met with a rush of men in suits carrying boxes and briefcases, leaving and entering the enormous double french doors situated at the end of the hallway like an army of ants. Men stand stationed outside the doors and along the hallway unmoving, like formations of statues pillaring themselves in front of Steve.

The glint of their guns shines iridescent against the morning raze, and you understand that Bucky has some sort of clearance as they merely nod without a word as you pass them.

You and Bucky are about to pass through the double doors before a familiar face pokes at you, eyes widening at your presence in a clearly confidential space, the man that had talked with you with Bucky those weeks ago murmurs into Bucky's ear, the gruff sound of his voice hidden beneath hushed whispers.

You crain your ear to catch anything, but all you can make out is Bucky’s whisper of your name, along with “last night”. Sam shifts his gaze towards you, and a look you can't quite decipher falls over his face. Bucky is continuing to whisper to Sam but he doesn't take his eyes off of you, and finally, after a moment he simply nods and opens the door for the both of you.

The oak doors open into an enormous office space, the panelled french walls are washed with a chestnut gloss, oil paintings of war and glory hang on the walls and every corner has a designated purpose. A bar towards the left is graced with brown liquor in glass bottles and you have to turn away from it to calm the churning in your stomach.

Situated in the middle is a large walnut desk, carved with intricate patterns and relics along its sides, matching leather seats surrounding the desk, the floors a deep mahogany wood you crave to feel the cold touch of beneath your toes.

Men surround the office, some stationed behind the balcony windows, others near the bookcases lining the ceiling-high walls, and you don't notice it at first, but the second you walk in, everything stops. The sound of urgent whispers and conversations comes to a halt as they all stare towards you in fixed interest.

You didn't know this, but there had been no other individuals besides Steve’s men and himself, who had the ability to step foot into this floor of the house, let alone Steve's own office, and they can't help but ogle you like a piece of meat.

You catch their eyes all over you, pulling your stained cardigan closer against your body, you feel Bucky bristle beside you, his grunt of disapproval towards the men, shooting a silent warning that causes them to look away without a blink.

Steve's dirty blonde hair is tousled across his face, and he mutters something under his breath as he looks up from his seat at the office desk. His eyes immediately find you, unblinking as he never leaves your face, the papers in his grasp fall to the table, and let out an exhale as you match his gaze.

Bucky coughs and it’s as if Steve finally realises you're not the only person in the room,

“She wanted to speak to you,” Bucky says, his shoes tapping against the wooden floors, Bucky gives Steve a silent look, nodding towards the men fixated on your presence.

“Did I tell you all to stop?” Steve says in a booming voice you've never heard him use.

They all immediately get back to the phone calls in their hand and the tasks they had ignored at your expense. Steve stands from his seated position near the desk, his suit jacket laying over the office chair, leaving him in a crisp white shirt with a leather shoulder holster tucked into dark black suit pants.

Steve nods towards the balcony, and you step towards the glass doors slowly, you can feel the heat of Steve's hand near the small of your back, gently manoeuvring you through the room and men and through the doors of the balcony.

The gentle breeze of the morning lets you finally let in a breath you hadn't realised you had kept in, your eyes find themselves looking towards the manicured lawn below, gardeners and housekeepers are knelt pulling and plucking at the overgrown weeds, snipping away at leaves and bushes until they were smooth and pristine. Flowers are planted across the lawn, in a discreet way that makes you notice how the colours harmonise, and a ceramic fountain near the middle sprouts out water that shines against the sun.

You notice stepping stones snaking their way to the edge, leading to a vines archway where a vegetable garden hidden under a mesh covering meets your gaze, you try and look further past the vines walls, seeing the top of what looks like a stone pavilion under a low hanging tree that looks like its melting, but Steve steps towards you and you stop immediately.

“You wanted to tell me something?” Steve says, and you look towards him, eyeing his expression. He looks like he truly wants to listen to you and hear what you have to say despite the business of his life.

“Yes, I uh-” You start before the balcony doors open, and a slicked-back mop of black hair enters the balcony, the sound of a voice that you wish you would never hear again causing your stomach to twist into a sharp knot.

Rumlow whispers towards the man stationed beside the balcony doors, relieving him from his position and instead taking his place. His eyes find your own frozen ones, a glint of a smirk pulling at his features and he raises his eyebrows mockingly.

Steve notices the sick look that falls over your face, his eyebrows scrunched up in confusion at the sudden change in your demeanour.

“Hey, hey, you alright?” Steve asks in worry, but you can't take your eyes off of Rumlows condescending smile, as if he had known you would be here, his eyes almost threatening you to tell Steve what he had done before the tap of his pistol causes you to swallow down the bile rising from your throat.

“I um, I uh” You stutter out, and Steve looks at you in worry, his hands coming up to steady you causing you to flinch automatically.

“Fuck” Mutters Steve under his breath and he quickly retracts his hand, he begins to say something but you can’t hear anything besides the ringing in your ear and the rhythmic tap of Rumlows gun.

You shake your head, hands in tight fists that cause indentations to form in your palm, Rumlow clocks his head to the side, behind Steve, giving you a silent warning

Careful.

And he walks through the balcony doors and back into Steves's office like he was never there.

You let out a constricted breath, squeezing your eyes shut before opening them to make sure he was truly gone, Steve gently murmurs your name, and you turn your attention back to him, meeting concerned eyes.

Steve's words finally break through the surface, and your grapes his arm, causing goosebumps to arise across your skin. Steve looks up at you in surprise, his large hand coming to wrap yours around his, feeling the rapid beat of your heart slamming against your chest.

‘Just focus on me, alright? Don’t worry about anything else, I just want your eyes on me, okay? Can you do that for me?” Steve whispers, and you nod slowly. Watching the swirls of blue and grey clash like waves within his eyes.

You stay like this for a while, until the rapid beat of your pulse slows to a rhythmic beat, but Steves keeps your arms wrapped around his own, and you hope to god he does feel the goosebumps arising on your skin.

“What happened just now?” Steve says after a beat, his brow locks falling over his face

“I uh, I don't know, I just starting feeling sick,” You say, teeth biting down onto your bottom lip in nervousness.

Any other time that excuse had worked, whether it be at work or family or any other instance when you felt the ground beneath threaten to give way. But the way Steve looks at you now, in that air of scepticism, it’s like he doesn't believe a single thing that left your mouth.

And it's like you've been called out, the embarrassment of lying causing you to look away.

Steve sighs before nodding,

“I’ll get one of my men to arrange your drive home,” Steve says

“Could you, could Bucky take me home instead?” You say, and Steve looks towards you, a glint of something in his eye as he looks through the windows of the balcony doors, eyes fixated on Bucky before replying with a strained sure.

You step towards the balcony doors, hand coming up to grasp the handle before Steve stops you

“We are going to have to talk about it eventually,” Steve says

“Talk about what?” You turn your head to meet Steves's gaze

“Talk about why you're scared shitless of Rumlow” Steve replies, and you towards him in open-mouthed shock.

How did he know?

Steves share a pointed look, “I see everything, even things that happen behind my back. When I see you later tonight, do me a favour?”

You nod quickly, shutting your open mouth.

“Don’t lie to me” Steve mutters, before opening the balcony doors for you, his hand pressed tight against the small of your back as his warmth tickles the side of your neck.

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universitypenguin · 9 months

Text

Chapter 19

The Princess & the Lawyer

Summary: Princess tries to make things right with Lloyd. An arrest is made in the case and fur flies when Detective Roth meets Lloyd for the first time.

Word Count: 4,643

Masterlist

Warnings: References to stalking, murder, serial killings, criminal investigations into violent crimes

Author’s Note: The winds from the outer bands of Hurricane Hillary are just starting to blow up to my area and it knocked out my electricity for a few hours (thanks, Spectrum Internet! 😤) Fortunately, it’s back on now and I can finally post this chapter!

Chapter XIX

Sunlight gleamed off the slow-moving Shenandoah River and reflected across the valley. Lloyd’s cabin was perched overlooking the basin where the river wound around a bend and slowed to a crawl. From your current position on the front porch, the river looked more like a sheet of glass than a body of water. Lloyd had brought you here after you’d been released from the hospital. Landon arrived the next day with a suitcase of your clothes and took up quarters in the basement. His presence had been a welcome relief from the thick fog of tension hanging over the cabin.

“Are you going to talk to him soon?” Landon asked.

You tucked your knees under your chin, wrapped your arms around them, and stared at the ex-SEAL without really seeing him. The idea of apologizing had been circulating on a loop in your head for the past seventy-two hours.

“I don’t know what to say. It’s like there’s a wall of ice between us.”

“Yeah. I didn’t realize a person could get frostbite in the middle of August until I spent a few hours with you two. Is this how you normally fight?”

“No. Lloyd usually blows up. The only person I’ve seen act like this is Zach. And we know how that usually goes.”

Landon winced. There was no softening the burnt of Zach’s temper. Reason and appeasement had no effect on it - once he turned into Jack Frost all you could do was wait until he de-thawed. Landon leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the armrest.

“Finding out the way he did was hard on him.”

You shut your eyes as if doing so would block out the truth of his statement.

“I know. Not telling him was wrong, but the risk of him losing control and doing something reckless was too much. I was trying to protect him.”

Landon’s eyes softened. “Everyone knows how much you try to shield Lloyd, but you can’t always stand between him and the rest of the world.”

“I’ve seen him spiral before. I don’t want to do anything that would send him down that path again… but here we are. He’s barely looked at me for more than three seconds in the last few days and he’s treating me like a barely tolerable houseguest.”

“You have to talk to him. It’s been three days and quite frankly, I’m sick of walking on eggshells around you two. He’s not angry. He’s hurt. That’s why you’re not seeing an explosion of temper.”

“He’s never been like this before and I don’t know what to say. I’ve been trying to figure it out for days.”

Landon shot you a sardonic look. “Princess, get it through your thick skull: Lloyd isn’t angry, he’s hurt. You’ve never seen him like this before because you’re the only one who could make him feel like this.”

“Trust me, underneath that hurt, he’s angry. Lloyd is always angry.”

“Fear lies at the center of anger. He’s afraid your relationship is broken and that’s why he can’t look at you. Come on, take one for the team - and by team I mean myself. Go talk to him.”

“How do I face him after what I did?”

“He won’t bite,” Landon said.

“No, but his razor blade tongue should be registered as a weapon.”

Landon’s phone buzzed on the unfinished porch railing. He checked the message.

“If you’re going to apologize anytime soon, do it now. Zach is on his way up with Bishop. They just stopped in town for gas and they’ll be here in thirty minutes or so.”

You glanced through the window into the living room where Lloyd sat on the couch, laptop in front of him, scowling. Your stomach pitched at the prospect of the conversation you needed to have.

Landon stood up, his chair scraping against the unfinished planks of the porch floor. “I’ll take a walk down to the river and give you guys some privacy.”

“You’re leaving me alone with him?!”

“You made this mess, you clean it up.”

“If you hear screaming, come rescue me,” you muttered.

Landon crossed the yard to the trail leading down to the river basin and disappeared into the thick wilderness.

You were suddenly alone. Your hands clenched until your fingernails dug into your palms. There wouldn’t be a good time to do this. You’d never feel ready for it, and Landon was right - walking on eggshells was exhausting. You pushed to your feet, pulse thrumming in double time and turned the knob on the cabin door with trembling fingers, steeling yourself for the ugly confrontation.

Lloyd didn’t look up when you shut the door. He was too engrossed in his laptop. You paused and took in his furrowed brow as he tapped the down arrow to scroll through a page. Finally, when it became clear he wasn’t going to acknowledge your presence until you demanded it, you stepped forward.

“Lloyd? I need to talk to you.”

His finger paused on the keyboard and even though he didn’t look up, you pressed forward.

“I didn’t tell you about the stalker because I thought Aiden was behind the messages and I didn’t want you to react impulsively. I figured he was upset about losing his job and had decided to take his frustration out on me. That’s why I got in touch with his father. It seemed like the most efficient way to handle things.”

Before you could continue, Lloyd’s scowl deepened, and he resumed tapping the keyboard.

“Where’s the transcript of my interviews with Dr. Nguyen? I thought I saved them to my files.”

“The interviews? Um… there should be a copy in your email.”

He grunted and began typing. A few clicks later, his chin tilted up.

“Found it.”

You pressed a hand to your hot cheek, took a deep breath, and marshaled your courage.

“Lloyd, I’m trying to talk to you. I want to explain-”

He wasn’t listening. His fingers were dancing over the keyboard and he was blatantly ignoring you. Peaking over his shoulder you saw the website of the local news station pulled up on the laptop.

“I need to catch this broadcast,” Lloyd said tersely.

Your shoulders slumped. Repressing a sigh, you sat down and decided to wait him out.

The anchor’s voice filled the small living room, announcing their lead story - a thunderstorm warning and flood watch. You settled in as they turned to their human interest story about Harmony High School students giving back to the community with a fundraiser for the local food bank. Then the ‘Breaking News’ banner appeared on screen and you sat up straighter as you read it.

“Now, to the latest developments in a breaking news story. The arrest of a suspected serial killer has stunned the community of Harmony, Virginia. Leo McKenzie, an evidence clerk with the State Police, has been taken into custody and charged with twelve counts of murder.”

You gasped.

“Hush, I’m trying to listen,” Lloyd said.

“The case drags up ghosts of the past. In 2003, Dr. Shun Nguyen attracted international attention to the town of Harmony when he was arrested and charged with the murder of his girlfriend. Nguyen was widely considered to be responsible for the rash of disappearances of several local women between 1999 and 2001, culminating in the murder of his girlfriend in 2002. However, his conviction for that crime was overturned in 2013…”

The reporter droned on as you watched, growing confused as the cameras showed the Fairfax County Sheriff arresting a man in his mid-sixties with graying blond hair. He was stocky and dressed in a rumpled green button down and khaki slacks. His expression was slack with shock as he was escorted to a Sheriff’s cruiser.

“McKenzie’s arrest has cast a fresh spotlight on these unsolved cases, igniting painful memories for the families affected. We’ll keep you updated on this developing story throughout the night. Stay tuned for more right here on-”

Lloyd muted the video. You turned to him and for the first time in days he met your gaze.

“Leo McKenzie? The guy who leaked information for the Rolling Stone article?”

“He’s not a bad suspect,” Lloyd said. “Zach found evidence that he’s tampered with evidence before. Plus, he went out of his way to de-stabilize our relationship with the Roth when he contacted Peter Shaw and framed us for leaking confidential information.”

“You think he’s the killer?”

“No. There’s a few holes in the logic, but I’m waiting to see if those can be resolved. The fact that he leaked information to journalists and tried to manipulate the narrative around the case is significant.”

You tried not to be surprised at how quickly Lloyd had gotten up to speed in a few days.

“This was a calculated move,” Lloyd said, his gaze returning to the muted news cast. “There’s enough agencies gunning for the credit on this case that it wouldn’t have taken much more than a well-timed tip-off to persuade the Fairfax Sheriff to make an arrest.”

You nodded. “Right.”

“It’s impressive, really,” Lloyd mused. “Zach is quite the strategist. I hadn’t planned on making a maneuver this bold, but if it gets McKenzie off the street…”

Your mouth fell open. “Zach is behind the arrest?”

“He didn’t run it by me, but I suspect this is what he’s coming up here to discuss. Leo McKenzie crossed him with that journalist and even though it probably wasn’t intended as a personal slight, Zach’s not the forgiving kind.”

“And I thought I was pissed off by Roth’s decision,” you murmured.

“Zach didn’t blame Roth. He went for the root cause of the problem: McKenzie.”

Put like that, the connection between Zach’s interference and Leo’s arrest was undoubtable. You glanced at the clock and saw that he’d be arriving soon. The deadline refocused you on your goal.

“Lloyd, as I was saying, I want to explain why I didn’t tell you what was going on. When I thought Aiden was responsible, I didn’t want to put you in a situation where you’d react before we’d gathered all the facts. I thought what I was doing was appropriate, but in retrospect…”

He stood up and paced to the window and stood there, staring at the driveway. You heard the crunch of wheels over gravel and understood what he was watching for. Zach had arrived. Your eyes closed on a wave of regret.

Great. Lloyd wasn’t listening to a word you had just said.

“Zach brought company.”

*****

Bishop and Detective Roth arrived with Zach.

They shuffled into the living room with the rugged-faced detective trailing behind. He was dressed exactly the same as he’d been the last two times you’d seen him. A white collared shirt, striped red tie, and his holstered weapon prominently displayed on his right hip. His nod of greeting to you was barely perceptible. In response, you crossed your arms over your chest.

Childish, perhaps, but you were still irritated with him and he was interrupting your conversation with Lloyd. Bishop made introductions and Lloyd and Roth immediately began sizing each other up like boxers dancing around a ring.

“I looked into your previous work, Mr. Hansen. You’re quite the character. It seems your investigative techniques involve more theatrics than actual evidence gathering.”

“And your speciality seems to be old cases and old gossip. Slow and methodical hasn’t paid off in the Nguyen case, now, has it?”

“Slow and methodical is standard procedure and I’m a standard procedure kind of guy. It helps me maintain my credibility, which reminds me, your kidnapping conviction got you disbarred, didn’t it?”

Lloyd smirked. “So, you’ve been through my international portfolio as well.”

Roth studied him with an inscrutable expression, then the corner of his lip twitched. “What did you have to do with Leo McKenzie’s arrest? The Sheriff wasn’t supposed to take him into custody until next week.”

“I’d love to take credit but it wasn’t me. However, McKenzie is at the top of my suspect list.”

“What position?” Roth asked.

“Second place.”

Bishop lips pursed. “I can’t believe Sheriff Cerano swept in and arrested him so quickly, considering the history of this case.”

“He’s got enough evidence to hold him, thanks to my team,” Detective Roth said.

“What are the charges?” Zach asked.

“Tampering with evidence, improper release of classified information, and other charges related to his conduct as an evidence clerk. I’d like to apologize for jumping to conclusions and accusing the two of you.”

You uncrossed your arms.

“Are we good?” Roth asked you.

You tilted your head. “Consider yourself on probationary forgiveness. I’ll let you know in a few days if it becomes permanent.”

Roth looked at Lloyd. “Is she always so hardheaded?”

“Sometimes. Usually it’s directed at me, so this is a nice change of pace. Let’s sit down and compare notes.”

Despite the earlier verbal sparring, or perhaps because of it, Lloyd and Roth put aside their differences and shifted into professional mode as everyone assembled in the living room.

“I consider Leo McKenzie our prime suspect,” Detective Roth said.

Bishop scowled. “Why?”

“There’s long term storage of the surveillance camera footage in the evidence lockers. We were able to confirm that McKenzie wasn’t at work on the night of April 18th.”

“Was he scheduled to work?” Zach asked.

“Yes, swing shift, but he swapped with a co-worker. The co-worker reports McKenzie told them he was going to a concert,’” Roth said.

Lloyd crossed his legs. “A concert in the middle of the week? That’s ridiculous. Is there any other evidence against him?”

“He owns a .22 caliber rifle and matches the description of the person Mr. Corbin saw at Shun’s house on that same night, April 18th. He’s been known to smoke occasionally and frequented the same coffee shop where Julia’s book club met.”

“What about access to the chemicals to dissolve her corpse?” Lloyd asked.

“His work as an evidence clerk might explain that,” Bishop said.

“Technically speaking, all the ingredients he needed are available over the counter,” Roth said.

Lloyd grunted. “What about knowledge of the area where the bodies were dumped?”

“He kayaks up there every summer and his uncle used to work in the concrete industry,” Roth said. “At the moment he’s our top suspect. The Sheriff was preparing to arrest him on charges of improperly handling evidence and obstruction of justice. That’s sufficient to hold him for a long while. Virginia law enforcement jointly decided that everyone would be safer if he was off the streets.”

“So, if you have your man, why are you here?” Lloyd said.

“Because knowing he had the opportunity, means, and access to commit a crime isn’t the same thing as being able to prove he did it. That’s why I need your help. We have a window of opportunity to prove a solid case against him, but it won’t be easy. Bishop and I have discussed it with my superiors and we’re inviting you down to Harmony on a full-time basis to assist with the investigation. You’ll even get your own shared office.”

“It’s the conference room, isn’t it?” Zach asked.

“A windowless conference room,” Roth said, his lips twitching into a smirk.

The Detective’s gaze shifted to you and he tilted his head. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’m very interested in seeing the database you were working on for the case.”

*****

The guests stayed for dinner but left quickly afterwards to get back before the storm made landfall. Lloyd took a walk down to the river and you retreated to the living room where Landon was relaxing with his feet up.

“I take it apologizing didn’t go well?”

You sighed. “It didn’t go at all.”

“How come?”

“He wouldn’t hear me out. I managed three half apologies but he wouldn’t let me finish.”

“Are you going to try again, or call it a night?” Landon asked.

Your shoulders straightened. Where was your spine? Sure, all things considered, you weren’t at the top of your game this week, but the ability to make Lloyd listen was a skill you’d mastered a long time ago. If you couldn’t get through to him, then you had lost more of your self-confidence than you’d realized.

“I’m going down to the river.”

“Have fun…”

Lloyd was easy to find. He was on a bench by the water with a legal pad on his knee, reading a handful of loose leaf pages. As he read, he paused every now and then to consult his legal pad and twirl a pen around his fingers. You paused at the bottom of the concrete stairs that led down to the river basin and watched him from a distance.

His alabaster complexion was darker than usual from a summer of golfing and the week spent on the ranch. His thick hair ruffled a little in the wind because he hadn’t worn as much hair gel at the cabin, choosing to smooth his hair back instead of plastering it into place like usual.

You liked the more relaxed look on him. You wished the image matched his mood but the rigidity in his shoulders proved he was just as tense as he’d been since Tuesday.

When you approached he tucked the pages into his legal pad and clipped the pen to the pad. You sat down on the far end of the bench, leaving an arm’s length between you. The wind carried the scent of pine trees and the smell of rain hung in the air as storm clouds amassed in the southeast. The atmosphere between you held a quiet tension, an undercurrent of repressed anger. The gusting winds that rustled the leaves seemed to echo the mood. You shivered as a gust of wind cut through your blouse.

Lloyd leaned back. “You didn’t need to come all the way down here. It’s getting cold.”

“I’m fine,” you said, wrapping your arms around your torso. “I wanted to apologize. I guess my timing this afternoon wasn’t great. I was only halfway through when Zach arrived.”

“I was still too pissed at you to listen.”

“I gathered as much. I’m sorry for not telling you about the stalking. It was wrong of me to cover it up, especially for as long as I did.”

He sighed, eyes drifting to fixate on the water. “What was it? You thought I’d over react?”

Your hands twisted in your lap. “Yes. Your temper is a force of nature and you don’t have a great sense of self-preservation under the best conditions. You dive headfirst into danger without considering the consequences or your odds of survival.”

“Princess, I’ve faced much worse threats than a vertically challenged lunatic with sharp elbows. I can handle myself. Don’t worry about me.”

“But I do worry about you! I know you can take care of yourself, but as your friend it’s my job to protect you, too - including from yourself! When I decided not to tell you what was going on, that’s what I thought I was doing. After what happened on Tuesday, I know how wrong that was. I’m sorry for hurting you by holding back something I should’ve shared with you as soon as I was aware of it.”

“What was the other half of your apology? I think we got to about this point before I cut you off.”

“I’m sorry for not trusting you to respond with restraint and assuming you’d fly off the handle. Overall, you’ve taken this a lot more calmly than I thought you would.”

His left eyebrow arched. “Calmly? If you hadn’t willingly gotten in the car on Tuesday afternoon, I’d have thrown you in the trunk.”

“And compared to what I thought you might do, that was a very restrained reaction.”

Lloyd snorted. “Don’t be so sure. If Aiden had been your stalker I’d gladly have taken him apart with my bare hands. That’s part of what pissed me off. Your reasons for not telling me were valid. As much as I wanted to tear into you for it, I can’t deny that point. I guess I feel more disappointed than anything. I’ve always struggled with honesty, but with you, it was easy. I didn’t realize that trust was a one-way street.”

You groaned. “If this is you ‘not tearing into me’ I’d hate to have seen what you had in mind earlier.”

He shifted closer and a thick arm curled around your shoulders. You snuggled into his chest as another gust of wind kicked up.

“I really am sorry,” you said. “I’ll say it as many times as you want.”

“Since I’ve been giving you the cold shoulder for the past three days, I think we can call it even.”

You squeezed his waist and burrowed into his arms. “I promise to be more honest with you, even when I’m worried about your reaction.”

His lips brushed your temple. “I’ll try not to sulk so long next time you decide to bottle things up.”

“Is that a whiff of skepticism I’m sensing? You don’t think I’ll be honest?”

“You protect others, Princess. It’s in your nature. But your takeaway from this experience needs to be that lies of omission aren’t how you protect me, or yourself. I need you and I…”

Love you.

Your heart leapt as you filled in the next words, holding your breath to hear him say them for the first time.

“Was that a drop of rain?” Lloyd said.

*****

You and Lloyd made it back to the front porch of the cabin just as the clouds opened up and poured rain down in buckets. Both of you had escaped the worst of the onslaught, but droplets went flying when Lloyd shook out his hair. You squealed when the water hit your face.

“Sorry, honey,” he said, and held open the door for you.

There was no sight of Landon in the living room, so you assumed he’d retreated to the basement.

Lloyd led you upstairs to the loft which housed the master bedroom. He tossed his legal pad on the bed and went to retrieve towels from the bathroom. You stripped off your wet clothes in the closet and found a clean t-shirt of Lloyd's to slip on. When he came out of the bathroom with the towels, you were sitting on the bed leafing through his legal pad.

“Who’s Tate Corbin?”

“You remember Nguyen’s across the street neighbor? Mr. Corbin?”

“Yes. These notes are about him?”

Lloyd rubbed the towel across his damp hair.

“Yeah. Corbin doesn’t have a file, officially at least, so I’ve spent the past couple days putting one together.”

“Why?”

“Because after l reviewed everything Zach has collected on McKenzie, there was one glaring problem. Leo McKenzie isn’t good at chemistry. He failed the class in high school and took the easiest science credit he could in college: Biology 101 for general studies. He passed with a C minus.”

“Not everyone can be a scientific genius.”

“I doubt our killer is a scientific genius, but they know the basics of chemicals, either by trade or education. The brittle bones that were observed in Julia’s remains and the lack of bodies from the remains from the other nine victims points to a chemical dissolution process of some kind. Leo McKenzie doesn’t have the knowledge to perform that kind of a reaction.”

You made a face of disgust at the imagery his words brought to mind and scanned through the file.

“It says he wasn’t named as a person of interest in 2002. Why wasn’t he a suspect?”

“Actually, the first responding officer did raise suspicions about Mr. Corbin. When he answered the door the next evening - this wasn’t long after Shun was taken in for his first round of questioning - he appeared sweaty and pale. Mr. Corbin attributed it to being on a new blood pressure medication.”

“Did he work with chemicals?” you asked.

“He was a merchant marine in the 50s and 60s, working for companies like Odfjell and Stolt-Nielsen.”

“What does that have to do with the case?”

Lloyd’s grin widened. “Odfjell and Stolt-Nielsen were chemical tanker companies. left the industry in the late 60s and settled down in Fredericksburg. He got married, had two kids, and in 1975 the family moved to Harmony where Corbin started a contracting business. His specialty was laying foundations. Between the physical nature of his work and a penchant for jogging and hiking, Corbin stayed in excellent shape. He even hiked the Appalachian Trail from start to finish in 2003.”

“This is interesting, but what about the evidence Roth and Zach collected against Leo?”

Lloyd shrugged. “He’s worth investigating. I’m open to the possibility that he’s the killer, if evidence comes to light that he knew enough chemistry to dissolve a body. But the way Shun reacted when you questioned him about who the killer might be has stuck in my head. He was clearly afraid of someone, so I’ve been trying to figure out who.”

“Right, I noticed that too. He was visibly shaken when I told him about the second body.”

“Shun’s social circle wasn’t extensive, which narrows the potential suspects to his coworkers and a handful of other associates. When I couldn’t establish a connection between Shun and Leo, I kept searching, which led me to Tate Corbin. The guy is a towering ex-sailor with a linebacker’s shoulders. If he posed a threat to Shun, it could explain why Shun didn’t fight the charges harder or point the finger at another suspect.”

You flipped to Corbin’s demographics page and checked the data. “But Tate is eighty-three years old now. Why wouldn’t Shun just take his story to the media?”

“Remember his reaction to hearing about the second body? Someone - probably the killer - put the fear of God in him. Besides, to Corbin, age is just a number. He’s still running half marathons and 10ks.”

“Holy smoke. Do you have his times? Like, is he any good?”

“He’s placing ahead of runners who are a third of his age. The cincher for me is that there’s only one person whose presence at the house on the evening of April 18th can be verified. By his own admission, Tate was at the crime scene and reported seeing a ‘very large man’ lurking around. Conveniently, Tate Corbin is a very large man.”

“You think he lied to the police?”

Lloyd chuckled. “I don’t think he anticipated the interrogation. When he was caught off guard, his brain couldn’t compose an entirely fictional story, so instead of lying outright, he just bent the truth.”

“Should we bring Roth into the loop?”

“Let’s continue piecing things together over the weekend. We’ll let the news about Leo circulate and make sure Tate has a chance to see it. And since we’re relocating to Roth’s conference room on Monday, we can present our findings to him then. I want to have a clearer picture of the case against Tate to make sure he merits our attention before we discuss it with Roth.”

You looked down, pretending to read, and hid a smile at Lloyd’s final comment. Evidently, Roth’s barb about theatrics had stuck its target.

“That sounds like a plan. I think working together will be good for you two.”

Lloyd rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. He’s such an asshole.”

“Mmmhhh. A real piece of work.”

Irrespective of the investigation, Monday promised to be an exciting day. The anticipation of the clash between Lloyd and Roth brought a real smile to your face for the first time in days. And as fiery as their reaction to each other might be, you had a suspicion that they might turn out to be an excellent team - if they didn’t kill each other first.

*****

Next - Chapter XX

*****

Masterlist

*****

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