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[blindmagdalena]

Center Stage in a Gilded Cage (chapter two)

18+ 3k. homelander x f!reader. pre-s1. stalking, kidnapping, imprisonment, forced relationship, slow burn, somnophilia, drugging, eventual smut. AO3 | fanfic directory

You’ve been hand-chosen by a god; plucked out of your meager, mundane existence and set delicately into the lap of luxury. Your every need will be met, your every whim and wish made real. By any measure, it’s a dream come true. A life safe from pain, from toil, and from the crushing weight of choice. In exchange, all he asks is that you devote yourself wholly to him.

“What happened?” You ask, voice frayed. Your movements are sluggish, hands rubbing the disorientation from your eyes one at a time.

Homelander catches his own reflection briefly in the mirror across from the bed–making sure he doesn’t have a hair out of place for this crucial meeting–before his gaze moves back to you. “Only the most important day of your life,” he says, feeling as though he’s about to tell someone they just won the goddamn lottery. He watches you rise slowly up into a sitting position, never taking your eyes off of him. He knows that you’re nervous–can smell it on you–but he doesn’t worry himself with that. It’s to be expected initially. 

“You just so happen to be the luckiest lady in America,” he tells you, putting on his most charming smile.

“What are you talking about?” You ask, your confusion deepening. He can see the tension in your body rising as well, the pace of your heart lifting to a rabbit-like thrum despite the molasses thick haze of the anesthesia in your system.

He laughs softly, lifting his hands in an encompassing gesture. “I saved you.”

Almost instantaneously, the tense line of your shoulders droops and your eyes soften in a way that erupts a wave of butterflies in his gut. You look nearly ready to fall back into bed with the weight of relief that moves through you, causing you to sway slightly. He feels nearly delirious with the giddiness of the moment, his fingers twitching, itching to touch. 

“What do you remember?” He asks, daring to inch closer to you. His hand settles on the bed, fingertips nearly brushing your blanketed knee.

“I remember someone grabbing me. A man. He put a rag over my mouth,” you say, lifting a hand to touch your lips. His gaze drops to follow the movement. He subconsciously licks his own. He’d been such a gentleman while you slept, but that hadn’t stopped him fantasizing. He cannot wait to taste you again. “It smelled like grass or something. I fought, but he was so strong,” you say, a tremble like reverence or fear in your voice. Maybe both.

When you realize that his strength is yours, you’ll never need to fear it–or anything else–ever again.

“And then I blacked out. You saved me from him?” You look up at him with wide, watery eyes and he could almost laugh at how cute you look, cluelessly putting together mismatched pieces of the little puzzle going on in your brain. The breathless wonder in your voice–the way you’re looking at him with such hope–makes his chest swell with pride.

You’re in for a real treat.

“Sweetheart,” he coos, lifting his hand to give your knee a gentle squeeze through the blanket. “That was me,” he says, his smile broad and proud. “What I saved you from was ever stepping foot back in that dingy little apartment of yours again. From that mind numbing mediocrity and the tedium of your mundane little life. I brought you home,” he says, gesturing out to his penthouse with a grand sweep of his arm.

A pregnant pause follows.

He waits, but you still don’t seem to get it. Your heart is thumping wildly with no sign of slowing, and that brief flicker of relief has disappeared entirely, the line of your shoulders drawing back up tight. A twinge of apprehension nestles in his chest.

“Well?” He prompts, his smile faltering. “Say something.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” you say, gripping the bedding in tight fists. “You kidnapped me?”

“I didn’t kidnap you, you silly goose,” he half scoffs, half laughs. “I brought you home!” He says again, emphasizing the word ‘home’ as if it will speed along your comprehension. Instead, you look more confused and afraid than ever. 

He sighs, dropping his hands down into his lap. “C’mon, you could show a little excitement, yeah? I mean, out of the three hundred and thirty million people in America, I picked you. Those are some fucking insane lottery odds.”

“Picked me for what?” You ask quietly, a rasp in your voice that itches uncomfortably at the back of his neck. You sound ready to cry, which won’t do at all. This isn’t how this is supposed to go.

“To be mine,” he says, and while he’s still smiling, there’s an incredulous furrow to his brow. 

“Be your what?”

His smile thins alongside his patience. “My–mine, my girlfriend, lover, sweetheart, my-my fucking paramor, whatever you want to call it,” he says, that charming facade slipping as his mounting aggravation with your incomprehension creeps further up his spine. 

Where’s your excitement? Where’s your fucking gratitude?

“I don’t even know you,” you say, moving away from him to the opposite side of the bed, sliding onto your feet without ever taking your eyes off of him. You brace your hand on his headboard, steadying yourself.

Homelander stands, taken aback. “Of course you know me. You recognized me instantly!” He says, circling the bed. 

For every step he takes forward, you take two back. 

He’s bewildered by your response: he’s a goddamn hero, the shining light of providence beaming down on America, and you’re cowering from his approach like he’s some kind of fucking pariah, shrinking back against the mirror when you hit it, cornering yourself.

“You know exactly who I am, and I know you,” he says, uninvited irritation slipping into his voice. 

“I know that you like to cook, that you can’t hold your alcohol, and that the best part of your day is the little sweet treat you get yourself after work. You laugh at bad jokes and you watch worse television. Videos about sad animals make you cry, even when they end happy. When you’re depressed you shop online and look at house listings you’ll never be able to afford. I know you, alright? Down to your goddamn skincare routine. So just calm down already.”

Fuck, he needs to reign himself in. He’s gotten too worked up, and you’re stubbornly not calming down at all.

“You’ve been stalking me?” You ask, gaze darting from corner to corner like an animal seeking an avenue for escape. The horror in your voice, in your expression, churns his stomach terribly.

Relax. Relax. Give her a sec. She’ll figure it out, coos a much more confident voice in the back of his mind. He closes his eyes briefly, taking in a slow breath, inhabiting that same confidence. 

Everything’s going to be fine.

There’s no other option now.

“It’s–heh–it’s a funny story, actually,” he says, forcefully lightening his tone. He wants you to enjoy this story. Hear the romanticism in it. “I was on patrol, you know, watching for crime, or danger, people in need of saving–I do that a lot–and that’s when I saw you,” he says with a slowly broadening smile, hands lifted towards you like you’re on display. “You were on your way to work, and you handed some homeless guy a box of–”

“John,” you interrupt, staring at him with apprehension.

Homelander’s expression turns stricken, not knowing why you would possibly call him that. In his underlying agitation, he sees flashes of a cramped room behind an enormous door the color of fresh blood. His hands felt so small beating on that terrible door. His throat constricts, and he barely chokes out, “What?”

“John,” you say again, visibly concerned by his reaction. “The man I give food to, his name is John.” Of course it is. As common a gutter name as any.

“Oh,” he says, the muscles in his face tight. It takes him several seconds to recover, blinking rapidly. “Yeah. Sure. Okay. So, you… Well, I saw you, and you were rushing, working, and you’d come home, rush and work again, and the food, you’d–” Fuck, he’s lost the thread. He feels like he’s coming unspooled, an awkward mess spilled out on the floor. This is not how he wants you to see him.

If only you hadn’t said that fucking name.

He brings his hands up, covering his mouth and nose as he takes in a deep breath, eyes closed. He drops his hands in front of his chest, palms clasped together. He smiles tensely as his eyes open back up. “I’m gonna start over. Hey, hi, I’m Homelander,” he says, slipping into his stage voice without realizing it, speaking the way he would if he was addressing a crowd. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while.”

He splays his hands at that, as if waiting for an applause for his performance. You don’t appear to be of the mind to offer him one.

“Okay… so you have been stalking me,” you say, pressed so tightly against the mirror you might actually crack it. He resists the urge to roll his eyes. You’re just working yourself up now, focusing on the wrong parts entirely. He assumes you’ll be more reasonable when all the adrenaline in your blood wears off. The smell of it on you is terribly sour. “And now you’ve drugged and kidnapped me.”

He lets out a terse breath. “I–mm, I feel like you’re missing the point just a little bit here,” he says through his teeth, heat prickling his neck where his collar touches it, the fabric suddenly growing irritating against his skin. “I was not stalking you. I saw you a few times, and I wanted to meet you. And again, you’re not kidnapped!”

“I’m free to go, then?” You ask, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“Yes, obviously,” he laughs, though there’s tension in it. It takes everything in him not to forcibly uncross your arms himself. He much prefers how you looked in sleep, or when he observed you from a distance. This harsh, closed off version of you is making his skin itch. He wishes he could start the take over, the way they do when he’s filming. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. Ever seen Paris? Hell, summer in Italy is–”

“Home,” you say. “I’d like to go home, please.”

“Would you-!” His tone is too sharp, too loud, and he cuts himself off, but not before his volume makes you flinch. 

He sucks in a breath, bobbing his pointer finger at you. “You-mmm,” he hums, clicking his tongue as he continues to force calm into his voice. “You are home,” he says, giving into his impulse and taking hold of your wrist, tugging your arms out of that tight cross with ease. He pulls you behind him, deciding that if telling won’t work, showing will have to. 

Once you see it, you’ll understand. You’ll understand that all of this has been for you.

“Here, look,” he says, throwing open the door to the closet. Your closet. It’s lined with outfits he’s spent the last several weeks choosing for you. Weeks spent finding a balance between your aesthetic and his. You’ll have to match him, of course. He made sure that they compliment his suit while also carrying similarities to the color palettes you’re drawn to.

He spreads his arm towards the display, fingers twitching. “See? Yours. All of it–and whatever else you want,” he says, hyper aware of how delicate your wrist feels in his grasp. You may as well be a bird in his hands, hollow-boned and fragile. “The kitchen, too, it’s yours,” he says, gesturing vaguely off in the direction of it. His attention snaps back to you, laser focused. He gives your wrist a reflexive tug, fighting with himself to keep his own strength at bay.

“I did all of this for you,” he says in a low voice, pinning you with his stare. “Tell me you understand that.”

If there’s an undercurrent of desperation in his tone, he ignores it.

Your eyes are wide and watery, a deer caught in the golden headlights of all that he is. Your breaths come in shallow waves, and the terrible fear that radiates from you makes him want to shake you. Your gaze slides from him to the closet, flitting between the myriad of garments that hang in the closet. All in your size. Some of them are nearly identical to pieces you own, but manufactured by the original designer instead of a cheap knock-off plucked from a department store rack.

And still he can give you so much more. All he asks is that you love him for it.

There’s a tremble running through you. Your throat clicks on a dry swallow, and slowly your attention drifts back to him, sweeping him from head to toe, taking account of him in his entirety for the first time. He tenses. It’s a little strange to be so seen by you, but it feels good, too. He squares his shoulders, wanting you to see the best in him.

“Why me?” You ask quietly, your eyes meeting his. You still look lost, but what he finds endearing is the underlying conviction he sees. You’re always quick to move towards a solution. He likes that about you. He’s not sure what it is that you’ve decided, but it’s clear you’ve made a choice somewhere in your mind.

Because you’re like me.

“Because you deserve it,” he says, drawing you in at the same time he turns his body towards yours. “You’re underappreciated. Undervalued. You’re capable of so much more than the world gives you credit for,” he says, his grip on your wrist flexing. Every one of those glorified pen-pushers at Vought should choke for the way they ignore him, hoisting their agendas onto him while dismissing his ideas. “And you’re lonely.”

Your eyes widen a fraction. Bullseye.

Sensing vulnerability, he moves a step closer, taking hold of your other wrist. He offers both a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to be.”

Neither of us do.

“This is insane,” you whisper, but the inflection of your voice makes it sound like a question. Like you’re considering it. “You’re… You’re Homelander,” you say, as if that should explain everything you hold in your gaze. 

And I’m nobody, you must be thinking. Maybe you were once, but no longer. You’ve been elevated in the way only someone chosen by God can be.

“And you’re here. With me,” he counters, his own voice lower now, quieter in the intimately narrow space between your bodies, both hands wrapped around your wrists. There’s a flush crawling up your throat, warming you all the way to your ears. His thumb absently strokes your pulse-point. “Safe. I’m a hero, remember?”

“So, you’re not… going to wear my skin, or eat me?” You ask, voice filled with such dread at the notion he thinks you might have actually believed that was his intention.

He barks a laugh, shaking his head. “Alright, first of all, no more Silence of the Lambs for you,” he says, relinquishing his hold on your wrists to slide his hands up your arms, squeezing your shoulders. “Second, no. I’m not going to wear your skin. Or eat you.”

Well… Not like that. He can’t promise he won’t devour you, though. Pin you beneath the weight of his strength–he could keep you down with nothing more than his pinky–put his head between your thighs and trace his name with his tongue until you’re screaming it. The thought makes his cock throb, stiffen. He licks his lips subconsciously, glad for the cover of his cup.

“Okay,” you say, snapping him out of his daydream. “Then you want me to…?” 

It seems ridiculous to him that he would still have to explain it. He’ll blame it on the anesthesia.

“Do whatever you want,” he says, taking his hands from your shoulders to motion to the rest of his penthouse. “Cook, don’t cook. Read books, shop, get in arguments on the internet over fictional characters,” he says, swirling his hand in a vague gesture. “Whatever makes you happy,” he says, gaze drifting back to you. All you have to do is do it with me. “Pretty sweet deal if you ask me.” He offers you the sharp edge of a smile, leaving little room for discussion.

You stare at him for a moment that’s too long and too quiet for his liking before your eyes wander, taking in the rest of his room. The balcony beyond the threshold. The mirrors and paintings on the walls, the statues in the corners, the rich dark colors. Everything has been decorated to make the space feel grander, more open. No blank walls. No doors that lock. It’s his home.

And now it’s your home.

“Okay,” you say eventually.

His brows shoot up. “Okay?”

You look back to him, your expression difficult for him to parse. Despite years spent practicing and learning facial expressions–all part of his camera training–he cannot read yours right now. He would be more bothered if he weren’t so distracted by the spark of hope that flares in his chest. “Okay,” you say again, adding a small nod this time.

He exhales a breathy laugh. “Yeah? Yeah! Okay. Alright. Wow, that’s… that’s great,” he says, his grin wide and a touch incredulous. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, a sense of suspicion, but his elation smothers it. He had dreaded that you might face an adjustment period, be confused, that there would be tears or anger. You were really starting to get under his skin with all that talk of kidnapping.

As if he were some sort of common thug or criminal, and not a savior.

In his exhilaration, he cups your face suddenly. He feels your pulse spike in his hands, but his focus is solely on your eyes.

“I’m going to make you the happiest woman alive,” he vows with a soft gaze and an eager smile. He leans in close enough to feel your breaths on his lips, tempted to kiss you, but he stops himself. There will be plenty of time for that, and he doesn’t want to remember your first kiss alongside the acrid tinge of your fading fear. His thumbs brush your cheeks, learning the shape of them under his touch.

He’d been wrong when he first took notice of you. You’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

Sucking in a steadying breath, he draws away, placing his hands on his hips. “Now… How about we get you a little more comfortable for bed?”

( chapter three )

[fluentmoviequoter]

Only Choice

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: You and Tim go undercover to catch a serial killer because you're the only choice.

Warnings: angst?, fluff, r wears a two-piece bathing suit and like halfway wears Tim's shirt, Tim and r makeout on the job (again)

Word Count: 2.4k+ words

Inspired by T-Shirt by Thomas Rhett.

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“Hey, gorgeous,” Angela greets as she enters the bullpen. “We need to talk.”

Tim sighs as he squeezes his eyes closed. “Lopez, I’m not in the mood today.”

“Who says I was talking to you?”

Tim looks up, his brows pinched. When he sees Angela smiling at something to his right, he turns his head to follow her eyeline.

“Me?” you ask, pointing to yourself as your eyes widen.

“Yep,” Angela answers. “Wade and I need to see you in his office. You, too, Tim.”

“You said you weren’t talking to me,” Tim argues as he stands.

“I wasn’t. Now I am. So, Tim…” She looks at you and enunciates, “Gorgeous, you’re both with me.”

“Okay,” you agree slowly. “But Lucy owes me $50. Don’t let me forget that.”

“For what?” Tim inquires.

“I bet her 50 that Lopez doesn’t know my name. The gorgeous thing feels like conformation.”

Tim grunts under his breath, but inside, he’s not entirely convinced that’s the reason. Angela is incredibly kind and funny, but she doesn’t usually say stuff like that just because she forgot someone’s name. Officer, sure, but gorgeous has to have more behind it.

“I thought you were friends,” Tim points out as he opens the door to Grey’s office for you.

You shake your head and murmur, “Not yet.”

“What do you know?” Wade asks as the door closes behind Tim.

“Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell,” you joke.

Tim sighs, lays his hands on his belt, and counters, “Know about what?”

“The serial killer,” Angela answers. “Targeting attractive couples in LA county.”

Tim shakes his head, so Angela turns toward you.

“Uh, just that he’s killing couples who are supposed to be traveling and then dumping them in Angeles Forest. Right?”

“Precisely. He’s nearly impossible to find, though.”

“Meaning we have no idea where to look,” Grey fills in. “Without knowing when or how he works, we’re steps behind him.”

“So, you want to set a trap,” Tim guesses. “Use UCs to lure him in for another kill.”

“You’re so smart, Timothy,” Angela applauds sarcastically.

“Lopez.”

“You in?” Wade interjects.

“Wait, what?” you reply. “You want to send us in as the UCs?”

Tim shakes his head as you point between the two of you. Angela nods, and you purse your lips to consider it.

“Why not?” you decide with a smile. “I’m in.”

“Does it have to be us?” Tim inquires.

“Uh…” Wade pauses to look out of his office and around the station before he says, “Yeah.”

“Only choice,” Angela agrees.

“Gorgeous,” you whisper.

“And smart,” Angela applauds. “He’s got a type. Pretty couples. And… you fit.”

“Tim, she called you pretty, say thank you,” Grey teases.

“I didn’t say yes,” Tim argues.

“Is Aaron still here?” you ask.

“I didn’t say no either,” Tim interrupts, raising a hand to stop you.

You press your lips together and lift your hands in apology. Angela is trying to contain a laugh at Tim’s offended reaction to you asking about another man who could pretend to be your significant other. You’re not a couple, but Angela was right when she said you’re the only choice. If the killer is planning to kill again, he won’t be able to resist you and Tim together.

“Where are we going?” Tim asks with a dramatic sigh.

“Santa Monica,” Angela answers with a smile. “Pack your swimsuit.”

“Is it going to be this awkward the whole time?” you ask as Tim drives to the luxury hotel.

“No,” he answers shortly. “Just…”

“You’d rather be anywhere else?”

“Tell me your cover story,” Tim instructs, changing the subject. “Stop talking like a cop.”

You sit back in your seat and look out the window, catching glimpses of the ocean between the beachfront buildings as you recite the information Angela created for you.

“And we’ve been together for just over a year,” you continue. “I even got my nails done because I think you’re proposing this weekend, but I’m not supposed to tell you that.”

“Good,” Tim murmurs.

“Tim,” you begin again, your tone more serious as you look at his profile. “I’m sorry for pushing. I know this is weird.”

Tim shrugs. “Anticipated my next proposal would look a little different.”

“Ow,” you hiss, playfully rubbing your chest over your heart. “Oh well, at least Angela thinks I’m gorgeous.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, but I like messing with you.”

Tim rolls his eyes, but you see the tiny smile he tries to hide. You’re here for work, but at least the view is nice. Oh, yeah, the ocean’s pretty too.

After adjusting the straps over your shoulders, you step out of the bathroom and back into your oversized luxury suite (courtesy of the LAPD and a need to get a serial killer behind bars).

“You’re in a bathing suit,” Tim says as he enters the bedroom, slowing as he looks at you.

“Great observation, Bradford,” you reply. “Did you forget why we’re here?”

Tim shakes his head and turns away from you. “I’m just saying… you could’ve worn a one piece,” he murmurs.

“Spoken like a man,” you tease as you pull a coverup over your head. “Try using the bathroom in one of those and then tell me that again, Tim.”

“Guy at the bar has been staring at us since we walked in,” you inform Tim over the rim of your glass.

“Us or you?” he asks, discreetly glancing over your shoulder.

“What’s the difference?”

“It’s a simple question. Men stare at beautiful women, especially at the beach. If he’s interested in you, just because, he’s not our guy.”

You try to ignore how your heart rate speeds when Tim calls you beautiful, but it affects you.

By the end of the day, you’ve noticed two men who checked in after you seem to be hanging around wherever you and Tim are. It could be a lead, or it could be a coincidence. You can only hope you learn which before it’s too late.

“I’m surprised you’re making progress so quickly,” Angela says over the phone the following morning.

“I told you,” Wade says in the background.

“Anyway,” Angela begins again. “How’s Tim? Tolerable?”

Tim is looking directly at you, and though he can’t hear Angela, you still feel like he’s caught you talking about him.

“The usual,” you answer.

“Remember why you’re there, okay? Keep us updated. We’ve got officers everywhere.”

“Thanks, Angela.”

You end the call and sit down on the couch beside Tim. It’s more exhausting than you thought, the hustle and bustle of pretending to be an in-love couple that does everything together. You’ve already been to the pool, the beach, three restaurants, and the hotel lounge and cruised down the PCH.

Leaning your head against Tim’s shoulder, you look over the balcony railing and to the water, reflecting the first rays of sunlight peeking over the beachfront high-rises.

“Are they running the men from yesterday?” Tim inquires, making no move to create space between you.

“One of them checked out this morning. The other came back clean and his reservation was booked weeks ago,” you respond. “Back to square one.”

“You sound surprised that catching a serial killer in a place this big didn’t happen overnight.”

“Because it’s us!” you point out. “I thought we’d break some sort of record and have the cuffs on him, be back in our own beds already.”

Tim smiles and stretches his arm out behind your head. Another full day awaits you, but you’d be content to spend it here.

“Don’t turn around,” Tim instructs as you prepare to leave the upscale diner he found for breakfast.

You nod, complying as he leans forward to wave for the check. He looks across the restaurant as he sits back in the booth.

“I saw a guy by the pool last night. He looked over a few times, but that didn’t stand out then. He was still at the pool when we left the lounge,” Tim explains.

“And now he’s here?”

Tim nods. “He fits the profile. White, mid-30s, completely unimposing.”

“What do you want to do?”

Tim smiles and takes your hand as he answers, “I want to catch him.”

You both know that two sightings aren’t enough to arrest him, so take a good look at him as you walk to the bathroom and then leave to continue your plans for the day. Everywhere you go, you and Tim are on high alert, noting where he is or isn’t, what he’s doing, what he’s wearing, and anything else you may need to know if this is the killer you’re searching for.

“Wait, Tim,” you call, pulling him to a stop in the hotel lobby. “He’s never been in the hotel. He wasn’t inside last night, and we’ve been back three times. I don’t think he’s staying here.”

“Or he just thinks we’re coming right back out. He can’t lose us if he doesn’t leave the door,” Tim points out.

“Maybe,” you murmur.

“We should test it, though. He watched us from the pool last night. If he was staying here, why didn’t he just come in where he could see better, hear us?”

“How do you want to do this?”

“We could try to lure him in.”

You smile as another idea strikes. “Or we ask Angela to get us a room at a crappy motel.”

“Why?”

“Because no one thinks twice about who’s walking around. The rooms are practically public, he could follow us straight to the door.”

Tim smiles as he pulls you closer, playing the part of the perfect boyfriend. He makes it seem effortless.

“Let’s get out of here, baby,” he murmurs against your ear.

“He’s following us,” you whisper as you walk down the beach, nearing your new, faded-aqua motel.

“Metro’s waiting in the employee parking lot. Your call,” Tim replies, pulling you closer.

You stop, keeping Tim close before you loop your arms over his shoulders. Leaning up, you brush your lips over Tim’s jawline.

“We’re gonna have to put on a show,” you murmur against his skin.

Tim drops his head toward your shoulder and whispers, “Then let’s make it memorable.”

“Keep it down!” someone calls from a doorway.

You laugh against Tim’s mouth as he lifts you onto the next step. He holds you against his chest while he steers you backward toward the door. When you reach your room, you lean against the door, and Tim drops his head to kiss you.

“We really need to stop doing this,” you whisper.

“Absolutely,” Tim agrees, leaning in for another kiss.

He scrapes the key across the door, trying to unlock it while keeping his attention on you. You reach down, steadying his wrist as you kiss down to his jaw. The lock clicks and Tim bends to hook his arm under your hips before he pushes the door open. Kicking it closed behind him, Tim takes you inside and leaves the door unlocked.

“Take your shirt off,” you instruct as you pull your coverup over your head.

“Why?” Tim asks, already unbuttoning the linen button-down as you wait in your bathing suit.

You shake your head and turn on the outdated TV set before you walk to Tim’s side. Once his shirt is off, you slide it onto your shoulders and haphazardly button it.

“Lopez, get ready,” you say into your wire, still attached to the inside seam of your coverup.

Flipping your hair, you mess it up before raking your fingers through Tim’s. He watches you, unable to decide what he wants to see more: your hair messed up, how you move in front of the TV light, or how you look in his shirt. Before he can decide, someone knocks on the door.

You pull your gun from under the bed and ready it on the door as Tim stands against the wall, prepared to cut the shooter off before he gets all the way into the room.

“LAPD!” the Metro team outside yells. “Put your hands up!”

Three minutes and one gunshot later, the motel is quiet. The door opens, and Wade follows Angela inside, their eyes drifting between you, Tim and the suspicious outfit changes that have occurred.

“Ready to go?” Angela asks.

Tim looks at you, hesitating, before you answer, “Yeah.”

Standing behind a police car, still clad in your bathing suit and Tim’s shirt, you wait for Angela to join you.

“Anything you want to tell me?” she asks. “Friend to friend?”

“Do you even know my name?” you argue.

She says your name in answer, then leans against the back of the shop.

You exhale as you prepare to ask, “Why me and Tim? You could’ve picked anyone.”

“The truth? You were the obvious choice. We needed an attractive couple. But… you were also making the rest of us tired.”

“Tired?”

“The constant pining. The longing looks. It got kind of sickening. So, when the case popped up, I thought maybe it would give you a reason to deal with those feelings, however you wanted to do that.”

“It was a good plan,” you admit softly. “Except now I’m even more confused than before.”

“You want a ride?” Tim asks you, approaching the side of the shop you’re behind.

You look at Angela, and she nods enthusiastically. After you agree, you follow Tim to a car and wonder if this is the best or worst night of your life.

“I thought you said we needed to stop doing this,” you say against Tim’s lips.

He chuckles as he pulls back. “Then why are you leaning in for one more?”

You roll your eyes and hit the light switch beside you. At least he waited until we got inside this time.

“It really was the only choice, you know.”

“I do,” Tim agrees. “But I will make Lopez pay for meddling.”

“Sure. I for one am just glad we’re finally acknowledging that we have feelings for each other.”

Tim smiles as he takes your hand. “Maybe I can forgive her for tonight.”

“Maybe you can also cook dinner tonight.” You lead Tim to your kitchen, release his hand, and walk down your hall to change.

Not that an outfit change will erase the vision of you wearing Tim’s shirt from his head anytime soon. No matter what, you’re both thankful for Angela’s meddling, because it took you exactly where you wanted to be.

[whetstonefires]

I am a bit surprised at your tags saying you like jar jar, I don't really know anybody who's a fan in 2023. What's the appeal there, would you say?

Did people like JarJar more in the past? I remember when the prequels were new, his poor actor almost died from the harassment. Surely the venom against JarJar has only weakened.

But mmmmm...I guess what I enjoy about JarJar is he just. He sucks so bad. Nobody has any use for him. He's not just bad at emergencies and space and knowing you have to pay for food, he's not even good at Gungan-ing.

But he's just kinda allowed to be like that. He's there. The other protagonists are varying levels of Ugh Why but they don't try to solve him. He gets Recognition From His People at the end of TPM and fails his way upward in galactic politics and has good intentions and tries sincerely and fucks up so so bad, and is dumb as hell.

He doesn't get punished by the story for being a loser. He's allowed.

That's what made so many people so mad at him back when, and I do get it because any scene he's in is hard to take seriously, he's walking bathos, he's like Original Swamp Yoda without the redeeming kung fu drama. But also wow yikes no.

Let me sit with this a bit and let me see if I can turn this vibe into words better.

Like @husborth was totally correct in saying the whole Gungan plotline was a waste of screentime, a fun little excuse plot allowed to run riot due to unchecked directorial hubris, and contributed to the prequel films being atrociously paced pieces of cinema. But (somewhat consequently) there's something luxurious about JarJar Binks being allowed to go around existing so much, something I think is prototypical of the whole prequel tone and its contrast to the snappy war-film energy of the original trilogy in a way that...really works to create the atmospheric contrast between life in the Republic and life under the Empire.

The Republic was a bloated ancient mess of a government riddled with corruptions, and badly out-of-whack power balances and decayed support nets that weren't technically corruption but weren't working well either, and inefficiency.

And also what the fascists like to call decadence. You know?

Like one of the consequences of having a tolerant diverse society is that even when poorly run and afflicted with capitalism it is going to be full of fantastically annoying weirdos who don't have anything better to do than embarrass people by talking, and there's nothing to be done about that that morally can be. You can't Force Choke people for annoying and have a free society. We all gotta make our peace with the fact that JarJar Binks has every right to exist.

Not that JarJar Binks is necessary to any specific piece of media. I am not advocating for annoying gag sidekicks in general. But I am saying that JarJar Binks is metaphorically inevitable, whenever people are allowed to just kinda be.

So his presence on some level feels political to me, inasmuch as Star Wars are actually political films at all, which isn't very much. But definitely not none either!

Also I am old enough to have grown less susceptible to secondhand embarrassment so I am able to forgive JarJar his cringe. He can still be a little painful to watch! But I do like that he's there.

[grandline-fics]

Immune To Your Charms

DESCRIPTION: Soulmates are incapable of harming the other in any way. Normally that would be a good thing but not when you're meant to be enemies.

WARNINGS: It's Doflamingo so it features mentions of killing/ injury/ general violence. Soulmate! AU, Enemies to Lovers

CHARACTERS: Doflamingo

WORDS: 2,543

A/N: Part of the Good For Your Soul Series. I had such a burst of energy last night and today I'm worried I'm starting to get sick which made getting this finished a bit of a struggle. Hopefully you all still like how this is going

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four (here) | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven(coming soon)

——————

Your mind was a mess and you had expected to find no rest at all but the second you’d sank into the mattress and head hit the pillow you were instantly asleep, your body unable to resist the luxury and comfort that had enveloped you. Yes you were a prisoner here in every sense of the word without it being spoken but in a bed like this, things could be worse and you knew that. If anything you had accepted the prospect of some dark, dingy cell barely big enough for you to fit in and a few thin, dirty pieces of fabric for a sorry excuse of a bed and blanket. This enormous living quarters had not been expected and even as you slowly woke from the deepest and best sleep of your life it still took you a few moments to adjust to the sight of it all and remind yourself that you hadn’t been dreaming. 

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes you let out a sigh, contemplating just staying in bed. You knew Doflamingo had said you could go and do as you pleased but did you really want to? You knew Doflamingo was a pirate, up to unknown evil of a wide range of criminality. Could you really witness it without being able to stop it? You were brought out of your thoughts when a knock sounded at your door. Slowly you looked over, expecting it to open but there was only tense silence. Whoever it was they were waiting for you to answer. “Come in.”

Timidly the door opened and a young maid entered. She was nervous, keeping her head down and hands clasped in front of her. Lowly she bowed to you and even when she rose, she kept her gaze away from your face. Not because of an order, it just seemed she was genuinely intimidated. Worried. “Sorry for disturbing your rest. Would you care for breakfast here or will you be joining the family this morning?”

You pulled a face at the prospect of dining with Doflamingo and his ‘family’ which you assumed meant the higher ranked members of his crew. Absently you recalled the woman Violet who revealed the truth of your and Doflamingo’s situation but honestly you hadn’t really paid much attention to anyone else that had been in the drawing room. The only others  you had a strange recollection about were the two figures that had been at the warehouse along with Doflamingo but it was too dark and you were in too much pain to really get a proper look at them before you’d fallen unconscious. Quickly you snapped yourself out of your thoughts and offered the maid an apologetic look. “Sorry. No I won’t be joining them.” You told her. 

It made you uncomfortable when she bowed again but she was gone from the room before you could tell her to stop that. You doubted she would listen anyway, if she didn’t act as she normally did she could be punished by someone. You didn’t put it passed any of the pirates in the building to lash out at the staff over the smallest of reasons. With a heavy sigh you dragged yourself out of the bed and made your way to the small table by one of the tall windows and settled down into the chair. Finally you allowed yourself to pull back the curtain and take in the view outside, breath catching at the expansive beauty of the city and spanning island beyond it. Dressrosa was indeed a stunning place, from up here in the Palace you couldn’t see much activity from the city but just like the upkeep of the castle you now found yourself in, it seemed orderly and clean. You couldn’t hear any violence or seen signs of unrest of some countries you’d seen over the years. It made your stomach twist to feel a sense of peace and calm. Could the people truly be happy with a pirate ruling over them? You supposed if the people knew it was a Warlord, protected and feared then there would never be a risk of an outside attack. You just wondered what it was Doflamingo demanded of the people to keep them safe from him and those in his command.

At the sound of the door opening you glanced in the reflection of the window to see the servant return, pushing a small trolley inside. Following behind was Doflamingo. Eyes narrowing you turned your head to scowl at him. You’d thought your decision to eat in your room also meant you wouldn’t have to see him either until you wanted to. Realistically you should have known better. Of course he’d appear when he wished and of course he’d choose first thing to start your day off on a sour note. Coldly you followed his movements as he tugged out the chair opposite you and relaxed into it, making a note to let your Marine file fall onto the polished table surface. Your eyebrows rose minutely. You weren’t surprised to see it, more that Doflamingo seemed to want you to know he had it. You offered a polite smile to the servant as she shakily offered you your cup of tea. 

“So how did my dear soulmate sleep?” Doflamingo chuckled when your smile dropped and you turned a glare his way. His laughter continued when you grabbed the morning paper from the trolley and opened it with a snap, refusing to even entertain the notion of small talk with him. With a flick of his finger, your file opened and he reclined in his seat, one arm lazily hanging over the back of seat while he sipped at his coffee. “Well you look refreshed, still you’d look better if you didn’t have those drab clothes you still have on.”

“Fashion advice from you? That’s rich.” you muttered under your breath. It was more to yourself and a reflex but the smug chuckle made you roll your eyes. In the odd sense of wins and loses you had with this man, it was a point to Doflamingo. “Your doctor informed me that my Marine uniform was destroyed after they tended to my injuries and this is what I was given when I woke up.”

“Well what are you waiting for?” You frowned at Doflamingo’s words and used your finger to lower one corner of the newspaper to see the servant bow lower than she had with just you and flee the room.

“What was that about?”

“They’re getting you new clothes. Obviously.” You opened your mouth to argue then rolled your eyes, knowing it was pointless. You couldn’t live in one outfit for your time here and you had no money to buy new clothes yourself. Sitting back in your seat, you lifted the paper again to continue reading. News of the warehouse explosion was there, tucked into the corner of a page and summarised in a small handful of paragraphs. Loss of life of Marines and some pirates had been revealed but no names. Slowly you turned the page. You stilled when Doflamingo spoke up.“Your file is interesting…” 

“You must be reading someone else’s.” You noted dryly, remaining casual. “Nothing spectacular in those pages.”

“And that’s exactly how you planned it to be.” You could hear the grin in Doflamingo’s voice. Yet again you lowered the paper to stare at him. You offered no verbal response to his accusation but your expression was trained into one of patient, confusion; waiting for him to elaborate in his theory. “No one rises in the ranks as smoothly and fast as your timeline just to taper off in the middle like this and remain there. Very sneaky, lying to your superiors. Did it annoy you to serve someone who by all rights should have been your subordinate?”

“Only in the cases were they were incompetent but I knew that would be a possibility. As long as the missions were successful I didn’t care.”

“Yet they took the glory. Must have stung.”

“If my vanity needed fed for something as trivial as glory or praise I would have continued to rise the ranks in the Marines, or become a pirate.” You explained with a smirk, seeing his momentarily glower at you. “Any other questions?”

———

“The weapons and ammunition are being unloaded at the docks and all the materials were delivered to Punk Hazard without issue, Doffy.” You heard a new voice coming from one of the rooms up ahead. After you’d showered and changed into one of the many outfits brought to your your on Doflamingo’s order you'd decided to explore more of the castle. If not to have something to do but to also get a better lay of the land. You stepped closer, making no effort to silence your steps. As Doflamingo had said, you weren’t deemed a threat to anything he was doing and the mention of Punk Hazard had caught your attention. You stepped up to the doorway and leant against the doorframe, eyeing the two men standing in front of Doflamingo. 

Doflamingo grinned at your appearance, finding your choice in clothing so much more flattering to your figure instead of your ugly Marine uniform or the rags you’d been wearing that morning. Diamante and Señor Pink had promptly shut their mouths when you arrived. They had been brought up to speed about who you were and why you were still alive. You looked at the two innocently even giving them a taunting little wave. Diamante glanced at Doflamingo questioning silently if he should continue even with the interruption. When his young master nodded, he spoke. “The latest batch of SAD is at the factory now to continue production smoothly.”

You pushed away from the doorframe as they continued talking and ventured further into the room, making note of the large bookcases lining the wall and all of them filled with old and expensive texts in a whole range of subjects. Finally your eyes roamed appreciatively over the stocked drinks cabinet and you pulled open the door to lift out one of the bottles of whiskey. You moved out of the way when one of the glasses flew out from the shelf and you followed its movement until it landed in Doflamingo’s waiting hand. His free hand gestured silently for you to bring the bottle over. Humming to yourself you poured plentiful glass of your own and walked over to Doflamingo’s desk. 

Your lips twitched in amusement to see Doflamingo still lazily hold his glass, waiting for you to pour the drink for him. You sipped your own drink, relishing the taste that only got better when you set the bottle down beside his arm. He could pour it himself, you weren’t his servant. As you glanced at a map set to the side of the desk you heard Diamante’s annoyance drip through his words. “The sooner you work out a way to undo this the sooner you can repay them for their disrespect towards you Doffy.”

“Such a fragile pride your Doffy has if not pouring a drink for him is too much to handle.” You noted sarcastically, pulling the map fully out from underneath the sheets of paper holding it down.“But I hope he finds a way to fix it soon too. Maybe your crazed scientist will work a way.”

“Who says there's a crazed scientist?” Doflamingo asked, grinning as he poured himself a drink for himself. He watched as you looked up from studying the map that had caught your attention to throw him an incredulous look. 

“A guy like you definitely has a mad scientist employed somewhere.” You smirked, looking back to the map. “If you didn’t I think I’d actually respect you less if that were even possible.”

“Doffy you don't need to let them speak to you this way.” Diamante insisted, looking to his leader. He’d literally burned a town to the ground for Doflamingo because he tripped on the street in his youth. He’d killed countless people for looking at the Warlord in a way he wasn't satisfied with. To witness you be so blatantly contemptuous without punishment felt so wrong to him. “I won’t kill them but please let me teach them to hold their tongue.”

“No one harms them, Diamante.” Doflamingo stated firmly and it was enough for Diamante to shut his mouth and nod. “No-one is taking the privilege from me. No matter how much goading they do, don’t hurt them. Make sure everyone knows. You two can go now.”

“Spoilsport.” You grumbled watching the men leave without protest. Here you thought you’d be able to get to the inner circle to be killed but Doflamingo seemed to know your game already. Clicking your tongue in annoyance you swirled your drink before a thought came to you. “What about poison?”

“What about it?”

“If I poured poison into a bottle and you served it between two glasses and we both drank, who would die?” You asked curiously, trying to wrap your head around the logistics of this whole soulmate nonsense. “If we both had a hand in it would we both be spared or both killed?” 

Doflamingo stared at you with a broadening smile, deep laughter building in his chest. He’d really underestimated your mind it seemed. So far you’d seemed so calm and collected, accepting your place here until he found a way to kill you. Apart from the disrespect you threw his way and constant defiance to recognise his authority and superiority, he’d yet to see you snap. To see you break in true anger, fear, or sadness was something he wanted to witness and at this point he didn’t care which of the emotions it was. 

“Sadly I think it would cancel out. I had a similar thought and poisoned your tea this morning and you didn’t react even though the maid poured it.” He explained and as disappointed as he felt that it didn’t work, seeing your own grumpy disappointment shape your face brought him some enjoyment. As he took another slow sip of his drink he spotted how your attention was taken once again by the map in your hand. “What’s got you so invested in that island?”

“I was stationed there for a couple months on a mission at the beginning of the year.” You explained with a shrug setting it aside. Even thinking about your missions felt like a different life. It hurt to know you’d never be a Marine again and help people. “You eyeing it up for an expansion of your mighty empire?”

“Not exactly.” He chuckled. There wasn’t anything you could say or do to stop him or his work so he could say what he liked. “I’m supplying weapons and foot soldiers to a local pirate group for them to take over. In return I get a profit of their enterprise and a share of the island’s natural resources.” At his explanation Doflamingo watched you process his words as you continued to drink, he noted something indecipherable briefly flicker in your eyes but beyond that you kept perfect control of your expression. Now he was even more determined to see what made you tick.

----------------------------------------------

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[weskie]

A Moment of Peace (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

this man needs a nap soooo bad, fluff | Fic Directory

You find him so very beautiful like this.

Wesker does not indulge in rest nearly as much as he should.  He takes only what he needs to function, and he does it quite well for the most part.  To the untrained eye, exhaustion never touches him.  He is a force to be reckoned with in every aspect of life, but even the man made god has moments where fatigue settles in despite his best efforts.  There was a world to perfect, a dream to make reality, and such goals would not come to fruition with his head buried in a pillow.

But right now, he needs this.  

You thread your fingers through locks of his hair, nails scratching softly against his scalp in long strokes.  You’re not sure exactly how you managed to convince him, but he’s been asleep on your lap for nearly an hour now.

Initially, he’d joined you on the couch in your shared abode.  You with your book, and him with his mountain of folders.  Incident and laboratory reports, he’d explained.  Trial and error with various strains, incident follow ups after staff exposure, costs, damages… more thorns in his side delaying his dream with every fool's mistake.  You could tell from the moment he sat down that he was running on empty, and no amount of coffee you’d brought him seemed to rouse him from his drowsy state.  The intermittent act of pushing up his glasses to rub at his eyes only grew in frequency as time ticked on, and you pretty much left him with no choice.

All it took was your fingers curling at the nape of his neck to soothe him.  Just a gentle touch, an invitation– wordless, but no less sincere– to shoulder the weight of his burdens and give him relief.

To your surprise, he didn’t even fight you on it the way he usually would. He wasn’t too busy, nor was there a thumb and forefinger placed at your chin while he gives you the same old excuse of another time.  He merely tossed the packet of paper onto the arm of the couch and shifted to lay on his side, cushioning his head against your lap.

He looked so strange like that too.  Like there was an air of repression to the act, like it was forbidden to him in some way or another to have the comfortable luxury of a lover who cared to hold him.

“I’ll make sure the world doesn’t burn without you,”  you’d told him, having just slipped the sunglasses off of his face.  “Just relax.”

It took a while, but eventually you felt the decompression– the way his body slackened and he became comfortable enough to rest on his back.  Not long after that, he was out.

And here you are.  

You take the chance to observe every feature, committing each detail to memory so that you could perhaps paint him picture-perfect with your eyes closed.   You’d like to run your fingertip over the curve of his cheekbones, or perhaps even the slope of his nose, but you fear waking and depriving him of something he needs so dearly.  He’s a light sleeper, and you’re amazed you haven’t roused him with your own yawns by now.  

Your left hand lays on his chest, just over his heart.  Each rise and fall has become its own rhythmic comfort, lulling you closer and closer to dozing off along with him.

You’d love to, but later… 

You wouldn’t miss the beauty of his serenity for the world.

[opendirectories]

[erikftglitter]

Fallin’ Out | [e.k] [one]

My & my boo into it so…

All she wanted was for him to be here. Why was that so hard for the older man? Was it his own limited childhood experiences taking over? Could it have possibly been envy? Did he hesitate because he didn’t truly understand fatherhood? Or was he just an asshole. Claire has been starting to conclude the latter.

So here she was muffling the sounds of her cries as her son rested on her chest. He was completely oblivious to the high tensions between both his parents, but even his behavior towards Erik showed him that love cannot be bought.

Erik is a provider. That is true. This could be the possible reason as to why Claire didn’t become apprehensive about becoming pregnant. She knew that Erik would always be involved in his child’s life and would provide well beyond what the average child needed.

The latter was true.

They lived in huge home located off of the lake. Owned many acres and had top of line views of everything aesthetically beautiful. His son wouldn’t need anything. There were already conversations and commitments to fine art extracurriculars, private schooling, and meetings with the top directory of getting Erin Makai Stevens the opportunities that a nepotistic child could only dream of.

What about now? Baby Erin was hardly twenty months old. In fact right now he is laying across his mother’s bare chest, as he just finished his feeding for the evening. Claire began weeping slowly afterwards, the mother in her allowing her child to rest before she could think about her own feelings.

She began to understand the hurt of housewives who longed for their husbands. She was not a housewife however. Erik wasn’t the only reason for this luxurious lifestyle. Although he insisted that he be the one to purchase everything, Claire easily had more than six figures at her disposable fingertips. She slept peacefully at night.

This particular month though Claire had been wanting to experience an authentic family outing. She planned this for weeks in advance. They would take Erin into the city and attend the pumpkin patch accompanied by the petting zoo.

Tangerine Creek hosted these family gatherings all month and Claire heard about the benefits of introducing your baby to outdoor activities and not to mention that it would be beautiful for her little family to have pictures that documented this year.

Erin was walking, slowly but surely, on his own. He’s vocal and his fine motor skills were only improving. This wasn’t a trip just to satisfy her urge to take aesthetic photos as Erik limited the importance of doing things with your child. This wasn’t the first time and now she began to feel the disconnect. While she was absolutely ready to submit to motherhood, Erik hardly knew a single thing about fatherhood.

So she sat and wept with her biggest joy in her hands. Distant footsteps halted her tears. He did not deserve to see her like this. She refused to let him see the heartbroken scene that existed throughout the nursery. She used a nearby baby wipe to wipe her face and controlled her breaths. She would not give him the slightest chance to throw this in her face and only to conclude that she was manipulative for crying and using the child to exemplify that.

Those were some of the foul things that Erik has said and apologized for. Claire was checking out and felt only the slightest touch of guilt knowing that a divorce would only supply another fatherless baby. So she sucked it up and rested her eyes.

Oh how heartbreaking this reality was.

Erik knew that something was wrong. No one greeted him when he entered the home. Instead his wife, his child, and his dog were all one in the nursery. They clung to her and hardly cared for his presence. He thought that maybe he was overthinking it but as he got closer to the nursery the weeping stopped. Silence was hardly quiet in comparison though.

He could feel the thick layer of sadness in the air and he wondered how long it had been there. Four hours previously he had cancelled his plans to attend the pumpkin patch, as he reduced the entire trip to a photo shoot.

Sam Wilson, a good friend and business partner of his, had changed his perspective within a two minute conversation.

“Hey man!” Sam exclaimed and embraced Erik into a handshake and hug. “My brother. I’m happy to see you in the flesh. How’s Claire? Postpartum treating her well?”

Come to think of it Erik actually never thought about it. Sure he was there and could see that she was fine on the outside looking in, but Sam began to share his own relationship with postpartum in his marriage. How he stepped back and supported his family during the shift. How postpartum depression could be as severe as post traumatic stress disorder and the rates of suicidal tendencies afterwards.

“Oh man I’m happy to hear that!” Sam smiled at Erik and waved the bartender down. “Don’t need Claire leaving your ass after I was Best Man in your wedding. You know that’s bad luck?” Sam chuckled at his own words but Erik felt something in his chest that he couldn’t quite grasp.

Why did it feel like Sam had a deeper understanding of something that he lives with? Had he not been paying attention? He did not become the top ranked government official by being clueless, but he knows that he clears things that he doesn’t find important from his brain.

Had he cleared Claire and her needs from his mind? What was the last gift that he bought her? What month was Erin in? How many teeth did he have? When was his next doctor’s appointment?

The more that Sam talked intensely about his involvement with his family the more that Erik realized that Claire did all of those things alone. So he was not surprised by the cries of his wife when he entered the home. Instead he winced at the idea that she was indeed all alone while going through this process and all she wanted from him was to attend the pumpkin patch.

Erik was brave. That was an undeniable fact. But he could not bring himself to open the warm brown doors to the nursery straight ahead. Sure he wrote the check to redecorate and furnish the nursery shortly after Erin’s first birthday, but he doesn’t even remember what he even paid for. Because Erin usually sleeps in his own bed in their bedroom and he’s hardly ever here in the daytime, he’s sure the boy only sees him as someone who comes and goes.

No wonder that mama was his first word.

Erik walked to the opposite side of the large home and Claire finally breathed out normally. She really didn’t want him yelling at her tonight.

Erik had been calling all over the state to get a petting zoo to come to his house. His fists slammed on the desk for the fifth time once the operator relayed that there was a three week wait for personal petting zoo visits. For once Erik couldn’t buy his way out of this situation and now he was panicking. He knows that his wife is going to leave him and suddenly the world of business over his family repulsed him.

What had he been thinking?

[kkanabel]

caffeine addiction - chapter 7 Bakugou Katsuki x Reader / Coffee Shop! AU

directory/m.list

⇦ previous chapter - next chapter ⇨

words: ~2.3k

The photo you took with Bakugou was admired, to say the least. 

After going home from the show and taking a long bath to wash the day off, you noticed that your aunt invited you to a group chat containing the two of you and the Bakugou family. 

You were in your bedroom, sitting in a fetal position on your bed with your hair wet. You were in your twelve-year-old t-shirt that was four sizes too big for you. It had so many holes in it that if you wore it outside, people would believe you were a rat that was scurrying about on the streets. But you loved it. And you were damn adamant about never getting rid of it.

Taking a piece of your hair, you brought it to your nose and breathed in the scent of your shampoo and conditioner before sighing in delight. This was the best part about washing your hair. Even though you may look like some version of a wet mop, you smelled so good. This is great. You loved the time after a show. Your entire body would be tired and aching afterward (especially your feet after wearing heels), but the afterglow of going to one was always the best. 

The slight soreness was somewhat satisfying, and you’d be able to go back through your photos and relive the entire show again through your photos as you listened to the barely-there noises of cars driving past your window and the occasional hoot of an owl.

The group chat was then flooded with the photos of you two. There was a particular photo they focused most on, though– the one with Bakugou glancing down at your lips as you beamed up at him. You couldn’t lie. It was a beautiful photo. The outfits you two wore were well-coordinated, but it was overshadowed by the sheer chemistry emanating from the two of you. 

Your hands were placed delicately on his chest whilst his hands rested on your lower back and underneath your chin, angling your face up to his. There was a ghost of a smile left on Bakugou’s face while he was glancing at your smile. 

You let out an audible “woah” and left a heart message next to that particular photo. You were proud! It truly looked like the two of you were a couple, and the clothes were definitely a highlight of the photo altogether. The photographer did a great job! You didn’t know how the photographer/editor was able to make it look so much like Katsuki was going to kiss you, but you weren’t complaining! It looked great!

The actual moment you were taking that photo didn’t feel anything like what the mood from the photo emanates. That amazed you. The photographer was truly talented.

And then the bribery started.

Before the afterparty ended, Mistuki and Masaru were holding a conversation with you and your aunt about the clothing. You mentioned how you really wanted some of the pieces from the runway, and you were probably going to desperately search the web for anything similar.

Usually, pieces straight from the runway aren’t the same ones sold at stores. When looking at luxury brands’ stores, they normally have a refined version of the things they sell at stores. The point of fashion shows are to market the brand and to make a statement (whether it be about society, politics, or whatever else). Of course, it depends on the brand, but Masaki is a brand that uses its fashion shows as more of an art exhibition than anything. You, however, have a tendency to actually want the pieces directly from the runway. 

After you wore them for the photos, you just wanted them more. So, this was a way for you to ask the original designers if you could purchase their pieces in a… sly way.

You didn’t expect it, but Masaru offered to give an outfit to you for free. You were especially surprised since you were willing to pay thousands for it! They said it was a gift for their old friend’s niece. You were ecstatic!

Mitsuki, however, being the opportunist she is, decided that they’d give an outfit to you for a favor or two. And you, being the clothing addict, agreed to “anything!” 

This is how she was able to coax you into getting your permission for posting this photo to their official Instagram. 

It’s unknown how she was able to convince her son for his permission, but it was likely something ten times more sneaky. To you, it was a small price to pay for these clothes you likely would have sold a kidney for. After all, it was Masaki! Straight from the runway! Masaru even personally tailored it to exactly your size! This was a chance that only a couple people in the world could receive. You were fine with it.

In fact, you were glad that you had to just show your face to a small fraction of the public. It’s fine! It’s a great deal, in fact! What you didn’t expect was for this photo to turn the viewing for a small fraction of the public into one of a big fraction.

Either way, this didn’t become an issue until a bit later.

Bakugou Katsuki was back to his daily routine. His attention was a little more split, however. The joint group chat between the owners of Masaki and Kindeki was blowing up at almost all times of the day. The designers of the brands had jumped straight into drafting up ideas as soon as possible, and it was headache-inducing. 

Bakugou was tired of his phone stuttering out notifications as if it were a bumbling high schooler trying to do a presentation. Thus, during his time at the café, his eyebrows were constantly furrowed into an expression of sheer irritation as he felt his phone vibrate against him in his pocket every couple of seconds. “Why can’t those damn geezers just talk about this in real life!?” he thought, opening his phone for the nth time to check up on what they’d been talking about.

His mom and your aunt were talking about the Ham and Swiss Croissants from Starbucks. This was the last straw. He turned off the notifications for the group chat altogether, finally getting a break from the incessant vibrating of his phone. From across the counter, Ashido looked at him with concern.

“Hey, you good? You’ve been staring at your phone all day like you did in high school whenever Midoriya got a better grade than you on a test.” 

Bakugou gritted his teeth and bared them at the girl for her remark, but answered nonetheless. “My mom and her friend from college keep bitching about croissants in a group chat we’re using to discuss details for a brand collaboration.” He rolled his eyes at the thought of it. He was going crazy. Why couldn’t they just use their own chat? Why the hell are they talking about croissants!?

He was leaning his hands against the back counter that held his expensive espresso machine. His “baby”, as his employees would call it. He leaned a little too far back and burned the back of his arm on one of the metal attachments to the machine which was still dripping with boiled water. As he hissed from the pain, he started whispering a scary amount of curses under his breath.

Then, the door rang. 

Instead of you coming back into the café, this one little dipshit is starting to come in instead. Some people were moving into the empty space next door to his café. They were setting up a boutique or some stupid shit, and this guy was one of their people. He kept ordering the same shit you’d always order. A peach lemonade and some version of an extremely caffeinated drink, and some other shit. This time, the guy came in with a Starbucks bag with something in there that smelled suspiciously like those stupid fucking croissant sandwiches. 

Bakugou forced a smile on his face as he was handing the man his order. He could feel his face twitching with poorly concealed anger, so it just made the man squeak and rush out of the place as soon as he could. Ashido chuckled at him from the cashier, watching as Bakugou quickly reverted his face back into one with a deep grimace. Yeah, he wasn’t going to be working as the cashier at all today. He’d scare them all off, and he’s already intimidating enough as he is.

As of this point, Ashido was getting concerned. She could see a vein popping up on his neck from clenching his teeth and fist so hard. He looked a little constipated, to be honest, but she kept these words to herself for fear that she may end up causing that vein on his neck to pop in sheer rage. 

She genuinely hadn’t seen him this angry in years, and she was wondering how high his blood pressure must have been. After knowing him for so many years, she was sure that the croissant conversation wasn’t the only thing that was getting on his nerves so much. It couldn’t have been. Normally, when the part-time workers at his café would start having personal conversations in the employee group chat, he’d just calmly ask them to bring the conversation to another place.

That was a similar scenario to what he described. Two people he knew quite well using a professional group chat for personal discussions– it was basically the same situation.

There had to be a certain trigger that was making him more irritated than usual. She saw how Bakugou reacted to the man that just left the café, and she couldn’t help but think that he was connected to all of this. Hmm, he was carrying a Starbucks bag, though. Maybe that’s why he was angry? Because he brought a bag with the logo of a massive coffee corporation into his café? But no, the man was clearly buying the drinks from his café, which basically cemented the fact that his drinks were better. Bakugou would normally be proud of that. 

Ashido kept thinking to deduce the reason behind his actions. Playing detective for the source of Bakugou’s emotions is one of her favorite hobbies. Especially when the café isn’t busy.

Maybe it’s because the bag smelled a little bit like croissant sandwiches? There has to be another reason other than the croissants. There’s no way he’d get that angry just because of a reminder of some pastries.

Ashido was hyper aware of his actions during her exchange with the customer, however. Partially because she was worried and mostly because she was curious. 

Before Bakugou could even take a glance at the bag in his hands, she noticed him clench up when he asked for “an americano and a peach lemonade– both large.” She could have sworn that Bakugou also let in a sharp breath when the customer said that.

What’s wrong with buying an americano and a peach lemonade? Tons of people ordered those. Maybe it’s the combination of the two? She thought. “But (Y/N)-san orders these and he’s never angry at-” her jaw dropped and she immediately clasped a hand over her mouth.

She had reached an epiphany. "It’s definitely because she hasn’t been visiting the café as often!"

Is that why he was so pissy?

Was it because he wanted to see you?

Ashido told Bakugou he should go on a break so that she could process this information while he went to calm down. She’ll tease him about it after his blood pressure goes down. He’s also been clenching his teeth so hard that his teeth will start falling out if he doesn't cool off somehow. 

As she washed her hands (because she touched her mouth earlier), she had a terrifying cheshire cat smile on her expression. From afar, a customer saw her and squeaked a little. 

It was his break, but he couldn’t fucking relax. Maybe he should just leave the café to Ashido for the rest of the day to cool off at the gym. But no, he couldn’t. He had to finish the day, or else it would damage his gold, coffee mug-shaped pride.

He has to, even if he’s starting to sweat from how much sheer anger he feels. His head and jaw ache from being clenched for so long, and he thinks his palms might bleed if he digs his fingernails into them any longer. He desperately needed this break. 

He was very a little irked at the fact that he hadn’t seen you stop by his café ever since the show. You were a regular at his café, so why hadn’t he seen you since?

Was it because he scared you off because of the way he looked at you in the photo?

It sent his mind spiraling. "Of course she wouldn’t show up again. It’d be fucking awkward. She probably thinks you’re a disgusting pervert because of the way you looked at her. Fuck, you barely know her. She definitely thinks you’re disgusting because of that.”

As of this point, he was standing in the employee bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror again. He looked at the wall desperately, wanting to punch it with all his might. But if he did that, he’d probably break his wrist again. Not a good idea to punch a concrete wall like that one time. “Calm down,”he thought, using breathing techniques that his old therapist taught him. 

He hasn’t felt this angry in years– ever since Midoriya got a higher grade than him on that government test in his senior year of high school.

So, he went back to the counter of his café, making himself one of those hot chocolates that you helped him develop a little while back.

Before he got back to work, he went to the back and did some push-ups in the pantry while thinking of you. He’s going insane. Again.

directory/m.list

⇦ previous chapter - next chapter ⇨

[khushwedding]

Exquisite Bridal Jewelry Sets for Your Wedding | Jewelry Suppliers in UK

Find dazzling bridal jewelry sets and accessories from the best designers and jewelry makers in the UK. The KhushWedding directory connects brides with luxury jewelers to complete their wedding day look.

[baesimss]

lido marina village, brindleton bay, simmisota ✨

welcome to lido! brindleton bay's premiere shopping outlets. filled with stylish boutiques, fine eateries and even a gym. locals and tourists love coming here for the chic and relaxed ambience.

guys, this is my most ambitious build project thus far. i've never referred to myself as a builder, but i am proud of the work i've put into this! it's, of course, based on the very real lido marina village in newport beach, california. definitely one of my favorite places in cali so it was a joy to bring it to life in my game!

more pictures + directory under the cut.

shops, eateries & more:

nobu | michelin star rated japanese restaurant. inspired by the real nobu at lido marina village.

curl fitness | a private members-only gym. inspired by the real curl fitness at lido marina village.

loveshackfancy | a women's clothing boutique that specializes in romantic and floral designs. inspired by the real loveshackfancy at lido marina village.

therealreal | a luxury consignment boutique. inspired by the real therealreal at lido marina village.

floral selfie wall | a place for sims to pose for pics! inspired by the real floral wall at lido marina village.

skating rink | a fun activity for kids (or any age sims) to partake in while their parents shop. there is no skating rink at the real lido marina village.

public restrooms with vending machines & water fountains.

kimber | luxury furniture store. inspired by serena + lily at lido marina village.

roller rabbit | a whimsical children's boutique. inspired by the real roller rabbit at lido marina village, except the real store doesn't cater specifically to children.

tress salon | a hair & nail salon for the bougie sims. inspired by the real tress salon at lido marina village.

lido bookstore & coffee shop | coffee shop with a bookstore upstairs and outdoor areas to eat and read. there is a real bookstore at lido marina village, but mine isn't really based on that one.

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[unseededtoast]

Turtle Doves | Joel Miller

Part Twenty Five

Chapter Directory

Series Summary: In which two broken souls connect so deeply, that if one should perish, the other would surely die of a broken heart. (slow burn, timeline changes. After TLOU1, before TLOU2, assumed knowledge of infected, uses elements from both show and game)

Series Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, death, and sexual content.

Also cross posted on my Wattpad and AO3, if you prefer those formats. Here is a link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted.

I look down at my shaking hands and wonder if he thinks I'm just as much of a monster as the men I've just killed. 

It could've been two days or two weeks that I've been kept here but I would have no way to tell. The Tribunals have kept me locked in a dark room the entire time, effectively disorienting me. My limbs still strapped down to the table, my body aches and my mind has become fuzzy. While the room is dark, I am not afforded the luxury of sleep. 

A glimpse of sunlight enters the room as a man steps through. His footsteps echo in the quiet room and I hear him stop walking as he reaches the table end by my feet. His fingers trail up the front of my leg and I hear him take in a sharp breath. 

"I'm here to bring you to trial." His voice is gruff. I am unable to answer due to being dehydrated, and make no move to acknowledge the man's words. 

I don't know what this trial will entail, but I've seen what these people do. I'm already guilty in their eyes. This much has been proven by the way they've treated me while being tied down to the table. 

Countless men have entered and ran their hands over my body, some have gone as far as to hit me. They've all told me that I'll swing for killing their men. And I believe them. 

"Come on." The man speaks as he cuts my restraints. Even though I'm now free of being tied down, I don't make any move. I know I'm far too weak to take on even one of these men by myself, and if I attempt to escape that I'll just be re-captured and tortured even further. 

I've run through every scenario I could think of, and all ended up with me being dead. There simply isn't a way out of this one. The man yanks me from the table and forces me on my feet. He grabs the back of my shirt and leads me out of the dark room. 

The sunlight is blinding as soon as he opens the door. My eyes squint and I stumble over my own feet as he continues to push me forward. I hear men yelling at me and I smell smoke in the air. 

"Let that bitch swing!" One man calls out enthusiastically. As my eyes adjust to the light, I begin seeing where I'm going. 

I'm being paraded down a street that's lined with men on each side. My gaze falls across several men and see the 'T' branding on every single one. This group was much larger than I ever could have conceived.  

I trip over my feet again and lift my head to see a large brick building in front of me. It has a grand staircase with torches lining the sides. There are men guarding the door with several guns in hand. 

"Let's see her head roll!" Another man calls out. While their words are frightening, my mind doesn't fully register that they're talking about me. It's almost as if I'm viewing the whole situation in third person, like an out of body experience. 

We reach the staircase and I'm forced up them. As I ascend the stairs I hear the crowd behind cheer in unison. The doors slam loudly behind us once inside, leaving us in silence. Two additional men escort me down a hallway where there's one room at the very end. 

The room at the end of the hall is a courtroom. A dusty, downtrodden courtroom that smells faintly of blood and gunpowder. I'm forced to stand in front of the wooden pedestal at the front of the room, in which one man sits behind the desk. He stares down at me with disdain in his eyes and looks me over before he speaks, as if he's trying to come up with just the right insult. 

"Today you will face trial for the murders of our men with the maximum penalty of death. Do you understand?" His voice is loud and commandeering. The word death seems to reignite my mind and the full gravity of the situation begins to sink in. 

My eyes dart all around the room and I see a jury of men to my left. They're all staring me down like they would take great joy in killing me themselves. And they probably would. I look back to the man in front of me and nod my head, hoping that my death may be swift.

"Yes." I answer and he nods, satisfied with my answer. With that, I'm tugged over to a table on the right side of the room and forced into a chair. Another man who sits at a table to the left stands from his spot and approaches the man that I just spoke with. 

I realize quickly that this is being conducted like an actual pre-outbreak court. I'm the defendant, and the man I just spoke to is the judge. The men to the left is the jury that will decide my fate. Though it's hardly fair, it makes sense, considering they've named themselves Tribunals. It seems this entire group has taken it upon themselves to become the world's judges. 

While tribunals are supposed to act to keep peace, order, and justice, these people have corrupted the role to conform to their own twisted will. There is no justice in slaughtering innocent people. The judge at the front of the room slams an old gavel to begin the trial. 

The man who sits at the table to my left stands and turns to the jury. This man is dressed nicer than the others and looks to be a little more well-nourished, he must have found favor with his position. Either that, or he's being paid off by those who can afford his price. 

"Today you will receive the facts about this woman who sits across from you. She is responsible for several of our men's deaths. But you don't have to take my word for it, no we have solid physical evidence that she has been tracking us and hunting our members." The man points an accusatory finger at me, and all I can do is stare back at him. This entire situation feels utterly dystopian and foreign to the world in which we now live. 

"The court will now hear from the prosecutor." The judge states and allows the man to continue talking. I glance over and see that my bag has been sat on the prosecutor's table. My heart slams in my chest when I realize all that's been kept in there. 

"My fellow Tribunals. Let me show you exactly who she is. She has written correspondence from our men." He holds up several notes that I've held onto from Boston. I swallow harshly, wishing for a cup of water. 

"She has a detailed map." He displays my map to the jury, who all look at it with squinted eyes. 

"And she even has our pictures." He shows the jury the polaroid pictures I took of other victims. I see some people on the jury look from the pictures to me, a deep seeded hatred in their eyes. 

"Now, I'm not going to waste your time here today. It is glaringly obvious that this woman was operating solely to kill as many of us as she could. In fact, she travelled all the way from Boston." He waves papers in the air that I assume are the notes I found in the QZ warehouse. 

The evidence gets passed around the jury members, who take their time examining every single paper and photo that gets passed to them. It's obvious that nobody is going to find me innocent. After all, they weren't wrong, I was operating solely to exterminate them. They may judge me for the acts I've committed against them, but I've judged them on their acts they've committed against innocent people. It seems we find each other guilty of the most heinous. 

After what feels like an hour, the jury has passed back the evidence and the prosecutor clears his throat and looks me dead in the eye as he says his next words. 

"I do trust that the jury will reach a reasonable conclusion." His words are an obvious threat. My eyes track him as he takes his seat at the table once more. I know I am destined to die soon, but I would like very much to kill that man before I do. 

"And now the defendant. Please state your name for the record and recount your version of events." The judge orders and it takes me a moment to understand what he's asking of me. Knowing I have no choice but to comply, I stand from my seat with wobbly balance. They definitely must have kept me here for a few days at least.

"My name is Noelle Allen and I am from the Boston QZ. There's no denying the evidence you saw, but let me tell you what the prosecutor won't. Members of this group made a deal with the Fireflies to find and kill a teenage girl for a deal gone bad. But they weren't just looking for this one girl. No, I found three murdered teenagers in the QZ, all tortured and killed brutally." I take a breath and try to swallow, but my throat is entirely too dry. My eyes sweep across the jury and I can tell that whatever I say won't sway them, but I know what I must say for me to die at peace.

"All across the country members of this group have left people mutilated. And not only that, but they took joy in it. It's killing for sport, not justice. How can it be just if photos are taken of the victims and displayed like trophies? Tell me, where is the justice in sexually assaulting children and leaving their bodies in alleys?" My voice raises and cracks with my words, and I force myself to keep going before they tell me that my time is up. 

"This here is not justice, this is a corrupted system. You can tell yourselves that this is fair and just, and that you're enforcing some kind of moral code. But all you're doing is using this as an excuse to kill whoever you want for whatever reason. And I know that my body will swing from the gallows after this, but at least I know I died by trying to avenge the innocent." My words may not have been the most eloquent, but it's everything I needed to say. I sit back down at the table and wait for someone to say something. But the room remains silent. 

Jury members begin conversing amongst themselves but I don't waste the energy in trying to listen. I already know my sentence. Instead, I focus on the wood grain of the table and find myself once again thinking of Joel. 

I never intended to develop the feelings I did. No, I was just grateful I had someone willing to travel with me across the country. Never did I think that Joel Miller would end up with my heart. His rough exterior hides a man who loves deeply and passionately for those he cares about, a man who has endured too much pain and suffering in this life. I knew that our time together was limited, but I never thought it was going to end like this. 

No, I had always imagined that we would be able to exterminate this group and then we would part ways. He would go to Wyoming to be with his family, and I would decide what I wanted to do. And while I hope he's on his way to Wyoming right now, I realize that I don't have to burden myself with making that choice anymore. There are no more future days for me. 

But, I hope that all future days for Joel are as peaceful as they can be. I hope he's able to spend time with his newfound daughter, and that she is kept from harm's way. I hope these people never find them and I hope nobody else ever finds out that she is immune. There's no doubt in my mind that Joel would allow anything happen to her, she's in good hands. I only wish I could've met her. Maybe in a different life things ended differently. 

"A decision has been reached, all rise." The judge says as a jury member hands him a piece of paper. My heartbeat thumps in my ears as I watch the judge licks his lips and clear his throat. 

"By decree of the Tribunals, defendant Noelle Allen has been found guilty of all charges and the jury recommends the maximum sentence for her crimes." His words are no surprise to me. Immediately, my arms are tugged behind my back and I'm forced to begin taking my final walk. 

I know that I will be hanged outside this very courthouse. 

Life seems to move in slow motion as I'm forced out of the courtroom. My chest feels like it's tight, like I can't get enough air and the people around me blur into shapeless figures. It's as if concrete has been poured around my feet, weighing me down with every step forward. The front doors of the courthouse open and I can hear the roar of cheers from the people outside, but they sound muffled. My ears are ringing, my heartbeat feels like it's going to jump from my chest. 

Before we make it to the front doors, my vision goes gray. The hands that were holding me tightly disappear and I hear gunshots in front of me, where the crowd is. Still operating in a fog of confusion, my feet take steps backwards automatically, and suddenly I find myself running back through the courthouse. Men with guns rush past me, paying me no mind as I look for a way out. 

I'm not even sure what's happening, but it feels like some sort of divine intervention. 

I look into each room I pass until I find one with a window. Without giving it any thought, I pick up a chair to break the glass out and then jump out of it. My feet hit the ground with a hard thud, the jump had been higher than anticipated, but I made it out. Near the front of the courthouse I hear gunfire and screams, so I turn and run in the other direction. 

My palms burn from being cut by the broken glass but I just hope that nobody thinks to follow the blood trail. With each gasp for air my lungs burn more and more and I start to trip over my own feet. Finding a secluded corner, I collapse against the wall and try to catch my breath. 

The smell of smoke lingers heavily in the air and burns my throat, but I pay no mind to it. All I need to focus on is getting out of here alive. I know if they catch me, I'll suffer a fate far worse than death. 

Once I feel like I can get my body to operate properly, I stand and look around the corner to make sure nobody is coming after me. Unfortunately for me, there is a lone man running my way as I peek around and his gaze locks onto me instantly. 

Knowing if he alerts the others that my fate is sealed, I force myself forward and meet him in the middle. The man is carrying a large machete and he swings it towards me, and I am just barely able to dodge it. While he follows through with his swing, I land a kick to his ribs and knock him off balance, but not for long. 

The man swings again with a grunt and the blade grazes my arm, adding to the blood spilling from my body. I yell out in pain and back up before he can swing the blade again. 

"I'll get a reward for you dead or alive, it's all up to you. But I'm gonna have fun either way." The man exclaims as he lunges forward with the machete in front of him. It narrowly misses my stomach by inches. 

His words ignite a fire within myself, something deep-seeded and hot burns in my chest. While he gains his balance to swing at me again, I duck my head and tackle him, taking us both to the ground. 

The man struggles to grab hold of the machete's handle and I land my knee on top of his wrist, pinning it to the ground. He yells out in pain and his other hand moves to pull me off of him, so I grind my knee into his wrist even harder. His eyes shut in pain and he tries one last time to get me off of him. His free hand grabs my hair and he pulls, hard. My weight is shifted off of his wrist and he flips us over so that my back is pinned against the asphalt road. 

I move too quickly for him to hold my hands down and as he struggles to keep me pinned, my thumbs find their way to his eyes. With determination to live, I dig my thumbs into the man's eye sockets and listen as he screams. He jolts away from my hands and I waste no time in grabbing his machete. As he covers his eyes I raise the machete over my head before I bring it down and bury it in his throat. The man gurgles and chokes on his own blood as I stand.

But it seems like a clean getaway is not in my future, as the man's screams seems to have attracted more men. I yank the machete out of the man's throat and readjust my grip on it, my mind going blank to everything except fulfilling my bloodlust. 

One man raises his gun at me, but he's run out of bullets, probably spent dealing with the situation at the courthouse. He throws his empty gun at me and I dodge the metal, running towards him. I see his eyes grow wide as his gaze lands on the blade in my hand and then I feel him take his last breath as I pull the blade from his abdomen. 

A bullet whizzes by my head and I'm quick to spot the man shooting at me from behind a building. While he's ducked away for cover, I run between two buildings, hoping to disappear and get the jump on him. Thankfully city streets are organized as a grid, so it's not hard for me to locate where the shooter is. 

With controlled breaths, I peek around the corner and see the man who was shooting at me. His head is turned around the corner as he tries to see where I've gone. My footsteps are quiet and he doesn't hear me behind him until it's too late. The blade cuts clean across his jugular and he crumples to the ground gagging on blood. I grab his gun and check how many bullets are left. There are just three, so I have to make them count. 

I turn and start heading away from the center of the city, where the majority of the group is. If I can get far enough away before they realize I'm gone, I'll have a pretty good chance at disappearing from them forever. My head is on a swivel as I move away from the city, constantly checking for any lone wolf members or infected that may have been drawn to the commotion. 

I'm almost out of the main city area when a door opens to my right. The man behind the door moves too fast for me to be able to do anything, and he forces me inside the building. There are two other men inside, sitting by a fire. Of course I would run right past one of their outposts.

"I reckon we can fetch a fair price for this one, what do you think boys?" The man has a death grip on my wrists and I feel him lean down and sniff my hair. 

Where fear once would have set in, all I feel now is anger. My vision seems to go red and while the man satisfies himself by smelling me, I bring my heel up quickly and land a solid hit. His hands are off of me in an instant, grabbing at himself. 

I hear the others behind me scramble to grab their weapons while I lock my arms around the man's throat. I squeeze tightly and fend him off as he reaches behind himself in an attempt to grab me. 

"Drop your guns or I'll make you all suffer." My voice does not sound like my own as the words leave my mouth. However, the men don't take my threat seriously, and one of them laughs. 

The blood in my veins feels like it has turned into burning hot lava and I squeeze the man's airway so tightly that I feel his knees about to give out. He's choking for air, struggling to get even the smallest breath. His body is growing heavier and heavier and just before he hits the ground, I grab the gun off of his thigh and aim it at the two others.

I don't give the others a chance to speak as I fire rounds into their kneecaps; my finger pulls the trigger so quickly it almost sounds like I'm firing an automatic weapon. Both men collapse to the ground, writhing in pain as blood drains out of their knees. 

"You fucking bitch." One of them spits at my feet as I saunter over to them. I kick their own guns away from them and then assess how I want to handle the situation. My eyes linger on the fire burning in front of me and an idea blossoms in my mind. 

Perhaps this is the precise moment that I become just as bad as them. 

I grab the fire poker leaning against one of the chairs and hold the end of it in the fire until it becomes red-hot. Once I'm satisfied with how hot the iron is, I walk over the man closest to me and lean down so that I can see his face clearly. Tears stream out of his eyes and he whines about his knees. 

"I wish I could do this to every single member of this group. But since I can't, you're going to be the ones to send my message to them all." My words are laced with venom as I stand to my full height. 

The man in front of me pleads and begs for his life. And once upon a time I might have had pity on him and not have followed through. But after everything I've seen these men do to others and what they've done to me, I have no problem following through with my actions. 

I plunge the hot metal through the man's mouth until I feel the end of the iron hit the floor beneath him. The man screams out in pain and grabs the iron. He ends up melting the skin off the palms of his hands as he tries to save himself. While he dies a slow, agonizing death, I turn my attention to the other man. 

"Please don't, please." The man sobs when he sees me walk towards him. Instead of answering him, I look around for my next weapon. 

However, there seems to be little to nothing here, except sleeping bags and old wrappers. My eyes turn down to my trembling hands that are covered in blood. The man's cries fade into the background as my ears begin ringing.

Behind my eyelids with every blink I see images of dead people. The children in the QZ, the people in the polaroids, every single one of them. My knees hit the ground with a hard thud and my hands reach out and wrap around the man's throat. 

He scratches and claws at my hands and manages to knock me off balance. With my ears still ringing and my vision becoming veiled in red, I watch as my fingers lace themselves in the man's hair. I bring his head up off the ground before slamming it back to the floor, where I hear his skull crack. 

But that's not enough to keep him from fighting back, so I raise his head off the floor once more and repeat the action. As his head hits the ground for the second time, blood begins spilling out onto the floor. The man stops fighting back as hard, his arms and legs twitch next to his body. I stand to my full height and use the back of my hand to wipe the sweat from my face as I see blood begin spilling out of the man's eyes. 

Stumbling backwards, I find my way out of the building as it suddenly feels like the walls are caving in on me. And as I open the door the light blinds me, and from the light emerges a figure that I can only describe as being angelic. 

My shoulders slump as I see Joel standing right in front of me, his eyes trained on the carnage behind me. 

"Noelle." He says breathlessly. His wide eyes scan over my face and it's only then that I realize what I've just done. 

I look down at my shaking hands and wonder if he thinks I'm just as much of a monster as the men I've just killed. 

Part Twenty Six

[ruanbaijie]

During the Republican Era, Shen Zhiheng, a member of the Tianjin gentry who happened to be a vampire, offended the Japanese and became the target of an assassination attempt. He was saved by a blind young lady, Mi Lan, and his best friend Situ Weilian. When he went to repay Mi Lan for saving him, he discovered the terrible family situation that Mi Lan was in, and so began to pay more attention to her. Meanwhile, Shen Zhiheng’s plan to take revenge on Li Yingliang, the mastermind behind his assassination, fell short of success thanks to Li Yingliang’s Japanese superior, raising suspicions about his identity. Since then, Li Yingliang and the Japanese were in hot pursuit of Shen Zhiheng, determined to dig out the truth about his secret.

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Fate starts, fate ends [1].

These four words are a little mysterious, in that when they occur, they can do so silently, even without a trace.

We must begin telling our story the night Shen Zhiheng was attacked.

20 November 1936, night. Tianjin, English concession zone.

At a grand charity dinner party, Shen Zhiheng encountered an alcoholic, and decided to leave early. When he was not drinking, this alcoholic was also quite a decent, important figure. However, the moment he started drinking, he would become extremely clingy, and would keep bothering whomever he had caught, forcing others to keep drinking with him to the point of drunkenness. That night, he clung on to Shen Zhiheng, but Shen Zhiheng had discovered a few months ago that he could no longer drink alcohol.

Unwilling to vomit at the dinner party, he randomly cooked up an excuse to leave early. As he was afraid that the alcoholic would chase after him, he left in a hurry, and had even forgotten to wear his coat, and only realised how cold it was after he had gotten into his car.

He had always never panicked, but that night, he had been thrown off balance by that alcoholic, and when he thought back about it, it seemed like that had been a bad omen. But at that time, he could not think of anything, but to quickly start his car and return home to rest. His car was the year’s newest Cadillac model. He had just gotten it shipped over from the United States a month ago, and it was the only one of its kind in Tianjin. As such an extravagant newspaper tycoon, Shen Zhiheng himself was precisely a member of the modern literati who lived in luxury. And for the modern literati who happened to be rich, driving a luxury car to attract attention was naturally a fairly reasonable thing to do.

He drove his car past the street that marked the end of the English concession zone, heading straight for the Shen residence in the French concession zone. It was deep at night, and in addition to it being late autumn, when a gust of wind blew, it could be as chilly as a winter night. He drove past a well-lit Western-style mansion, which happened to be General Mi’s house. To be more precise, this was the house of General Mi’s legal wife, Mrs. Mi. General Mi was a gallant figure, and although he had retired ever since he had led his army up north to fight and had since then been idling away half the time, his promiscuous [2] nature remained, propagating everywhere and refusing to return home. 

And, when Shen Zhiheng drove past, there was a battle raging in the Mi mansion. Mrs. Mi, a grass widow, was taking out her anger on Young Mistress Mi. Young Mistress Mi was fifteen years old, but the paltry nutrients that she ate everyday had all been used for her to grow tall, and nothing had been left for puberty, so she still looked like a young girl.

Young Mistress Mi was also blind.

Twenty-four hours later, Young Mistress Mi would meet Shen Zhiheng, but at this point, she did not have an inkling of this meeting. Instead, she was gritting her teeth in pain, at the mercy of her mother who was pulling her hair and knocking her head against the wall. Her hair was sparse, with some parts of her scalp already exposed. They had all been pulled out by Mrs. Mi, because Young Mistress Mi was light in weight and small like a toy, Mrs. Mi found it very suitable to pull her hair and yank her here and there, and it had become so convenient it was as if she had grown addicted to it.

Grasping her walking cane in one hand, Young Mistress Mi knew that it was not possible for her to be knocked to death just by how her mother knocked her around. But she was also tired of living in constant anxiety and fear.

The car drove past the Mi mansion, leaving behind the suffering Young Mistress Mi. At the same time, at a not too distant corner of the city, Li Yingliang walked into his office and sat down behind his desk. Resting his elbows on the surface of the desk, he clasped his hands together and rested his chin on them, slightly tilting his head to look at the electric lamp as he waited for his subordinates to return with good news.

Tonight, Shen Zhiheng must die. If Shen Zhiheng didn’t die, there was no way he could report back to Yokoyama Akira. Besides, even if Yokoyama Akira had not given the order, even from his personal sentiments, he was very willing to kill Shen Zhiheng. This was because he had tried to approach Shen Zhiheng amicably multiple times, but Shen Zhiheng had always refused to pay him any attention. Fuck, he was the chairman of the North China Development Committee, and was accompanied by an air of power and multiple subordinates wherever he went, how could he be not worthy enough for Shen Zhiheng? 

So what if I do things for the Japanese? Aren’t you also taking advantage of the power of the English, Americans, and French to spout nonsense in the newspapers?

Li Yingliang was very sensitive and could not stop thinking about Shen Zhiheng. The more he thought, the angrier he got and the redder his eyes became. With his large, watery eyes and their uplifted corners, accompanied by a pair of long eyebrows and his pale skin, he looked quite beautiful, like a has-been opera actor.

The clock in a corner of the office chimed. Li Yingliang glanced up. It was already exactly one in the morning.

At exactly one in the morning, Shen Zhiheng stepped out of his car along the street.

There was something wrong with his car. No matter how many times he tried, it would not start. So, Shen Zhiheng decided to walk back home. The wind was getting stronger, seeming to almost blow up fine snow. Dressed in only a thin layer of evening attire, Shen Zhiheng, feeling the cold, thrust his hands into his pockets and lowered his head, hunching his shoulders and back as he walked against the wind.

After walking half the street, he turned at the corner, and continued walking half a mile, when he heard a car approaching behind him. Turning around, he was met with the shining headlights of a car that was speeding towards him.

Before he could react, he had already been hit and flung into the air. The car braked, and when he landed on the ground, it accelerated forward, its front and then rear tyres running over his lower back. Then, the car stopped. The two back doors opened, and two black-clad men jumped down, both holding pistols in their hands. The gun barrels were particularly long; they had been fitted with silencers. The two men walked in front of Shen Zhiheng.

“That’s Shen, right?” one of them asked in a low voice.  

The other one turned off the safety of his gun, loading bullets into it. “That’s right.”

The two of them raised their guns and pointed them at him, intending to fire some extra shots at him. Little did they know that before they could pull the trigger, Shen Zhiheng suddenly used his hands to brace himself against the ground, and stood up.

His short hair was messy, and his face and the front of his clothes were stained with large patches of dirt. However, his four limbs were whole, and he still looked like a complete person. He took a step towards the black-clad men, opening his mouth as if he wanted to say something. However, the black-clad men were well-trained, aiming at his head and pulling the trigger. The blast of the bullet snapped his head backwards, and a bloody hole instantly opened on his forehead, red and white bits splashing out together.

He stumbled a step, but still stood. He could even still speak.

“Who sent you?”

The black-clad men took a step back together. They were in the business of killing people, daring to kill live people; was there anything on earth that could scare them? Nothing, they had always been fearless, until this moment, when they met a living person who could not be killed. Again, they raised their guns and surrounded him, both aiming at Shen Zhiheng, both watching that sticky fluid trickle down Shen Zhiheng’s forehead, past his eyebrows, and to his eyes. He raised his hand to wipe it away, the sweet smell of blood permeating through the air. Then, the black-clad men watched as he raised his fingers and stuck them into his mouth.

His fingers were wet. As he sucked each of them one by one, his eyes swept across the two people in front of him.

The black-clad man who had fired the first shot decided to take the first shot again. With his gun aimed at the space between Shen Zhiheng’s eyebrows, he once again pulled the trigger. But now, his pointer that had been on the trigger pulled on nothing, as cold air blew across his fingers. He startled, realising that his gun was now in Shen Zhiheng’s hands. Shen Zhiheng pressed the mouth of the gun against the space between his eyebrows, and asked again, “Who sent you?”

His companion fired.  

His companion was standing beside Shen Zhiheng. In the fleeting moment before the gun fired, it was as if Shen Zhiheng had a premonition, suddenly raising his hand and hitting the gun barrel away. The gun pointed upwards and the bullet grazed across Shen Zhiheng’s hair. Immediately, he changed the direction of the gun in his hands and pulled the trigger at that person’s throat. After a muted sound went off, that person fell.

The gun turned back to the front, and he suddenly roared, “Who? Say or I’ll kill you!”

The black-clad man stared at him, watching his blood and brain juice flow down his temples together, watching how he still was not dead even after being injured to this extent. Not only was he not dead, he could still speak and kill people. The black-clad man had killed countless people up till that night, when he had encountered a living ghost.

He was terrified to the extent that he had forgotten there was still one reinforcement behind him.

The driver in the car stuck a light machine gun out of the window, firing in their direction. Without a silencer, the gunshot sounds rang out like a series of thunder. A tongue of fire swept across the black-clad man and Shen Zhiheng, and after both of them collapsed, the driver kept the gun and drove off. He turned the car around and drove over Shen Zhiheng’s corpse again, escaping into the night as patrol sirens echoed in the distance.

This once clean road was now flowing with rivers of blood.

Shen Zhiheng did not want to die, but if the patrol officers saw just how sorry a state he was now in, it would not be very appropriate if he were to not die. So, before the patrol officers could arrive, he rolled over a few times, rolling himself to the dirt beside the road. The dirt absorbed his fresh blood, and as he crawled forward a short distance, he ran out of blood to bleed.

He no longer left any evidence behind him.

As Shen Zhiheng was crawling with much difficulty, the two people he was fated to meet but had not yet met were currently busy with their own affairs.

Mi Lan [3] was sitting in her dark bedroom, clutching a waist belt in her hand. She wanted to die, but the Western-style house she lived in had smooth and sturdy walls, and had no beams from which she could hang herself. If she wanted to jump from a height, the house had only one level.

Li Yingliang was sitting in his well-lit office, making coffee for himself. He took a sip of the boiling hot coffee, yelping when it scalded him, his beautiful, dewy eyes turning red. Putting his cup down, he paced around the room, waiting for his subordinates to report back to him. They had planned this for so long, and Shen Zhiheng was just a member of the educated class, there was no reason they should fail. He suddenly stopped in front of the mirror to look at himself, but not to admire his handsome looks. He was barely aware of how handsome he was, in fact, he held barely any interest in his looks at all. He was checking to see if he had the air of an official, if he looked like someone who could rise rapidly through the ranks.

21 November 1936, day.

Li Guisheng knocked on the door and called out, “Sir, it’s Guisheng. I’ve returned.”

A voice replied from inside, “Enter.”

He pushed the door open and stepped in, not even daring to breathe. The room beyond the doors was spacious, furnished like an office of the highest quality. The furniture was all made of mahogany, and there was even a sofa and coffee table. Behind the Western-style writing desk sat an attractive young man, who was the one and only chairman of the North China Development Committee, Li Yingliang.

Li Guisheng had never determined exactly what type of government office this committee was, but he knew that it was supported by the Japanese and lacked neither power nor finances, which explained how Chairman Li could furnish an entire room with mahogany furniture. Li Yingliang was not that old, less than thirty years of age, and could be considered among the top two youngest and most promising people among the Chinese traitors [4] . Li Guisheng respected Li Yingliang, because he was no embroidered pillow [5] . Although he looked like a pretty freeloader, he actually had a fierce drive to keep pressing on indomitably. As long as the Japanese gave an order, Chairman Li would do it to the best of his abilities without a single moment of hesitation.

These past few years, Chairman Li had been forging ahead on his path regardless of whatever came his way, devoting himself entirely to this job. However, he was not exactly satisfied with his career, because he had too many competitors, and if he could work hard, so could they. And besides working hard, they still had more means and more connections than him, unlike him, who could only stubbornly persist. Actually, Li Guisheng did not know what weighed on Chairman Li’s heart. Li Yingliang wanted to be witty, smart, and slick, but he did not have the natural gifts for it, and had no choice but to accept the hand that fate had dealt him. After staying up the entire night in his office without sleeping a wink, his eyes had become as red as a rabbit’s.

“Why are you only back now?” he asked Li Guisheng.

“I went to take care of the car,” Li Guisheng replied. “One of the car lights had been broken, and I had to drive it to the car yard to be fixed. But the front of the car was splattered with… you know. It was too dirty, so I had to clean it first, before I dared to drive it to the car yard. Also, I’m the only one who returned.”

As soon as he saw Li Guisheng, Li Yingliang felt lighter. He lowered his head and arranged the few documents on his desk. “What about the other two?”

“They died.”

Li Yingliang paused and lifted his head. “Shen Zhiheng brought people with him?”

“No,” Li Guisheng replied. “The information we had gathered before was correct. Last night, he really went home by himself. That car of his also really broke down on his way back. Everything went according to plan, and when we caught up with him, he was walking on the street by himself.”

“Then how did two people die?”

Li Guisheng took a deep breath, as if he was about to give a long speech. However, in the end, he licked his lips, and could only sigh softly, “Sir, what happened last night, it felt evil in nature.”

Li Yingliang frowned. “Hmm?”

Li Guisheng bent down, describing the events of the previous night. Li Yingliang lowered his eyes and fixed them on the surface of the desk, listening with utmost concentration. When Li Guisheng finished, he raised his eyes, his gaze like fire.

“Did you see wrongly? If his brains were already spilling out, how could he still get up and kill people?”

Li Guisheng shivered in fear under his gaze. “This… when you put it this way, I can’t be certain. Maybe I’m the one who saw it wrongly?”  

Li Yingliang knocked his fingernail against the table, his gaze fixed on him as he spoke, “Put aside the details first. Let me ask you, in the end, in the end , did he definitely die?”

Li Guisheng immediately nodded. “Sir, he definitely died through and through. With the way that he died, it would be difficult to even collect a whole body.”

Li Yingliang leaned back. “Fine, as long as he’s dead. The worse he died, the better. It’ll let others know what will become of those who go against us. Don’t appear in public these two days, go home and rest. When this blows over, come back and run errands for me.”

Li Guisheng agreed, bowed, and left the room with his head lowered.

The Development Committee was housed in a large compound, but it actually did not have that many members. First, this was because Li Yingliang had fabricated the headcount in order to get more resources. Second, this Development Committee was actually not such a committee at all. From its members to the things that they did, all of it could not see the light of day. So, now, in the middle of the day, the compound was quite quiet, with only a little activity at the General Affairs Section.

Li Guisheng was a bachelor without any parents. It was pointless for him to return home, so he turned into the General Affairs Section to pass some time. When it was nearing noon, just when he wanted to leave, a certain Secretary Ding rushed in, and gave him a slap the second he saw him.

“You haven’t left? Good. Quick! The Chairman wants to see you!”

Perplexed, Li GUisheng, hurried back to the chairman’s office. Li Yingliang was seated behind the desk, a cup of steaming hot coffee in his hand. Seeing Li Guisheng enter, he did not say a word, waiting until Li Guisheng walked to him.

“We just got news that the corpse has disappeared,” he said.

Li Guisheng froze. “Who?”

“Who else? Shen.”

Li Guisheng looked at Li Yingliang. He was Li Yingliang’s most trusted subordinate, he had been with him for many years now, and the two of them were close, which explained why he dared to look him in the eye.

“What? That’s not possible. Did someone bury his corpse on purpose to hide that he is dead?”

“When you left, hadn’t the patrol already been alerted?”

“Yes, it felt like their whistles were just beside my ear. Besides, when we acted, we had already checked the surroundings. Let alone people, there was not even a wild cat or dog in the area!” His face changed at this point. “The French, it must be the French. Isn’t Shen Zhiheng in good relations with the French?”

Li Yingliang scoffed. There was the sound of laughter, but not a trace of laughter showed on his cold face. “Ridiculous! What does that have got to do with the French hiding his death? I’m in quite good relations with you as well; one day, when you die, should I also hide your body without letting anyone know? There’s no such reason!” He exhaled audibly. “Leave it like this for now! We’ll wait and see. I hope it was a wild dog that dragged him off and ate him.”

He leaned back, and knocked his fingernail against the table. “This Shen Zhiheng is so troublesome. When he was alive, he caused so much trouble for us. When he is dead, he’s still so disobedient. There’s no body if he’s dead, and no person if he’s alive. How can I report back to Yokoyama?”

Li Guisheng smiled, trying to placate him, “Sir, Shen Zhiheng is definitely dead. Just tell Commissioner Yokoyama that.”

Li Yingliang nodded slowly, waving for Li Guisheng to leave the room.

Li Guisheng was not one to spout nonsense, Li Yingliang knew.

Seated behind the desk, he spent much time calculating what move to make next, but did not manage to come to any conclusion. When the coffee had cooled down enough to not scald him to death, he lifted the cup and took a small sip from it, then steeled himself and swallowed it down. Objectively speaking, he felt that coffee was indeed a lot stronger than Chinese medicine. If he put himself to it, he could still drink it.

Coffee was a modern thing that the wealthy people all drank. Since he now had money, of course, he had to drink it too. As he finished the cup of coffee in sips, he suddenly remembered something: he had forgotten to add milk and sugar into his coffee.

Putting down the cup, he sighed, and called Secretary Ding into the room, “Xiao [6] Ding, do I have anything on tonight?”

Secretary Ding pulled a small booklet out of his pocket. He flipped it open and read, “Sir, General Mi has invited guests over tonight. You have to go to the Mi mansion.”

“Which Mi mansion?”

“The one at Victoria Street. His eighth wife lives there. General Mi is hosting tonight, because his eighth wife gave birth to a boy, who turns a month old today.”

Li Yingliang was silent for a moment. Yokoyama Akira was very interested in General Mi, and was thinking of winning him over. Although General Mi now had neither an army nor power, his reputation still remained, and that was precisely what Yokoyama Akira wanted.

When the commissioner gave an order, Li Yingliang would definitely take action, even attending these kinds of dinner parties scared him the most. He was afraid of getting lost in these situations where a lot of drinking was involved. All the guests knew how to converse and joke, apart from him. He had learned a few phrases of small talk, and he would recite each word and sentence aloud when he met people. However, his demeanour would be very serious, and when he recited till the end, it could be described as solemn and sombre. Anyone who heard it would feel that he was giving a eulogy, and would want to cry together with him.

Because of this banquet at the Mi mansion, Li Yingliang once again thought of Shen Zhiheng. He had seen Shen Zhiheng more than once, and it was always at various banquets. He had wanted to befriend him more than once, but Shen Zhiheng had always ignored him. It was fine if Shen Zhiheng did not want to be friends with him, he would take a step back, as long as Shen Zhiheng did not embarrass him and not continue exposing the reality of his Development Committee in the newspapers. Yokoyama Akira would also be willing to spend a little money to shut Shen Zhiheng up, yet, Shen Zhiheng smugly hid in the concession zone, refusing to pay him any attention.

Shen Zhiheng had his own power and influence. He had ties with the westerners, and also the secret societies. When people mentioned him, they would always call him “Mr. Shen”. Besides just ignoring him, there were a number of times when Mr. Shen looked at him with a strange look in his eyes, as if he were mocking him or pitying him. In any case, it felt like he was watching a small, trapped animal. At these banquets, when Li Yingliang, who was already ashamed and embarrassed, was subjected to such a gaze, he could not help but want to explode on the spot, and blast the motherfucker Shen Zhiheng to death.

So, when Li Guisheng had told him how messily Shen Zhiheng had died, Li Yingliang felt very satisfied.

Li Yingliang sent his people out, but even when they searched into the night, they still could not find Shen Zhiheng’s body.

As his subordinates continued to search, he sat in his car and headed to the dinner party at the Mi mansion. When the car entered the English concession zone, Li Yingliang pulled the window curtain aside and looked out. He saw a car parked at the side of the road. He recognised that car, it was the one and only one in the whole of Tianjin. It was Shen Zhiheng’s.

Staring at that car, he thought, “Where did he go to die?”

This question would continue to torture Li Yingliang for several days. But at this same time, two streets away, the young mistress Mi Lan was holding her walking cane and standing in the yard, thinking the exact same question, “Where do I go to die?”

21 November 1936, night.

Having gained a son, General Mi was extremely delighted. When he remembered that his legal wife had no sons of her own, he made a rare trip home to inform her of the good news, and also to encourage his legal wife and eighth wife to become one family. His eighth wife’s son would call her his mother, and when he grew up, he would also be filial to her.

He had no ill intentions, alas, Mrs. Mi was not on the same page as him. The more she listened, the more she thought that he wanted to bring his eighth wife home, and the two of them would have to fight with each other over him. It was already difficult enough for her as a grass widow, and now she could not even keep her status as his legal wife. What meaning did life have then?

So, she made a scene, where General Mi nearly beat her half to death, and she scratched him deep enough to draw blood. General Mi still had to entertain guests, and now that his face was injured, he was so angry he could have vomited blood. Before he left, he even threw harsh words at her, that he would divorce the bitch that she was.

Mrs. Mi collapsed onto the floor and wailed noisily, and as she did, she suddenly remembered that her daughter had been hiding in her room, pretending to be dead. She had not stepped out to defend her at all, and really resembled the Mi family’s temperament, a natural ungrateful brat.

Standing up, Mrs. Mi rushed into her daughter’s bedroom, pulling out Mi Lan who was hiding inside and beating her wildly in a fit of temper. The few old maids watched from a distance, too scared to even move. When Mrs. Mi vented all the anger boiling in her, she was far from finished. She pushed her daughter into the yard, saying that she no longer wanted her. Since she sided with her father in her heart, then she could get lost to her father’s side and attend her younger brother’s one month party!

Then, she ordered the old maids to lock the doors and not allow her to enter the house.

Mi Lan did not cry at all, not because she had astonishing perseverance, but because she had already reached the pit of despair. She knew that crying was useless, and so she was too lazy to even cry any more.

She sounded not a single cry or beg, dressed in only a grey Western-style. Her calves were wrapped in wool socks, her knees were still exposed. When a chilly gust of wind blew, she was frozen to her core. She sniffed, and smelled snow.

Besides being blind, her other senses were more sensitive than a usual person’s. With her walking cane in hand, she walked towards the exit. When one door shuts, another door opens. If living was really impossible, then there was always death. Now, she wanted to find a place with no one and hide there, waiting for the snow to come. It would definitely snow tonight. A night with wind and snow would be enough for her to freeze to death.

The sky was dark, and a number of street lamps were not working. She silently walked out, the soles of her leather shoes frozen solid. She heard the strong winds howling against the walls on both sides, and even heard the sound of cars and people in the distance. Suddenly, she moved to a side and pressed herself against the wall to hide. After standing ramrod straight for a while, two patrol officers finally rode past on bicycles.

The patrol did not see her. They rode their bicycles strenuously against the wind, passing her by. She remained unmoving, only taking a step when the two patrol officers turned a corner at the end of the street.

She had grown up in this area, and her memory was excellent. Although she usually did not leave the house often, she still recognised the neighbourhood. She had a destination in mind.

She walked to the end of the street, turned, and continued walking. Halfway through, there was a fork in the road. She turned in and continued walking. All along the way, she did not encounter even a single stumbling stone, not because there was some divine entity helping her, but because the heavens had not wanted to force her into a corner, and had given her this ability since birth. Finally, at the end of the forked road, she made another turn. The sound of the wind was louder here, as there were no longer any Western houses along the road. She had reached a desolate place.

The sound of the wind sweeping everything in its path and the sound of the wind spinning through ruined structures was very different to Mi Lan. Following the sound of the wind, she walked forward, off the road, and towards a heap of ruins. These were the ruins of an old house that had caught fire, leaving behind only a few crumbling walls. As the fire had burned a few people in this house, this area had an eerie atmosphere at night. Even on a hot summer night, no one dared to come here.

This was her destination. Her feet were already frozen solid, and given the stiff soles of her leather shoes, she limped as she walked. She vaguely felt that she had walked to the intersection point of two walls. She extended her walking cane, and it met with a wall. This was a good place. She could sit down, lean against the wall, and catch her breath. But her ears moved, and she suddenly held her breath, frozen on the spot.

With her walking cane pressed against the ruined wall, she spent a minute to make sure that it was the sound of breathing coming from behind the wall. And, it was human.

“Who’s there?” she asked.

“Stay away,” a reply came from behind the wall.

It was a man’s voice, deep and soft, and quite nice, but weak. Mi Lan ignored him. As she circled the crumbling wall towards him, she said, “It’s cold tonight. You will freeze to death here.”

That person evidently started to panic. He said “stay away” again, but seeing that Mi Lan had already come over, he softly sighed, “Since you’re disobedient, then I won’t be sorry.”

Mi Lan stopped in front of him, taking in a deep breath as she bent down. “You’re injured?”

He did not reply, and only a gust of wind with blood in its wake flitted by the tip of her nose. This was Shen Zhiheng raising a hand stained with dried blood, waving it in front of her.

“You can’t see?”

She stared at him with big, clear, and bright eyes, and nodded once.

Then, she heard a second sigh. Shen Zhiheng, with his head cracked open and his limbs twisted, put down his hand. This sigh was relaxed and full of disappointment. A single eyeball dangled from his socket and hung against his face, wobbling with his sigh. He did not need to kill her, and so he was relaxed. But because he did not need to kill her, he did not have something to eat, and so he was a little disappointed. With his remaining good eye, he looked at Mi Lan, and noticed that this was a baby-faced young lady with a head of long, messy hair. She looked weak and pale, and had a pair of extremely beautiful eyebrows.

“Whose child are you? Why are you here in the middle of the night?” he asked.

Mi Lan squatted down, inferring from the bloody wind, “Are you bleeding a lot?”

“Someone wants to kill me. I can’t go to the hospital. If you truly want to help, can you make a phone call to my friend? My friend will know how to save me.”

Mi Lan, with her face so cold it was nearly frozen stiff, was stunned. 

As a little ungrateful brat and unlucky jinx, in her own biological mother’s words, it was “excessive for her to live”. Who would put their life in her hands? When did she ever bear the responsibility of a matter of life and death? Suddenly, there was someone asking her to save their life, and she could not help but feel a little flattered. After a moment of surprise, she decided to have a little integrity: she would not die first, she would save him, and only after saving him, she would die.

She nodded in Shen Zhiheng’s direction. “Okay.”

“Do you know Keats Hospital?”

“No.”

“Any phone book will have the number to Keats Hospital. Call it and ask for a doctor named Situ Weilian [7] . Tell him to come and find me, and don’t alert anyone else.”

“Okay.”

“You must keep it a secret. If anyone finds me before Weilian does, I will die.”

Mi Lan continued nodding. “Okay.”

She kept saying “okay” without thinking twice, to the point that Shen Zhiheng simply could not figure out her background. “Whose family’s child are you?”

“My… my surname is Mi.”

“There aren’t many Mi families in this area. Could it be that you’re the young mistress of General Mi’s home?”

“You know my father?”

Shen Zhiheng smiled at her. “No wonder, like father, like daughter. But it’s the middle of the night, why are you all the way here by yourself?”

Mi Lan was silent for a moment, and nearly told the truth. But on second thought, she felt that those matters of hers were not worth mentioning. So, in the end, she replied without thinking, “I’m fine.”

“If you’re really fine, then hurry home.”

“What about you? Are you just going to lie here?”

“My leg is broken, I can’t walk. But don’t worry, I will be fine too.”

Mi Lan put down her walking cane. She lifted her hands to unbutton her buttons starting from her collar, shrugging off the little jacket that she wore. It was thin, and she spread it out to cover Shen Zhiheng’s body. Shen Zhiheng looked at her, noticing how her woolen vest and flannel blouse were exposed. The wind blew her messy hair around her face and shoulders. Her big, clear eyes stared straight ahead, her nose was small but high, and her thin lips were pressed into a straight line, causing her to look both child-like and aloof at the same time. Just as she lay the small jacket over him, it was blown up by the wind, and she pressed it down.

“I’m going home. I will definitely call your friend tomorrow.” She said to Shen Zhiheng’s face, “Don’t freeze to death!”

She spoke grimly, as if Shen Zhiheng would not freeze to death if he chose not to. Shen Zhiheng had never seen such a child before, and while he was a little touched, he also wanted to laugh. “Okay, I promise. I’ll wait for you to save me, I definitely won’t die.”

Mi Lan caught his hand and pressed it against the small jacket on his body. Then, she grabbed her walking cane, stood up, and walked out. Shen Zhiheng moved one eyeball, following her as she went. The strong winds blew her messy hair, and she walked up and down through the debris, occasionally even daring to jump off from high places. Shen Zhiheng had seen many blind people who were nimble before, but it was his first time seeing one who was nimble to this extent.

“Young Mistress Mi,” he pondered over these three words. The figure that had disappeared into the distance was quite interesting. Last night, after crawling here, because he was too cold and too hungry, he had not moved since. And neither could he move; no matter who saw him in his current condition, they would probably start conducting a funeral for him on the spot and pray for him to rest in peace. If he dared to protest, there was also a possibility that they would treat him like an evil spirit and burn him.

Reaching the road, Mi Lan grew more excited as she walked, and even completely did not want to die any more. Or, at least, she completely did not want to die for the time being.

She had nothing to her name, but after it all, she was still young and still hot-blooded. There was no one who could save her, but she could save someone else. Since she was here in the mortal world, she wanted to do something, and wanted to leave something behind. Was the person in the ruins good or bad? She did not know, and had not asked in time, but it did not matter. Even if he was not a human but a demon, she was also willing to save him.

Anyway, she had lived her life just like a lonely ghost. Since the rules and reasons of the human world had never protected her, she had no need to abide by them. The sound of a car came from behind her, and to her overly sensitive ears, it could be considered deafening. She subconsciously moved to the side of the road to hide, but the car stopped by her side. The door opened, and someone stuck their body out to ask, “Miss, who are you walking on the street by yourself? Are you lost?”

The voice belonged to a stranger. It was low and hoarse, without any warmth or feeling. Mi Lan knew she could not outrun a car, so she stopped and turned towards that person. “I am on my way home.”

“Where is your house? I can fetch you back.” That person’s voice paused, moving closer. “Miss, are your eyes inconvenienced?”

She did not detect any ill intention in his voice, and so she nodded.

A hand wrapped around her wrist, and then that voice said again, “Please get in. I am not a bad person. Where is your house? I’ll fetch you home.”

Helpless, Mi Lan let him guide her legs up the car. The hand wrapped around her wrist let go, reaching across her to close the car door. As no one normally treated her kindly, she was also cold towards people around her. Now that she had suddenly met a good person, she thought about it again and again, feeling that she should say a few more sentences. What should she say?

She suddenly remembered, “Thank you. Turn at the corner in front, then pass a street. There’s a building called Mi Mansion, that’s my house.”

That voice grew higher, “You’re General Mi’s family?”

Mi Lan hesitated, “He… He is my father.”

That voice suddenly moved to her front. “You are Young Mistress Mi?”

She subconsciously turned to the side to hide. “Yes.”

That voice immediately retreated back. “Excuse me, I was too surprised. I didn’t expect that I would bump into Young Mistress Mi here. My surname is Li, Li Yingliang. And to your father, I can be considered… a friend.”

Mi Lan moaned internally. The more she wanted to keep it a secret, the more she would bump into someone familiar. Normally, she stayed obediently at home, and there weren’t so many people who could recognise her as Young Mistress Mi. Now that she had run out of her house in the middle of the night for the first time in her life, she ended up finding out that her name was actually known far and wide. She nodded in Li Yingliang’s direction, murmuring, “Hello Li-shushu [8] .”

Li Yingliang measured her with his eye, noticing her dishevelled hair and leaking nose, which was so frozen that its tip was completely red. Even more so, she only had two thin layers of clothes on her, and her knees were completely exposed. She looked too miserable, to the extent that he thought of his own younger sister. He once had a younger sister, but as they were poor, they had no money to cure her aching stomach. She had been in so much pain that she would roll all over the brick bed, all the way up until she had died. When she had died, she had looked like this, with dishevelled hair and mucus and tears leaking from her face, her arms and wrists as thin and skinny as Young Mistress Mi’s. His younger sister had big eyes and a sharp chin. If she had lived to her teens, she would probably have looked very much like Young Mistress Mi.

He never did find out what illness his younger sister had died from, and had no way of finding out. So, he asked Mi Lan, “Young Mistress, why are you walking on the streets by yourself in the middle of the night?”

“My… mother beat me, I got nervous, so I ran out.”

He asked gently, “Why did your mother beat you? Did you do something wrong?”

“I didn’t, it was my mother who was angry, because my father had thrown a one month party for my younger brother.”

Li Yingliang nodded, recalling General Mi’s scratched face at that night’s dinner party. What this young lady said matched up with the scratches on his face, and was not a lie.

“Don’t run about like this in the future. It’s dangerous outside. What if you met some bad people who kidnapped you to be sold? Even if you don't meet bad people, the weather is so cold that you could fall sick.”

Mi Lan nodded. “Thank you, Uncle. I understand.”

Li Yingliang actually quite hoped that she would call him “gege” [9] , but she was the young mistress Mi after all, and he could not treat her disrespectfully. Furthermore, she was blind, not dumb. If she told someone that he had coaxed her into calling him “gege”, it would look like he had impure motives. In actuality, how was he such a person? He only ever had great ambitions, and his private life was pure to death.

At midnight, Li Yingliang fetched Mi Lan back to the Mi mansion.

After kicking her daughter out, Mrs. Mi had proceeded to drown her sorrows in alcohol. She had gotten herself thoroughly drunk, and was now sleeping so deeply that she was snoring away. Li Yingliang originally thought that fetching Young Mistress Mi home could win him a favour, and the Mi family would be grateful to him. Little did he know that when the gates of the Mi mansion opened, only a naggy old maid rushed out to fetch Mi Lan back in. Li Yingliang had not expected that Young Mistress Mi was worth so little. Besides being surprised, he had nothing else to say, and could only go back to his car and return home.

That night, Li Yingliang met Mi Lan for the first time, and Mi Lan met Shen Zhiheng for the first time. They met coincidentally through fate, and got to know one another.

This fate truly began without any warning at all.

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A literal translation of 缘起缘灭 (yuán qǐ yuán miè), which refers to the belief in Chinese Buddhism that the fate between two people is a kind of invisible connection, and the chance of two given people meeting is inevitable. Once the fate tying them together begins, the ties binding them together will increase, yet once it ends, these ties will lessen. This phrase is frequently used to describe how once close relationships between people can return to being distant with time, and often appears in literature and films to allude to the impermanence of worldly affairs.

The phrase “千古风流人物” was derived from lyrics by Su Dongpo (1037-1101), which refers to the many gallant and heroic figures of the past. However, 风流 (fēng liú) can also refer to philandering, promiscuous behaviour.

In the original novel, the characters for Mi Lan’s name are 米兰, which differs from the 米岚 used in the drama. Both 兰 and 岚 are pronounced as “lán”. However, while the former means “orchid”, the latter means “mountain mist”.

汉奸 (hàn jiān) literally means “traitor of the Hans”, this was used to refer to those who betrayed China and the Chinese citizens to submit to or collaborate with foreigners for their personal gain, particularly during the Republican Era and during the resistance to the Japanese.

绣花枕头 (xiù huā zhěn tóu) literally means “embroidered pillow”. It refers to someone who looks attractive on the outside but has no talent on the inside.

Saying 小 (xiǎo) in front of someone’s name is a form of diminutive. It literally means “little” or “small”.

In the original novel, the characters for Situ Weilian’s name are 司徒威廉, which differs from the 司徒威涟 used in the drama. Both 廉 and 涟 are pronounced as “lián”. The former means “incorruptible” or “honest”, and 威廉 are also the characters commonly used for the Chinese translation of the English name “William”. On the other hand, 涟 means “water ripple”.

叔叔 (shū shu) means “uncle”.

哥哥 (gē ge) means “older brother”.