#I HAVE A LOT OF ON PENDING REPORTS

[unknownlololol]

Ayo i'm seeing some Soshiro angst...

Like ey. Ey chill.

I'm suck at dealing angst

I would be matching freaks w/ you, fanfic writers.

[embracing-the-ineffable]

Beware clickbait accusations

Hi fandom, here's what happened yesterday: A reporter named Rachel Johnson, who is the sister to Boris Johnson and a big terfy supporter of JK Rowling, released a 4-part true crime podcast featuring two women accusing Neil Gaiman of SA. Yesterday. The day before the UK elections. This post explores the possible political links in more detail.

CW: this post is free of graphic details, but if you follow these links, there may be explicit descriptions of sex, kink, and bdsm, plus mentions of mental illness and suicidal thoughts.

I want to believe and support survivors, and I also want to base my thoughts and actions on facts. I thought the xitter livestream commentary from Not Becky for all 4 episodes was very insightful. There's also a first episode transcript without extra commentary. (Edit: released after I wrote this post: the full audio plus transcripts for all four episodes of the podcast are now available to download here, or you can read all four transcripts in your browser.) I have since concluded (pending more time to think and read and learn, or any new information, of course):

This seems like the worst kind of clickbait, an unjustified mess that will hurt everyone involved (except possibly a few politicians who might benefit somehow, we'll see). The evidence the "reporters" present directly contradicts their accusations. They're counting on people reading headlines and not digging any deeper.

They tried to make something sinister where there was apparently consent and a caring relationship. Have they exploited one or both of these women? S, in particular, is described as vulnerable and with a history of unspecified mental illness. They have all of the message history between S and Neil, and her messages make the sexy stuff between the two of them sound enthusiastically consensual. There are even messages (multiple!) where she specifically says everything was consensual. Here's one:

They're playing horror music in the background to try to make us feel horrified, even as S reassures us that things were consensual. It's emotional manipulation by the reporters.

The times S sounds upset during the interview are the times she talks about Neil leaving her behind or not paying attention to her. Not the times she talks about consent violations. Her stories during the interview are inconsistent, and they contradict her messages with Neil and with others. Maybe we'll get better information from a more reputable news source, or maybe not, I don't know. I also don't know why anyone who cares about her would have advised her to do this interview.

Then they tracked down lots of other women who know/have dated Neil and they all had glowing things to say, except one other lover from 20 years ago, K. She described some bad sex, and then pointed to a time in their 2-year relationship when she felt something wasn't consensual and he thought it was. And after their breakup, they continued to text and flirt, for decades.

This podcast "exposé" feels like explosive clickbait with political ramifications. The evidence here doesn't support a pattern of poor conduct so much as establish Neil as a fellow well-meaning human with imperfect judgement. That doesn't mean the accusations are all made up; intimate partner violence is complicated, and the responsibility for checking in and getting regular enthusiastic consent from partners is very real, especially when kink or bdsm are involved.

I don't know what the right balance is here between supporting survivors, thinking critically, assuming good intentions, and waiting for better information, but I feel confident that this podcast alone is not enough to condemn anyone aside from the irresponsible journalists who inflicted it on the rest of us.

PS/edit: I'm tagging my relevant posts (mostly reblogs) with #ineffable grief, and you can see all of them here.

[vizslasaber]

FRIENDLY FIRE ──── i.

summary: after landing on the umbaran surface, you butt heads with your fellow general—but get along swimmingly with your temporary clone captain.

pairing: captain rex x female jedi!reader

word count: 3.9k

warnings: combat/action, mentions of injury + death, krell being a bitch, reader with a name instead of y/n because i hate it

a/n: it’s back!!! previously i posted this series on my main, @brrmian, but i changed that blog’s username and have mostly shifted over to fanart and general SW content. i’ve decided to dedicate this new side blog’s content entirely to fic writing under my old username, posting reader insert on here and everything else on ao3! this fic will be updated sparsely but definitely more often than it was on my main. i’ve changed a few things regarding the plot of this series specifically, and i like it a lot more now!!

series masterlist | click here to add or remove yourself from the taglist!

You hadn’t wanted to leave the Temple behind—you still don’t, even lightyears away from the Core.

When the Jedi Council had first made you aware of the plan to have you and a Master you’d never met capture an Umbaran airbase with troops that were not your own, you had put up something of a fight. What right, you demanded, did the Chancellor have the right to simply pull a Jedi from their sacred duty for a trivial air-to-ground assault?

The Council had either not wanted to answer this question or had not known how to, so now you stand on a transport gunship with two clone troopers and an intimidatingly tall Besalisk Jedi Master by the name of Pong Krell. Both of you are holding onto the grab handles hanging from the ceiling; you’re gripping the handle so tightly your knuckles are slightly pale, but Krell looks perfectly steady.

Of course he is, you think bitterly. He has four arms.

The atmosphere of Umbara is breathable but strangely thick—fog seeps through the blast door openings, and the lights inside the gunship’s passenger bay seem to have dimmed. Your lightsabers bump against your hips and you wince slightly as sounds of frantic gunfire reach your ears.

This will be your first campaign.

You have seen death before, on missions as a Padawan before the war—but never on this scale, if the reports of your already-knighted friends from the Temple are anything to go by. You only hope that you will be assigned your own battalion soon, so you don’t have to go running around replacing wayward Generals.

It’s hard, standing at the side of an imposing Master, not to feel like a Padawan. The skin behind your right ear burns with the memory of the braid that had been there just last week, waiting to be sheared off as you prepared for your ascension to Knighthood.

While your battalion assignment is pending, Master Windu told you as you stood in the center of the Council Chamber, the Senate has requested that we send two Jedi Knights to replace Skywalker on Umbara.

Master Krell is already on-world, assisting Master Kenobi, but he will need another Jedi’s help if he and the 501st are to take the capital in Skywalker’s stead, Master Plo explained, his hologram flickering as he called in from some faraway world.

All due respect, Masters, you remember asking as you willed yourself not to tremble, but why me? I’ve never been anywhere near the front. I wouldn’t be much help.

Believe in your potential, we do, Master Yoda said. An opportunity for you to do good, the Force has given you.

And that, it was decided, was that.

Even now, after meditating on your anxiety for practically the entire journey through hyperspace, your nerves feel impossibly frayed. The transport jostles, but you only sway slightly, arm already holding onto an overhead handle for balance. There’s a shiny new military-issue commlink attached to your right vambrace. A morbid thought, of calling in a medevac for injured soldiers with this very communicator, crosses your mind—but you let it dissipate.

The gunship suddenly makes a sharp dive, and your stomach swoops—you must be about to land. You spare a glance at General Krell, who has now let go of the grab handles and has crossed all four of his arms over his chest. For a moment, you’re almost tempted to ask how he manages to stay so balanced while the ship is moving, but then the blast doors slide open and the gunship lands in shadowy darkness.

The first person you see is Anakin Skywalker. He’s around your age, maybe a bit younger—despite having been knighted several years earlier, as one of the first Padawan victims of the Jedi Military Integration Act. Your Master, ever traditional even when the Order began to stray from its centuries-old teachings, did her best to keep you apprenticed for as long as possible, but even that eventually proved futile.

In the end, you and Anakin are practically of the same age, and yet he has infinite more experience than you. Uncertainty wheedles its way into your chest and slips a pin into your lungs; you’re holding your breath as you follow Krell off the gunship.

Being far shorter than the Besalisk, you have to jump down. When you hit the ground, you shiver at the misty atmosphere, watching as bioluminescent specks of dust fly up underneath your boots.

As the two of you approach, you hear the troopers of the 501st legion mutter amongst themselves, but you push it aside and focus on the pleasantries.

“General Krell. General Neridian,” Anakin says, smiling graciously. “My thanks for the air support.”

“Indeed, General Skywalker,” Krell replies, bowing politely. “The locals have proven to be more resourceful than we anticipated.”

“We managed to get here in one piece, though,” you add jokingly, and Anakin smirks, his eyes twinkling. You gesture to the troopers unloading the gunship behind you. “And we brought ration resupplies.”

Anakin nods appreciatively, then raises one eyebrow after a moment, looking slightly confused. “But—that’s not the reason for your visit.”

“No,” Krell admits. “The Council has ordered you back to Coruscant, effective immediately.”

“What?” Skywalker demands. “Wh-why?”

“The Chancellor...” you pause, searching for a word, before you settle on, “insisted that you return. The Council had no say on the matter.”

“That is all they would tell us,” Krell adds, though he doesn’t sound displeased.

“Well, I—I can’t just leave my men!” Anakin protests, and for the first time you notice the trooper standing at attention beside him.

He’s identical to all the clones you’ve met, of course, except for one detail—his hair is blond. You wonder vaguely if it would be polite to ask him whether or not it’s natural as you survey his armor. The pauldron on his left shoulder indicates a position of command, but he carries a sense of individuality in the Force that, despite your inexperience with working with them, you’ve come to realize every clone has. His helmet is painted with a distinctly Mandalorian sigil, but it’s not one you recognize.

His gaze is pointed directly ahead; he makes no eye contact with you. Probably just as annoyed at the change of plans as Anakin is, you realize.

Krell moves to speak, jolting you from your thoughts. You recognize Anakin’s agitation, however, so you calmly move to intercept.

“The Council would not just leave your troopers to fend for themselves—not that they aren’t perfectly capable of doing so, of course,” you add, which merits the barest hint of a smile from the trooper standing beside Anakin. “It’s just… well, the Senate needs a Jedi to be at the head of every campaign, and I guess they figured subtracting one of you would mean—”

“—adding two other Jedi,” Anakin says with a snort of derision. “Yeah… sounds like the Senate. But you guys’ll probably get it done faster anyway.”

“Don’t worry about a thing, sir,” interjects the trooper, and Anakin looks to him. “We’ll have this city under control by the time you’re back.”

“Generals, this is Captain Rex, my first in command,” Anakin says fondly, and you see something like pride show itself in Rex’s eyes. “You won’t find a finer or more loyal trooper anywhere.”

“I don’t doubt it,” you affirm earnestly.

“Yes, that is good to hear,” Krell agrees, then places a large hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “I wish you well, Skywalker.”

Anakin simply nods at him, then stops beside you and says, “I hear you passed the Trials.”

You gesture to your hair, now void of a Padawan braid. “Apparently so,” you reply. “Funny, I didn’t think you were one to get swept into the rumour mill.”

A grin, boyish and bright, springs to Anakin’s face. “Nah, I’m always one for good gossip.” His expression turns softer, then, and he puts a hand on your shoulder. “Seriously, though… congratulations.”

“Thank you,” you say, but he’s already approaching the gunship and taking hold of one of the grab handles. The ship is off within seconds, and you can’t help but feel apprehensive as it flies away, up into the fog.

Taking a moment to gather yourself, you turn to Rex and offer a polite nod. He returns it, then says, “It is an honour to be serving with you, Generals.”

“The honour is all mine,” you return graciously, and Rex looks like he’s about to say something else, but stops when Krell begins to speak.

“I find it very interesting, Captain, that you are able to recognize the value of honour,” he begins, then—almost as an afterthought—adds, “for a clone.”

Silence.

Your eyebrows shoot up, and as Rex stares at Krell in shock, you feel your armored chest tighten—with frustration or shock, you don’t yet know.

“Stand at attention when I address you,” Krell snaps, turning to face the other troopers, and as Rex obliges, you narrow your eyes and step forward.

“Master Krell,” you start, your jaw tightening, “I do believe it would be far more... prudent to show respect to the soldiers who have so graciously agreed to undertake this mission with us.” You tilt your head questioningly, sending your ponytail swaying. “After all—we are the ones who just arrived.”

A ripple of white-hot anger moves through the Force with lightning speed, but it’s gone before you can take time to process it. Now, all you can feel is something akin to gratitude, trickling like a cool waterfall from where Rex stands, back straight and eyes ahead.

“They agreed to nothing,” Krell counters, and you blink as his wide upper lip curls back to reveal a row of dangerously sharp teeth. “Do not forget, young one, that we are the Generals they serve under at present.”

“I...” you pause, momentarily at a loss for words, then clasp your hands behind your back and force your jaw to unclench. “I haven’t forgotten that. But I also haven’t forgotten that the only way to succeed in this endeavour is to work together.”

“And with what experience do you so kindly bestow this advice upon us, Knight Neridian?” Krell asks, and the question is like a bucket of ice water down the back of your robes.

You swallow, and search for the words to say, but none come. Cheeks burning with shame, you stare determinedly at the ground.

The tension in Krell’s Force signature disappears, as sudden as the crack of a whip, and he draws in a deep breath. You look up as the pouch-like piece of flesh under Krell’s chin grows in size and he begins to pace.

“Nevertheless,” Krell brushes off, acting as though none of your words register with him, “there’s a reason my command is so effective, and it’s because I do things by the book.” He walks past a soldier in an ARC Trooper uniform who has the number five tattooed on his right temple. The trooper doesn’t move as Krell passes him, but you can see a vein on his forehead bulge.

“And that includes protocol,” Krell puts in. He turns to you. “Have all platoons ready to move out immediately.”

You bristle. “I—I thought we were to make decisions together,” you protest, raising your chin defiantly.

Technically, there’s nothing to defy, seeing as you hold equal rank with Krell—but the Council specified in their briefing that this was supposed to be a learning experience, an introduction to combat before receiving your own battalion. And something about Master Krell demands respect, or at the very least obedience, despite the fact that you’re starting to want to do everything you can not to give it to him.

Krell simply huffs and turns around, his yellow eyes flashing, and walks away, leaving you surrounded by a platoon troopers.

You frown after him. “Well, now I know why Master Venn wished me good luck,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. Some of the troopers snicker, but you hardly notice.

Your former master, Esya Venn, had pulled you aside just before leaving. The look on her face had been nothing short of concerned, but you’d shrugged it off in the moment, even when she’d told you to be careful, Padawan. She never told anyone to be careful—it was simply a reflex to think twice about your actions around Esya.

But now you understand.

Scrubbing a hand over your tired face, you take a deep breath and turn to Captain Rex. “Shall we set off?” you ask, and he nods, promptly putting on his helmet.

“Move out, soldiers!” he shouts, starting down the path after Krell. “Come on, let’s go!”

You give Rex a grateful smile, and though you can’t see his face, you know he’s returning it. With one last glance at the battalion, you hurry to the front and fall into step next to General Krell.

It’s silent for some time. Krell doesn’t deter, no matter how dark it gets, and after a while you begin to grow uncomfortable next to him. The anger you’d felt in the Force earlier is dormant, but certainly there, and it makes chills erupt down your spine.

"I’m going to check on the Captain,” you say, and Krell only nods when you turn around and quickly find Rex, who’s walking about two meters behind where you previously were.

The Captain salutes briefly. “General.”

“Captain,” you reply politely, before glancing back at Krell. “I can’t help but notice that there’s—” you pause for a moment. Do these troopers know enough about the Force to have conversations with you about it?

Knowing Anakin, you realize, they probably do, so you clear your throat and continue. “I get a strange feeling from Master Krell,” you say quietly.

Rex’s shoulders relax just slightly. “How so, sir?”

You bite your lip and shake your head. “I don’t know, exactly,” you reply, then gesture vaguely in front of you, where Krell is half-visible in the murky fog. “The Force around him is unclear. It’s... hard to explain.”

“Hard to explain, as in it’s a Jedi thing?” Rex guesses, and you grin widely.

“Yes,” you say. “It’s a Jedi thing.” Reaching up, you curl a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I may not be a Jedi, sir,” Rex says after a moment, “but I think I know what you mean by strange feeling.”

“Quicken that pace, battalion!” Krell suddenly shouts over his shoulder, and you jump. “This isn’t some training course on Kamino.”

You sigh and raise your voice, turning to the troopers. “What General Krell means,” you call, pointedly shooting a glare at the Besalik’s back, “is that we must continue to make good time. Keep up the good work.”

Krell gives no answer, but you feel a ripple of frustration coming from his direction. There’s another thread in the Force, one of gratitude, but you can’t tell where exactly it’s coming from. You latch onto it nonetheless and file the feeling away for later, letting yourself make an easy pace just ahead of Rex.

“He certainly has a way with words,” you hear one of the clones say, and when you glance behind you out of the corner of your eye, you can see that the source is someone with similar armor to Rex’s. Another ARC, or someone of similar rank.

There’s a sigh. You think it’s from Rex. The troopers obviously don’t know you’re listening, so you direct your gaze ahead, keeping your pace steady.

“He’s just trying to keep us on schedule,” Rex explains, voice hushed and sounding a bit sheepish.

"By raising everyone’s ire?” the other trooper grumbles.

“Either way, he’s in charge,” Rex protests. “And we’ve got a job to do.”

“She’s in charge, too,” hisses the trooper, and you purse your lips, knowing he’s pointing to you.

Another sigh, again from Rex. “Just—treat them both with respect, and we’ll all get along fine.”

You’re about to turn around when your neck stiffens. It’s an instinctual reaction, like the Force tapping you on the shoulder—one that you’ve learned to interpret as a warning. Less than a second later, a loud screech echoes above your head.

“Ready your weapons!” Rex shouts, at the same moment you draw one lightsaber.

Faster than your eyes can process, a winged creature swoops down and grabs a trooper—but you don’t need your eyes. The cyan beam of your lightsaber casts a glow on the shadowy ground, and you jump upwards, landing on a large plant that allows you to swing from a vine and graze the blade across the wing of one of the creatures. It falls to the ground with another screech before flying away, relatively unharmed.

One to go.

You’re about to grab hold of a second vine and swing towards the other creature, but a flash of blurred blue and green makes you pull back—Krell beats you to it, landing on top of the creature and wrestling it to the ground.

“Wait—stop!” you shout as he draws his lightsabers, but it’s too late. He’s already skewered the creature mercilessly, and it lies dead on the ground, life blinking out of the Force in an instant.

You jump off of the large plant, landing on both feet, and hook your now deactivated lightsaber onto your belt. “Why did you kill it?” you demand, pushing past several onlooking clones.

“It is nothing more than a violent inhabitant of this area,” Krell dismisses, and you feel your jaw drop.

“But…” you start, at a loss for words. “The Code decrees—”

“The Code,” Krell says coldly as he turns to stare at you, “allows for self defense.”

You draw yourself up to your full height, switching off your lightsaber with a snap-hiss before hooking it back onto your belt. “That’s not what—”

Krell’s lightsabers deactivate loudly, cutting you off, and he returns them to either side of his belt before turning away and continuing on the path. “Anyone else want to stop and play with the animals?”

No one answers, but you feel your fists clench as if of their own accord.

This is going to be a long night.

Umbara’s plant life is fascinating. Observing the bioluminescent life forms is the only thing that serves a proper distraction from both the grumbling clone troopers and the pit of apprehension in your stomach. You’d been walking for twelve hours, give or take, and every time you’d tried to suggest a break to Krell, he’d snapped at you.

This can’t be allowed, you think bitterly, skipping over a glowing pink tree root, boots skidding on the dark purple ground.

You chew on your bottom lip and glance at the clones behind you. They are understandably worn out, and even with the extensive survival training Master Esya drilled into you as a Padawan, you were starting to get tired, too.

“Sir,” says a voice from behind you, and you jump, expecting in your exhaustion to see Krell—but it’s just Rex.

“We’ve been keeping this pace for almost half a rotation,” Rex points out, sounding vaguely nervous. “The men are... starting to tire. General Krell is...” he tilts his head, expressionless visor unreadable. “You know.”

You muster a smile, hoping you look at least a little like Master Enya, and nod.

“I know, Captain,” you say, and he shifts slightly, as though his blue-painted pauldron is uncomfortable. You can’t blame him. Running a hand over your ponytail, you blow out a breath and frown at the puff of air that appears in front of you. “Let me talk to him. Tell the men to start searching for a good spot to camp for a few hours.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Rex giving an affirmative thumbs up to the troopers behind him, but by then you’re already approaching Krell, clasping your hands tightly behind your back.

“Master Krell,” you start, and Krell turns his head just a bit. “I’ve told the men to scout for a place to rest. I reviewed the mission plan on the way here, and we can spare three hours without being delayed, possibly more—”

“The men don’t need rest,” Krell interrupts, and you feel your cheeks flush with anger. “They need resolve to complete the task at hand.”

“Apologies, Master,” you say, squaring your shoulders as frustration heats your neck and face. You breathe deeply. There is no emotion, only peace. “But I don’t think the men will be on their best game when we reach the capital if they don’t take some time to gather themselves.”

“That they need to ‘gather themselves’ is a sign of weakness,” Krell cuts in, stopping and turning to face you with a sneer. “That is not what these clones were bred for.”

Not far away, many of the soldiers bristle at Krell’s choice of words, but you keep your focus on the yellow eyes staring you down for the second time that night.

“They weren’t bred to be mindless droids, either,” you argue, crossing your arms over your chest and making sure to keep your voice even. “And in case you’ve forgotten, even battle droids need to recharge. If we march on the Capital without any sort of break first, I promise you, this mission will not go as planned. Exhausted and underfed soldiers are a guaranteed disadvantage.”

Krell studies you, a sneer forming on his lips. “I see you take after your Master’s incessant need to get the last word on anyone she disagrees with.”

You scowl. “I beg your pardon, but Master Venn is—”

He ignores you, cutting past where you stand and walking away. “Do what you wish, Neridian,” he dismisses, then walks away to stand by a glowing tree.

A sigh escapes your lips, and you close your eyes. It’s becoming harder and harder not to snap at him—but you know what the Order’s teachings require of you. Emotion, yet peace.

You grimace as Krell retreats to the back of the line, then turn back to the troopers nearby and give Rex a nod. The captain returns it in what you hope is a grateful manner, then calls for the men to make camp at the top of the ridge your group has been climbing.

By the time you gather all the troopers together, the battalion has put together a hasty campsite, with half the troopers having fallen into a fitful sleep and the other half keeping watch while eating as many rations as the limit allows. You frown and approach the trooper you heard Rex talking to earlier, his Force signature familiar from when you were eavesdropping. His helmet is now sitting in his lap, being meticulously cleaned with what little supplies the battalion has on hand.

You study the soldier. He has a tattoo on his right temple, and upon studying it, you realize it’s the same ARC trooper who’d been glaring at Krell when you stepped off the gunship. You wonder what significance the number five has to him.

Taking another step forward, you clear your throat. “Trooper,” you begin, and the soldier looks up curiously before abruptly shooting to his feet and snapping off a salute. You wave a nonchalant hand. “No need for that. I only wanted to ask a favor—can you gather troopers to stand watch? Six at a time, tops, and make sure they take turns so everyone can rest. That includes you.”

“You got it, sir,” says the trooper, and you smile.

“Sorry, I don’t believe I caught your name...” you say, then, and the trooper blinks.

“Oh, uh—it’s Fives, sir.”

“I see,” you reply, gaze flickering to his tattoo and back again. “Thank you, Fives.”

You retreat to your own tent soon after, shrugging off your vambraces and arranging them neatly next to your bedroll. This wouldn’t be the shortest sleep cycle you’d had, what with the nature of your apprenticeship at the temple—but not the longest, either.

From what you can hear inside your tent, the camp is silent. Slowly, you poke your head through the canvas flaps to find exactly six men—as you’d requested—sitting in the center of camp. Farther away, at the outskirts of the circle of tents, sits Master Krell’s hulking form. In spite of yourself, you frown.

“General?” asks a sudden voice above you; letting out an involuntary yelp, you scramble backwards before stopping at the sight of Rex standing near the entrance to your tent.

Embarrassed, you stand up, brushing off your cream-coloured robes. “Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “I could swear I’m not usually so jumpy, I don’t know what—” you look up and stop short.

Rex has removed his helmet.

His blond hair isn’t a surprise this time around, but close up, you’re struck by how tired he looks. There are smile lines at the corners of his eyes, but his face is cast in exhausted shadows.

You wonder if a full night’s sleep is something he’s ever had, or if the training regiments on Kamino prepared him and his brothers for this kind of halfhearted sleep cycle. Curiously, you study him.

Rex’s eyes are golden-brown in the dying light of this shadowy planet. They’re the same shade as all the troopers in the immediate vicinity. And yet, as you stare into them, something in you stirs as your Force signature brushes against his—something you know you’re not supposed to feel.

“Er, General,” Rex repeats, jolting you from your faraway thoughts. “I just wanted to let you know—the scouts are detecting a clear journey from here on out. We have approximately four hours to kick back, as predicted.”

Hurriedly, you turn away and clear your throat awkwardly. “Very good, Captain,” you mumble. “Thank you. You’re—erm, free to go and rest.”

For a moment, Rex looks surprised, but he composes himself seconds later. “Thank you, General,” he says. “But I—”

“Not up for debate,” you interrupt, holding your hand up. Bemused, Rex blinks, so you shoot him a reassuring smile. “You said it yourself: the soldiers need rest. You’re a soldier, yes?”

Rex opens his mouth, probably to say something about him being a Captain, but you lower your hand to rest it on his shoulder. The kind gesture seems to quell him, so you continue. “Don’t exclude yourself in that. Rest well, Captain.”

When you turn and reenter your tent, you don’t catch the way Rex’s eyes linger on the closed flap for far longer than they should, heat prickling up his neck as the remnant of your touch burns itself through his pauldron.

“You too… General.”

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[leveragehunters]

Google Germany blocking AO3 in search results

I haven't seen anything on this cross my dash, and I thought it was worth bringing here with as much accuracy as possible. (I first encountered it on Reddit.)

Currently (24.12.2022) Google is blocking AO3 from search results in Germany as a result of a complaint.

It is only Google, not other search engines. The government did not request it. It has nothing to do with copyright. It does not impact access to the site itself. ETA: If you use Chrome, it may not let you bookmark AO3 URLs (reports are mixed).

I tested it using a VPN set to Germany, searching for my AO3 username. This is a Google search for leveragehunters showing no AO3 results while connected to a German VPN:

The same search from Australia, with the first result AO3:

A DuckDuckGo search for leveragehunters while connected to a German VPN - AO3 is the third and fifth hit.

The bottom of the Google search using the German VPN states:

In response to a legal request submitted to Google, we have removed 2 results from this page. If you wish, you may read more about the request at LumenDatabase.org. This is the link to read more: https://lumendatabase.org/notices/9415.

What was the complaint? You can read it here (and it is seriously light on information): https://lumendatabase.org/notices/9415, but it says:

A URL that otherwise would have appeared in response to your search was not displayed because that URL was reported as illegal under German youth protection laws.

Ihre Suche hätte in den Suchergebnissen einen Treffer generiert, den wir Ihnen nicht anzeigen, da uns mitgeteilt wurde, dass die entsprechende URL rechtswidrig gemäß deutscher Jugendschutzgesetze ist.

Like I said up there, this was not a government request. Government requests to remove material from Google say so on the notice (see, for example: https://lumendatabase.org/notices/30045178 or all of these).

Anyone can make a complaint to Google and ask them to remove something for allegedly violating local laws. I suspect what's happened is that someone has reported the top level AO3 URL to Google through their procedures and that Google, being the knee-jerk risk-adverse devil company that it is, has blocked the site pending investigation (AKA lawyers saying yes or no) or just went stuff it, a shoddy complaint's good enough cause we don't actually care.

The Reddit thread is here: https://www.reddit.com/r/AO3/comments/zsgt6v/is_ao3_blocked_from_being_displayed_in_google_in/, but mixed in with the reports from German users is a lot of maybe not so helpful/accurate information so, you know, grain of salt and all that.

@ao3org

[bubonickitten]

The ALA's State of America's Libraries Report for 2024 is out now.

2023 had the highest number of challenged book titles ever documented by the ALA.

You can view the full PDF of the report here. Book ban/challenge data broken down by state can be found here.

If you can, try to keep an eye on your local libraries, especially school and public libraries. If book/program challenges or attacks on library staff are happening in your area, make your voice heard -- show up at school board meetings, county commissioner meetings, town halls, etc. Counterprotest. Write messages of support on social media or in your local papers. Show support for staff in-person. Tell others about the value of libraries.

Get a library card if you haven't yet -- if you're not a regular user, chances are you might not know what all your library offers. I'm talking video games, makerspaces (3D printers, digital art software, recording equipment, VR, etc.), streaming services, meeting spaces, free demonstrations and programs (often with any necessary materials provided at no cost!), mobile WiFi hotspots, Library of Things collections, database subscriptions, genealogy resources, and so on. A lot of electronic resources like ebooks, databases, and streaming services you can access off-site as long as you have a (again: free!!!) library card. There may even be services like homebound delivery for people who can't physically come to the library.

Also try to stay up to date on pending legislation in your state -- right now there's a ton of proposed legislation that will harm libraries, but there are also bills that aim to protect libraries, librarians, teachers, and intellectual freedom. It's just as important to let your representatives know that you support pro-library/anti-censorship legislation as it is to let them know that you oppose anti-library/pro-censorship legislation.

Unfortunately, someone being a library user or seeing value in the work that libraries do does not guarantee that they will support libraries at the ballot. One of the biggest predictors for whether libraries stay funded is not the quantity or quality of the services, programs, and materials it offers, but voter support. Make sure your representatives and local politicians know your stance and that their actions toward libraries will affect your vote.

Here are some resources for staying updated:

If you're interested in library advocacy and staying up to date with the challenges libraries are facing in the U.S., check out EveryLibrary, which focuses on building voter support for libraries.

Book Riot has regular articles on censorship attempts taking place throughout the nation, which can be found here, as well as a Literary Activism Newsletter.

The American Library Association's Office for Intellectual Freedom focuses on the intellectual freedom component of the Library Bill of Rights, tracks censorship attempts throughout each year, and provides training, support, and education about intellectual freedom to library staff and the public.

The Electronic Frontier Foundation focuses on intellectual freedom in the digital world, including fighting online censorship and illegal surveillance.

I know this post is long, but please spread the word. Libraries need your support now more than ever.

[inthefallofasparrow]

CORRESPONDENCE 1031 – THIRD QUADRANT 6 > NEVADA CENTRAL DISPATCH ~092338 RE: ASSESSMENT REPORT - Officer Yuki de Witt

OFFICER’S NOTES: 3Q6 is one of the more efficient quadrants within the Mining Division. All of Sectors 5 through 9 have consistently run at full or double quota for the last season. CIRCUMSTANTIAL: Successful liaison with 3Q6 Board of Captains (Cpt. SPIEGEL, absent) regarding the sudden death of Unit 23 Cpt. SILTSMEAR from 4Q6. Decision pending. Further info required. INCIDENT REPORT: n/a WORKER MORALE: Moderate

~RESPONSE: Received (211)

DIGGING CORPS - LOG 081/- Hey. I know you’ll never read this, but I guess I don’t need you to. Was only supposed to stay a few days, write up my assessment for Dispatch and then leave, but then one of the captains in a neighboring quadrant fucking died. Nothing nefarious mind you, just dust pneumonia. Certainly, more paperwork than it was worth. Sounds like a lot of weird shit’s been going on over there, so one of the captains went over to assist with the transitional period, and I agreed to stay here at Third Q6 to cover until he could be replaced. That was over a month ago now, and I miss the fucking sun! Never thought I’d say that. Had a few reservations about being stuck underground this long as the only woman for miles in any direction, but so far, apart from the odd leer in the mess hall, I have remained “unharassed”. The worst of it would be one particularly cantankerous geezer called Ira Trask, Foreman of 9C, who insisted on addressing me by my first name until I referred him to the NCD handbook on worksite professionalism, and he relented. I assumed he just wanted to be friendly so I'd help get him promoted, but now I think it was something deeper, more sad and nostalgic. There’s a lock on my door at least, and being exceptionally tall seems to give them second thoughts. But as you’d imagine, height’s not generally an advantage in tight, enclosed spaces with low ceilings. Most shovelmen develop a stooped physique during their time in the corps. Fucked if I’m gonna stay that long.

Yuk

DIGGING CORPS – LOG 94/- Decided if I have to be stuck down here in Satan’s ass crack, twiddling my thumbs, I might as well spend the time processing some individual Worker Profiles. The shovelmen generally alternate between reticent, awkward, sullen or befuddled by the concept of being personally assessed, but if me doing their interview gets them a few minutes to slack off their shifts, they’re happy enough for the distraction. Foreman Trask is displeased by the interruption, but he is welcome to sit on it.

Names seem to be taboo here. I know all the workers’ names of course, because it’s on their file, but that really freaks them out and there’s no point in using them. Share anything of your backstory with your fellow shovelmen, anything that they can tie back to you, and that’s a power they now hold over you. It's like some kind of deep occult shit, but for fucking miners. Everyone gets a new name here, bestowed upon you by your peers. And you only get that so you can tell whose shovel you’re holding.

Met a greenie from Unit 9A named Theodore today. The others call him ‘Mouse’ which he seems to prefer. Whether it’s for his demeanor, his silky brown hair, or, I don’t know, maybe he just likes cheese, he won’t answer to anything else despite having only been here two months. I asked him and a few others what they knew about the late Captain from 4Q6. Common sentiment seems to be that he was mad as a balloon.

Yuk

DIGGING CORPS - LOG 113/- Had a dream about the swing mom never built us. The big tire swing that wasn’t in the apple orchard. I know you don’t remember it, because, well, it never existed, but I feel like I’ve mentioned it before. Anyway, in the dream, I was swinging in the orchard at night time. And the sky was so pitch black, because there weren’t any stars at all. Just a void. Like, the dream was set after the sun had just died, and there was nothing left. Or maybe it wasn’t night. Maybe the orchard was inside a cave. It doesn’t matter. So, the swing was just a regular car tire, but then as I swung higher, I looked down and it was suddenly bigger. Stretching out to the size of a tractor tire. Or something off a monster truck. Then, I swung higher, and the tire grew again, too big for any actual vehicle, and now I could easily fit inside the trough of the tire itself and lie in it like a big hammock. But I couldn’t do that, because the trough was full of apples. Hundreds of these squishy brown apples in various states of decay. And the apples were growing too. Larger and larger, bustling and toppling over each other until they were the size of bowling balls, and then beach balls, and I was sort of half-drowning, half-swimming in these apples. And then I realized. They weren’t growing. I was shrinking. So, I climbed inside of an apple where the pip should be, because I knew deep down that was the logical place to go to die, and then I woke up. I’m pretty sure I know what it means, even if you don’t.

Yuk

DIGGING CORPS – LOG 115/- Random insights gleaned from Unit 9 Review a.k.a. ‘Operation: Peanut Gallery’:

Shovelman ‘Wiles’ - Appears to be the closest thing Sector 9 has to a medic. At least, he says he knows how to saw a man’s leg off without killing him, which is good enough here apparently. I didn’t ask for specifics. There is a constant film of dust covering his glasses, which he seems unaware of.

Shovelman ‘Twoshort’- Tried to convince me it’s common practice for the men to eat handfuls of dirt as a snack, given it’s more nutritious than whatever they were being served in the mess hall. I offered to immediately lodge a formal complaint with Captain Spiegel and the Food Prep team on his behalf, and he backpedaled comically fast, and then tripped on his way out because his foot was asleep.

Shovelman ‘Basher’ – Built like a shuttle truck and functionally deaf after an incident with a stick of dynamite last year. Uses a form of abridged sign language that he and a few others in his unit invented specifically for him. Extremely introverted at first until Wiles came to interpret for me, then he wouldn't shut up.

Shovelman ‘Blessed’ - Recently discovered an injured bat, which he has taken it upon himself to nurse back to health against NCD regulation 58N. He also appears to be deathly allergic to said bat, as his face and hands had swollen incredibly within minutes of handling the thing. A persistent sneezing has overtaken him, but apparently that’s normal and unrelated to the bat. Also allergic to dirt?

Regardless, get me the fuck out of here. Yuk

[notroosterbradshaw]

slow dancing in a burning room - six

word count: 5.5k

warnings: nsfw 18+, smut, language, angst.

part of: The Boyfriend Experience universe

a/n: well, they're broken. it's unceremonious and it's real and they're hurting so deeply, coping in ways only they know... the wrong way. You're here to meet Bad Choice Bradley, I presume? I hope you enjoy it. thanks to those who read, reblogged and commented on previous chapters. you’re doing god’s work. I truly appreciate all the effort you make to show your support and if you like it… please comment and reblog it! x

five.two

“Rooster,” Annie smiled before him, Ava strapped to her chest in her baby carrier sleeping peacefully.

Bradley felt his poor, old heart sink because he’d done so well to now avoiding you and your family since everything blew the fuck up in your relationship. It was a small town and the more you tried to avoid someone, the more likely they were to cross your path. “Ann,” he gave a slight smile. “How you doin'?”

“Morning coffee brings me back to life after a rough night,” she reported. “Not on base today? Look at the beard,” you said, fondly as he realised Annie didn't have a clue. 

“No,” he bit back the sour taste in his mouth. Obviously you’d not told your family about his pending trial… and in a way, he guessed he was thankful. It probably brought a certain amount of embarrassment to you, if he thought about it truthfully, given Viper and the respect he still commanded at work and from the locals. You didn’t need his bullshit on your shoulders. "Few more weeks to myself. Just finished my run,” he said even though it appeared the most obvious thing in the world. Shorts, runners, Navy tank glued to him, sweating from top to toe from morning humidity.

He just wanted to get his coffee and head home to shower. He should have just forgone the fucking caffeine. He had a perfectly good coffee machine at home for Christ’s sake. He cursed the fact you introduced him to this coffee shop and he knew, eventually he’d see you here, but he’d been so smart. He knew your work schedule and now, he was always the first in line when he knew your first classes for the day were clocking over. He was no dummy - sure, he had his moments when his head was stuck up his ass, but caffeine was his drug of choice and after you’d secretly revealed to him the best in the town and he was addicted.  “Lucky. You just missed her…” Annie told him softly, nodding off in the direction towards work... his villa was in the opposite direction and taunting him and his poor choices.

He hummed, unreadable. “Did I?”  He was pleased with the relief that washed over him. It was such a non-committal response and he knew he owed Annie so much better. Annie wasn't the cause of his recurring cycle of problems. But shit, he was so good at making his problems... everyone’s.

“Loves her morning coffee,” Annie waved her reusable cup towards him, and gee, it was so awkward. Rooster nodded, pleased that he wasn’t the only uncomfortable one in this conversation. Even Annie, usually outgoing, funny Annie, seemed completely out of character with her current word vomit.

And though he was desperate to, he would not ask after you because he knew there was no way you could feel as awful as he did but he forced it out anyway. “How is she, Annie?” he tried to hide the sadness in his voice, but it was impossible. He was so desperate to catch even the slightest whisper about you - whether it was Annie, Phoenix or any other mutual acquaintances. The radio silence was quietly killing him.

After a beat, Annie replied warily, “A wreck. Not that she’d ever let us know. We’re not seeing hell a lot of her so that kind of speaks for itself, I guess. Or it's exactly what she wants, I don't know," she rambled because Bradley could see Annie didn't know what to do to help you, and that hurt him more. The frustration in the air was paramount. The people you were once closest to now the one furthest at arm's length and he knew that was because of him.

“Right,” he replied, forcing a lack of interest in his voice. He didn’t want to sound emotional that you were upset, but he certainly didn’t want to feel sad for you for the decision that you made. Bradley needed you to know that you were feeling the way you were feeling for what you decided to drag you both through. He wanted to work things out, he didn't want either of you to be hurting like this - “Sorry to hear that.” He shrugged, knowing how cold it sounded and the surprise on Annie's face telling the story. What the fuck else was he supposed to say?

All the texts he'd sent bounced, and he knew you'd blocked him - what was the use of calling? He considered sending flowers, champagne, fucking skywrite if it got your attention, but all his desperate ways for your attention would fall on deaf ears. And as desperate as he was to go to you, knock on your door and hold you until reason came back into that smart brain of yours, he knew for now, you simply needed your time. He just hoped it wasn't forever.

“So... how are you?” Annie asked, welcomingly changing the subject.

He shrugged, sipping his coffee. He didn't feel like admitting he was about to head home, shower and see his JAG. It just didn't feel like it could roll off his tongue properly without the rest of his life crashing around him. He’d been so good to protect his façade and damn, he lied so easily. It was his most hated personality trait and he wished he could stop it, but sometimes it was just easier. “PT,” he lied, but he knew fully well Annie didn’t care for his physical recovery - she had good intentions but he knew she wanted to pry into his convoluted, messed up brain, see if he was as tragically missing her sister, if he was as tormented as you were. 

Dissect and get into the deepest, darkest crevices. 

But Bradley would never tell. There were enough people trying to get in there as it was. And right now he wasn’t going to give anyone the benefit of that bullshit. That hurt stayed with him, no matter the cost. It motivated him, got him through the day to be better, stronger, harder and he wasn't letting his guard down for anyone, not Annie, not Phoenix, not Mav.

Not you. No one.

“That’s fantastic,” she said as Ava wriggled against her, waking. “I’m glad for you, Rooster,” Annie bobbed to settle the little one, whining and probably ready for her morning feed. "You need your head in the clouds."

If that ever happened again.

“She got big,” Rooster said, keenly changing the subject and turning his attention to Ava. He reached for her her little hand and Ava wrapped her chubby little palm against his pointer. Bradley knew even if kids weren't in his future, the future he had quietly hoped to share with you, this was a cute kid and it only reminded him of you when you were playing World’s Greatest Aunty and putting the idea in his head that maybe… yeah, he could get the family he always wanted with you. It was going to take more to desensitise himself, he realised. 

“They do that,” Annie said, with a gentle smile. “Way too quickly. I feel like she's minutes away from rolling, crawling, and then up and walking out to college."

And Rooster laughed, because there was Annie, the Annie he grew up with. They both needed that little break in the terse. "I hope not that fast," he gently pressed a kiss on Ava's knuckles and loosened his finger, free again.

"Well, I’d better get her home for some food and start our day. Good to see you, Rooster,” she gave him a small smile. “If you need anything, call me, okay? Don’t be a stranger.”

Bradley did the cordial thing and nodded. “Will do. See ya around, Annie," he said, not waiting for a dragged out goodbye and heading in the other direction. He had a house to start bringing back to life even if he had fallen apart in every other way.

It had been about month since you and Bradley… yeah. Since then. Things had been fairly busy for you, you’d stayed to yourself, regardless of nagging from your family, some other friends who wanted to claim your time now you were single again and, of course, Natasha. She was shipping out in a few days and wanted to have a drink but the last place you’d be caught dead at was The fucking Hard Deck. Reassuring everyone you were good, or okay, was next to useless. No one believed you anyway.  

You'd kept yourself busy. The apartment needed to be unpacked again, with no time like the present, a perfect time to purge and it felt so much better in your small part of the world that you’d rid yourself of those little things you simply didn’t need anymore. Clothes, kitchenwares, changed up the orientation of the bedroom, indulging and confusing yourself with feng shui and vastu shastra on household karma/good vibes among other things. 

But you really did feel lighter. You built a cute study nook for your business stuff. You and Bradley had planned to use one of the rooms in the Bradshaw place, giving you more time to work from home, instead of staying later after classes to do your never-ending small business accounting.

But that wasn’t the case now and you had all the time in the world.

“Fuck, Nat. Stop,” you muttered to yourself, scarfing down some leftovers for dinner. It was late and frankly, you had little to no interest in heading out, even if it was to a venue of your choice. You had to give Natasha credit: she was trying so hard to release you from your self-imposed imprisonment. You know what you were up for - 20 questions about how you were coping. You'd be lying to say you weren't worried about his impending trial and were curious to reach out. But it probably would just distract him and he didn’t need that. You were sure it was this week or next. 

Maybe you would get Grandpa to contact Bradley? 

But as far as you were concerned, Bradley seemed to be doing just fine. Like you’d agreed, you didn’t need each other anyway. Besides, he hadn't contacted you - and you hadn't let him after yep, taking the high road and blocking him. Maybe he needed this more than you did, you tried to reason with yourself. A guy like him didn't deserve to be tied down with someone who had the baggage you did. He deserved better. 

You tossed your fork on the plate, suddenly not hungry for the stir fry you were desperate for only minutes earlier although the need to get tiddly didn't sound terrible at all.

Enjoying his quiet drink, Rooster knew his time was running out as Phoenix sidled her way to him, a fair smile on her face. Unreadable, and God, he hated that. “Didn’t know you were coming out tonight,” she commented, as she put two beers on Payback’s tab, placing one before Bradley. 

She followed his gaze to the pretty woman across the bar, making pathetic doe eyes and suggestive overtones with her beer bottle and tongue. Natasha would never get used to it. And sadly, Rooster seemed pretty into it, for what she could gather. “Know her?” Phoenix asked as Rooster’s lip quirked and he stumbled to find an undefined answer.

Truth be told, yeah. Rooster did know her. Not super well, but well enough to remember how into him she seemed as she led him back to her place last week, the first person he’d fucked since… and, he supposed, it was fine. It was good, she was eager to please and she had zeroed in on him the minute he walked in last week and again tonight. Rooster didn’t generally put his boots under the same bed twice, but he lately wasn’t feeling particularly fussy. He did ask himself if there was a supposed grieving period for how long he should probably wait before getting into the game again but his brain (and Hangman) told him what he needed to hear.

Fuck her. 

“Oh, Rooster, no. You slept with her?” Natasha asked, the disappointment dripped from her voice and Bradley felt about three feet tall.

“Oh, fuck this,” he bemoaned. “She broke up with me, I have to be celibate too?” he asked. It seemed so rehearsed and he didn't lie but he knew the shit he was going to cop for spending time with any woman that wasn’t you. 

Natasha sighed. “No, I guess not.” 

“Believe it or not, I can fuck who and when I want, Phoenix,” he gruffly reminded her. "You don't get to dictate."

“No, you’re right,” she agreed. Who was she to argue? She was desperate for her friends to get over this little ‘blip’, but seeing you separately and the hurt you’d both caused each other, she began to wonder if this blip as she'd hopefully referred to is as was really the end of what could have been the best thing that happened to both of you. 

You were no longer a couple. Rooster had moved into his parents' old place alone and seemed to be enjoying taking to it with a sledgehammer. You were doing your usual MO when things went sour – you didn’t answer calls, and rarely responded to texts before anyway. You were working and looking at growing the business, so it was the best excuse in the books not to come to the bar, a surefire way of making sure she didn’t pump into Bradley.

“I can’t see him, Nat. He was the love of my life. And not being able to touch him, kiss him, laugh with him? It would just kill me,” you had told her sadly, week’s earlier when Natasha came over unannounced and sporting Thai food and rosé. 

“What is so fucking funny is that I keep hearing how badly she is doing, yet no one gives a flying fuck that maybe, just maybe, I’m going through it too," Bradley muttered, Natasha surprise crossing her face as he continued, "Nat, we were moving in together. But it’s over now,” he poured what was left of his beer down his throat, knowing that coming out tonight was not his wisest idea. Bad Choice Bradley was bubbling in his bloodstream and frankly, he didn't mind if he escaped. He was so sick of doing everything by the rules, but where had that gotten him? Absolutely no-fucking-where. Jobless and Loveless. “And for the record?” he hissed purposefully to Natasha. “I was in that fuckin’ relationship too. I didn't call time.” 

“Okay, okay,” she said softly. “I’m sorry. You’re right. You’re wholeheartedly allowed to feel that way. We just don’t see you… as down about it,” she used her words carefully.

“It was weeks ago,” he sniped.

“It wasn’t that long - ”

“Jesus, Phoenix. She was the fucking love of my life,” he hissed. "I wanted to work this out. She blocked my number, she wants nothing to do with me."

Natasha held her palm towards his chest but didn’t dare touch him, she could feel the heat, the anger reverberating off him. “Okay, I agree. I’m sorry, I know you’re hurting, buddy. And I’ve let you down.”

He frowned and paused. “What are you talking about?” 

“This isn’t just the breakup, Rooster,” Natasha said, adjusting her posture to stand with him and continuing before she could let up. “Everything has been a bit of a shitstorm. Your past is always following you around, you were part of a suicide mission that almost got you killed and now you’re waiting for trial and I should have been doing more to make sure you were okay with that."

And for the moment, Bradley was silenced and frown in reply.

"Are you still seeing the shrink?”

He huffed out a breath, replacing his beer eagerly with the one Natasha had slid towards him. He didn’t need this holier-than-thou bullshit where Natasha got to try and save him to be really honest. He just gazed back at her, now unreadable. 

“Isn’t it mandatory?” she pressed lightly. “You should really be talking to someone – ”

“I’m still going, I’m hating it. If I don’t get clearance from the shrink, I never get in my jet again regardless of how the trial plays itself out. Satisfied?” he rolled his eyes. “See ya later, Phoenix,” he said, leaving his her side and heading over to his new friend, who greeted him with a tender kiss on the side of his mouth, and while he wasn’t repulsed, you used to do that to him, and he didn’t like it half as much as he used to.

“Didn’t think you were going to come over and say hi, Rooster.”

“I’m here with friends,” he admitted, whom he’s just ditched to come over here and line up an easy lay for the night. 

“You wanna dance?”

He nodded, a small grin gracing his features that didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “Yeah, lemme hit the bathroom first really quick, okay?” 

“Sure,” she smiled as he grasped her forearm, gave the easy smoulder and disappeared. And she, with the name he couldn’t recall (but really wanted to), devotedly followed moments later. Messy, unplanned bar head wasn’t on his bingo card for the night, but he’d surely take it. He tried to be surprised when she cornered him into the stall and undid the few top buttons on her shirt, her breasts brushing against his chest as she groped his half-hard cock and played with the zip on his jeans before letting her soft, warm palm slide beneath his boxer briefs. His breathing immediately shallow because her hand was better than his hand and she sank to her knees and licked her lips, she didn't give an ounce of hesitation to take him deep.

He guessed he never really had to work hard to get what he wanted. 

And he couldn’t hate himself more for it, because he compared everything to you. The way your big, beautiful eyes would peer up at him, begging for reassurance you were pleasing him, giving everything he deserved and more, your delicate strands he’d mess his long fingers into… it wasn’t the same but he came deep in the back of her throat that she swallowed and tidied up devoutly and he kind of wanted to be sick. But as she did that thing with her tongue, he wanted to cum so badly, as she gripped his thighs to keep her balance, he regarded her, knowing this wasn’t a woman he could fall in love with. He would only ever love one woman and right now, she wanted nothing to do with him. 

He shook the notion from his head, concentrating on how silky her tongue caressed the head of his cock and remembered this didn’t happen all the time and to enjoy it as he thrust into her face, closing his eyes and imagining you again, getting him over the line as he knotted his fingers in her hair and fucked her face. Seeing you and those pretty sounds you’d make gagging on his cock, deep as you possibly could and what you couldn’t, pumping in your delicate palms. 

He grunted as he came in wild spurts down her throat until he was spent and watched as she tidied him up, sweetly placing his softening dick back in his boxers and pulling his jeans back into place, sweetly caressing his throbbing groin. 

With a quiet laugh, he helped her to her feet, cupping her chin a little rough. "You didn't need to do that, you know?"

"No," she agreed. "But you tasted so good time, I couldn't wait for more."

Bradley blushed, mostly ashamed. He certainly had nothing to be proud about. “I’ll be right out…” he said to her and she nodded and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her lipstick was improper, her hair was well and truly a mess. Just how he liked it… if it was you. And he knew she would run out to tell her friends exactly what had happened, darting out alone.

Rooster looked at himself in the mirror, taking in his reflection and rubbed his tired face. “Who the fuck are you, Bradshaw?” he accused himself. He took a deep breath, ran his hands under the cool water, washed his palms then splashed some water on his flushed face. “Jesus,” he muttered to himself before inhaling sharply and straightening up. 

“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck,” Natasha muttered to herself as Bob caught wind of her strife and looked up from his peanuts, concerned for his friend. "Fuckkk."

“What’s up, partner?” he asked, perplexed. She lifted her phone and the text you’d just sent. “Oh,” Bob said, adjusting his glasses, a trait he did constantly as he grew nervous. “That is… that is not good.” 

“No…” Natasha agreed, casting her gaze to find Rooster, but he was nowhere to be found. “Shit.” 

Rooster had spotted his new friend with her group and gave a slight nudge towards the exit when she caught his eye. Excitedly, she gave a wink back as her friends gave her teasing words of encouragement but Rooster didn’t care. He just needed to get out of there. 

The bar was stifling and he didn’t feel like Phoenix’s third degree on his life choices anymore. He wasn’t a dickhead – he was well aware he was making poor decisions. Bad Choice Bradley. But this wasn’t his first one lately, and it certainly wouldn’t be his last.

Darting through the throng of officers and civilians, he made a beeline for the door, thrusting it open, and he’d be lying to say in his frustration, there was some heat and malice behind it.

“Jesus, goddammit,” the voice hissed on the other side, the heavy door hitting a patron on the other side trying to enter. Rooster tried to catch them, almost knocking them to the ground in the process and he couldn't believe his dumb luck that it was you who were on the other side as he tried to phantom his escape. You skipped backwards quickly as Rooster yanked the door back, trying to stop its force. His face paled when he realised just who it was he’d almost knocked off their feet.

He whispered your name, and you’d swear you had seen a ghost. “Shit, I’m so fuckin' sorry," he said, the recognition all over his face as he took you in, scared and studying you.

"Shit," you muttered. Bradley could hear the pain in your voice, whether it was through injury or just disgruntled, he couldn't be sure. “Hey,” you said nervously. This was not how you wanted to see him for the first time since you’d broken up. 

“I was just leaving,” he explained, reminding you the door had walloped you in the elbow and you rubbed it in recollection, a gentle thrum from its impact. He looked back over his shoulder. “Shit, I’m so sorry,” he said again. He so badly wanted to reach out and kiss your injury better. The injury he caused, and he loathed himself for it. “How bad I get you?” he asked softly, taking a step closer. 

Before he got closer, you closed in on yourself and covered the sting in your elbow with a step or two. “It’s fine, Brad – Rooster. It’s no worries,” you reassured him, flippantly. Your body language told him everything he needed to know. He was flatlining. 

He nodded slowly, saddened at how you recoiled from him. "You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

“Okay. Sorry, huh?” 

“It’s fine really,” you said as a pretty young thing wandered out. She joined Bradley on his hip and you didn’t miss how her hand curved into his elbow and how his face changed, the guilt masking his handsome features. She looked back at you both expectedly. 

“Ready to go, Rooster?” she asked as he paused, gauging your response. He knew his timing was about as bad as it could be. 

And yep, it looked exactly as it looked. 

“Yeah. I’ll be just a minute,” he said, the embarrassment etched all over his skin as he ripped out your heart and toyed with it in his beautiful hands before you. His ears reddened and he licked his lips as she wandered away, calling back over her shoulder when she’d reached his Bronco. Well, she knew his car, maybe this wasn’t as new as it looked. 

Yep, it looked exactly as it looked. 

You’d thank Natasha personally for the warning in a moment - she probably wouldn't like it though. “Friend of yours?” you figured trying to balance your tone. Who were you to get upset at him? To Bradley Bradshaw, you were no one and that was what hurt the most.

“Something like that,” he admitted quietly. 

Maybe you didn’t need that drink Nat promised. You needed Penny to drown you in the top shelf. “Nat’s waiting for me,” you explained to him. “Have a good night, Rooster,” you told him as he reluctantly pulled the door open for you to scurry under his strong, golden arm and get lost in the Friday night throng. He watched after you until he lost you.

Rooster ran his clammy palm over his face, he felt ill as he stepped away from the door. He wanted to be sick, he knew exactly how pathetic he looked. Why the fuck didn’t Natasha tell him you were coming? He would have hauled ass ages ago and without incident. He pulled his phone out and threw a brutal one-liner at her about giving him a head’s up next time and made his way to his car, where his friend/date/hook up/whoever was waiting with a bright grin. 

“Thought you were gonna ditch me,” she laughed lightly, he could hear the uncertainty in her voice. 

“Look, I’m really sorry, but I’m not feeling too well right now, and I have a real early start tomorrow morning. Think we could take a rain check?” he asked, keeping a safe distance from her. She raised an eyebrow.

“You sure? Five minutes ago, you seemed really fucking into that blowjob in the bathroom,” she hissed at hime. And it was fine head, her lipstick was still smudged on his cock, he would always be appreciative of anyone giving him their best. But again, it wasn’t your pretty lips, nose desperately trying to nuzzle the soft hair at his happy trail, staring up at him like he possessed all the stars in the sky. God, he was truly beginning to hate himself and he missed your mouth, however smart it was, wrapped around his cock, giving him an earful... kissing him.

He shook his head dismally. “Look, I can’t do this, okay? M’sorry,” he unlocked the car, hopped into the driver’s seat and keyed the ignition, peeling out of the carpark to the allotment of insults and birds being hurled his way. It would be some time before he decided to venture back to The Hard Deck, which was probably best.

And deservingly so, he reminded himself. He'd take a few weeks off from the bar, he’d been through this before. Never go back to the scene of the crime, especially after one-night stands. He knew better, but it all seemed so easy tonight until you were before him and ruined everything. 

He pulled into a car park, the ocean bustling before him and he sat for a moment, his palms latched onto the steering wheel, his knuckles white as the adrenaline of the night coursed through his veins. Taught and teetering, he stared out to the ocean, needing answers to all the questions in his messed up brain.

God, you looked so beautiful. You had done something different to your hair, not a lot, just subtle, but he noticed it, the scent of his favourite perfume, it was so ridiculously expensive but it was the only real fancy thing you afforded yourself even if you used it sparingly, that drifted off you and enveloped him. He remembered it on his pillows, it lasted for the week until the sheets were changed. 

But your eyes… They told the story. Seeing each other was a shock to the system, but you just looked so upset when… fuck, whatever her name was made her presence known. Getting his phone from his pocket, he sighed and found your last texts to each other. 

It was all so sweet. 

You: I love you, big boy. Hurry home to me xxx

Bradley: Love you too. Lemme finish up and I’ll be right there x 

He ignored the subsequent texts he tried to send that all bounced back. Now it all seemed like another world and another time.

“So, yeah, that was fun,” you told Natasha as she gave Penny the signal to keep lining the shots up. 

“You okay, darlin’ heart?” Penny asked sadly. Not that she wanted to pry, but Live had asked her to keep an eye on you if and when she could and she didn’t know if your mother was really wanting to see how brokenhearted you were.

“I’m awful,” you confided, voice strong but powerful because if you didn’t talk about this, you’d sink into another one of those solitary states where you wallowed in the misery of your broken heart, you were going to explode. “I have ruined the best thing that has happened to me then I get to see him take a one-night stand home.”

In no world would Natasha tell you this wasn’t their first hook-up and tossed back one of the lined up shots to avoid putting her foot in her mouth. “He’s slipped back into old habits,” Natasha shuddered as the tequila burned. She wasn’t defending him, but it was what it was as Penny made some polite excuses to continue working. “He a fucking moron, all dudes are the same. Easy pussy, get their dicks wet. They should all be lobotomised," she raised her shot and you, Natasha and Penny whipped the shots back.

But Rooster Bradshaw owed you absolutely nothing. And he proved he knew it too.

“He talked to me like a stranger. He’s never spoken to me like that in thirty years.”

“What do you mean?”

“Has he said he’s missed me or anything?” you asked, sadly and as Natasha prepared to answer, you dismally added, “I’ve ruined everything because I was scared about all the wrong things. Nat, I’ve messed this up and I don’t know what to do to fix it.”

She nodded but she heard what she heard. “…do you want to fix it?”

“I can’t function without him. I am just bumbling along, missing him while he is recovering alone. He's about to stand trial... he needs support,” and you know fully well that Natasha, Penny, Mav and others had Bradley's back but you also knew there were only a few people he'd truly let help him. “Will you still be here for the trial?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be here… I’m a witness. It’s the day after tomorrow.”

“Can you tell me how it goes?”

She nodded. “Of course.” 

“I can’t believe I gave all this up.”

She nodded. “I hate seeing you hurting like this.” Both of you, she wanted to add.

“Does he talk about me?” you asked quietly.

Phoenix sighed, she didn’t want to get into this. Anything he’d ever told her was done so in confidentiality. And while you were her great friend, he was too. Rooster didn't have many confidants. "I - "

“Natasha. Does Bradley want to fix us?” you raised your eyes, and Natasha saw the tears that threatened to spill. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted. Only hours before he was talking about his latest conquest. She saw that woman follow him into the bathrooms but she had no idea where her friend stood, even if she knew you two were so much better together. She could tell you how angry about it he was. But there was no way that was going to help the situation even if she was desperate to say or do anything that could possibly help.

You shrugged and took another shot. “Whatever, he’s clearly moved on and I will just have to accept that. Another round?" you asked, a casual frown gracing your features and Natasha nodded.

"One more," she loaded the bar up and couldn’t imagine being in her plane tomorrow if this was how the night was going to go. 

masterlist.

Big thanks as always to @gretagerwigsmuse for helping me get this fic over this line x

A/N: the tag list no longer exists. To keep up to date, give @notroosterbradshaw-library a follow x

[cherry-holmes]

Glimpse of a life with Javier Peña (series)

Chapter 1

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: Javier Peña met you while you worked in the Embassy's Translation Department, and now he finds himself wondering why he can't stop thinking about you, even at the most inappropriate moments.

SERIES MASTERLIST Part 2

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!Reader

Word count: +3k

Warnings: SMUT. Javier has sex but not with reader. Oral sex (m receiving). Degradation kink. Cum eating. Fingering. Hair pulling. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: Hola! So… this is the official first chapter of the series “Glimpse of a life with Javier Peña”!! Yeeey

I hope you enjoy it. Thanks a lot for the support in the firsts works of the serie❤️ PLEASE, CHECK ON THE SERIES MASTERLIST FOR LEARN HOW TO READ IT! If you have any questions, my box is always open.

I’m also open for requests.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

He didn't used to take his reports himself to the Embassy's Translation Department, but Messina wanted to punish him for being stubborn and disobedient in the last raid, so she made him take his and Murphy's daily reports to you.

He knocked on the door, with an annoyed look on his face as he was eager to just go home, call one of his informants with the excuse of "catching up", have one or two glasses of whiskey and some cigarettes, and then kick her out of his apartment when they were done. It was a routine as much as brushing his teeth every morning. It wasn't healthy and it was miserable, but it was what it was.

"Come in," said a gentle and tired voice from behind the tallest file holder he had ever seen in his life.

He walked closer to your desk, and then he saw you: a pair of beautiful bright eyes looking up at him behind a pair of reading glasses, a blue dress that perfectly accentuated your breasts and waist effortlessly, but it also didn't reveal anything that could look purposefully vulgar. No, it wasn't your intention; you were professional.

"Umm... Hi," he said, surprised by his suddenly own nervousness towards you. That doesn't happen to him; Javier Peña never felt intimidated by any woman before. Never. But that was before you. He lifted the files in his hand, and you frowned with a cute expression. "Messina asked me to bring these to you," he explained.

"Is it late already?" you asked as you looked at your wristwatch to check the hour, but it was fine, you still had an hour and a half. You looked back at him and reached a hand to take the papers. "I usually go to collect them myself from your desks after I finish my working day... Did she need me to take them earlier?" you asked, a bit worried. You always performed your duties as well as you could, and you had never received a complaint about your working style: you took the reports from the DEA agents at night, translated them the next day, and delivered them to the Colombian Government's office by the evening, then repeated the routine.

"No, no," he was quick to say as he saw your concern, "She was actually making me do it to punish me," he explained, scratching the back of his head.

"Oh..." you exclaimed, "Well, thank you," you said as you placed the file in your pending-file organizer.

Javier couldn't help but notice the attractive woman before him, her beauty and intelligence captivating him. As he handed over the files, he couldn't resist striking up a conversation.

"You know," he began with a charming smile, "I've been around this office for quite some time, it's surprising I haven't crossed paths with you before. I thought I knew everyone here."

You smiled, appreciating his evident charm, but also aware of his reputation. "Well, I tend to keep a low profile," you replied, a hint of playfulness in your tone. "I'm not one to seek the spotlight."

He chuckled softly, his voice lowering playfully, locked onto yours. "Maybe I've just been looking in all the wrong places, then."

Your heart raced a bit as he flirted with you. You had heard about his reputation as a bit of a playboy, and as attracted as you already were to him, you knew better than to let your guard down completely.

"Well, I must say, I'm glad Messina decided to send me your way today. It's refreshing to meet someone so intriguing."

Your blush deepened as his flattery made you smile. You quickly composed yourself and replied, "Thank you, Agent Peña. I'll make sure to handle these reports promptly."

Javier assumed that you knew his name because you worked on his reports. Now he wanted to know yours. "I look forward to seeing you around more, Miss..." He paused, waiting for you to supply your name.

When you do, he repeated your name in a way you had never heard before, as it was the most precious sound he had ever heard.

"Well, it would be a shame to keep such a charming presence hidden away."

You could feel your heart flutter at his words, and you managed to reply with a playful tone, "I'll consider it, Agent Peña. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some translations to attend to."

With a final smile and a parting glance, you turned your attention back to the files, leaving Javier with a lingering sense of curiosity and attraction.

When you were sure he was far from your office, you couldn't help but smile and giggle like a teenage girl. He hadn't seen you before, but surely you had seen him. It was almost impossible not to know about Javier Peña, the DEA agent who was a complete playboy, the one almost every woman in the office talked about. You had seen him from a distance before, and you always thought he was handsome, but you never attempted to get closer to him. You never thought he would cross the threshold of your office either.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

That night, Javier called Helena and took her on his couch, as usual. She gave him everything he wanted just as she knew how he liked it. It was completely obscene, it was sinful. That was how he liked it.

Helena offered her head to please him. Moving up and down along his length, filthy noises filling his living room as he gripped her hair tightly.

Javier tried his best to concentrate on her mouth, but his mind kept drifting to you. What's even weirder was that he wasn't even thinking about you for that purpose. No, he was thinking of your blushed cheeks when he flirted with you, your shiny eyes, and that dress... How would it feel to kiss you? To touch your soft hair? How would it be to feel your skin against his, to trace every contour of your body with his lips?

Well, now he was thinking about you in that way. He couldn't help it, and it made him feel guilty, to be honest. He didn't really know you beyond your name, and thinking about you while another woman was giving him a blowjob wasn't morally right.

Helena kept doing her job, taking him deeply into her throat until her nose rubbed his pubic hair, licking his heavy balls, spitting on it, choking on it. Javier told himself that he must get you out of his mind. So he did.

Pulling her hair, he lifted her head to him so he could see the mess she did. Teary eyes looking at him full of lust and sin, saliva dripping down her chin until it landed on her bare breasts. She was a whore, he liked that. 

"En el sillón," he ordered as he stood up. Helena obeyed and climb to the couch, settling her arms on the backrest and offering her ass. He slapped her and she moan in the middle of a giggle. He passed his fingers between her soaking wet folds. "Estás muy mojadita, ¿todo eso solo por chuparme la verga?," he played.

She giggle again. Fuck, she liked him so damn much.

"Tienes una verga muy rica," she answered.

Javier grabbed her hips and pulled her closer to him as he grabbed his cock to position it on her entrance.

"I've heard about that," he groaned as he buried himself on her pussy, making her cried with pleasure.

He began to thrust into her without giving truce. His hand gripped her hair, forcing her to throw her head back so he can see her features lost in pleasure and ecstasy. Javier could feel her fluids soaking his balls as they hit on her clit so hard, making a vulgar, filthy sound that echoed through the apartment.

"Fucking whore," he groaned, making her fluid run like a river down her legs. She liked when he speaks English to her. "You liked that, whore? Mhm?," she nodded, "Respóndeme cuando te hablo, puta," he demanded.

"Si... oh, mier..., ¡Si, si, Javier!," she screamed, "¡Que rico, no pares!," she begged as her fingers clung to the chair in search of balance.

He was completely wild, lost in her. Helena didn't know exactly why; he never talked to her about his working day or his problems. But she did know that when he was that desperate, it was because a very complicated day had preceded him.

Javier was so close, he could feel it in his balls and the knot that tightened in his lower belly. He could also feel that she was about to finish too, by the way her cunt started to dripped even more and how she clenched around his cock.

He pulled out of her, pumping himself, and then pulled her by the arm to guide her off the couch.

"De rodillas," he said. She kneel in front of him and opened her mouth nice and wide for him. "Make yourself cum," he ordered her.

After a few strokes, Javier cum with a a deep growl all over her tongue. Helena pumped two of her own fingers in and out of her sensitive pussy, and used her other hand to traced circles on her swollen clit. The moment she felt his warm load on her mouth, she started to quivering with pleasure, reaching her own climax.

"Let me see," he grabbed her chin, squeezing her cheeks so she wouldn't close her mouth. "Such a nice slut," he praised. He slapped her and she smiled evilly. "Trágatelo."

She would do anything he asked of her, and Javier knew it. He wasn't proud, but he often took advantage of that for two purposes: to satisfy his most primitive desires and to fulfill the needs of his job by obtaining valuable information about the sicarios and the cartel. Helena was a prostitute, which made her perfect for the job.

The sicarios had the same needs as any other men; they enjoyed sex and didn't mind paying for it. And since nobody paid attention to the whore they hired, they could infiltrate cartel parties, listen to their conversations, and seduce them to gather information in an inconspicuous way.

That was what Helena did: she gathered information from every sicario that hired her services and handed it all over to Javier. He trusted her because she was loyal. She also trusted him; she even gave him her real name and sometimes mentioned her daughter.

Javier hated it when she did that. He didn't want to know too much about her life, but he pretended to listen anyway. She was a single mother and, of course, didn't like her job. But it paid the bills and, most importantly, it provided her daughter with food and clothes.

Javier didn't like to pay for sex. Money implied pretense, which could lead to betrayal. Prostitutes would say what you wanted to hear, do what you wanted them to do, as long as you paid, of course. You couldn't trust them blindly, but in the context of Javier's work, if not them, then who?

Moreover, he believed that there was nothing like a woman who engaged in pleasure willingly. He was a handsome man and a cop, which was incredibly enticing and attractive to every woman he encountered. He did pay for the information they provided, and when they offered their services just because they were "already there," he didn't say no. Especially Helena; she was his favorite.

After using his bathroom to clean up, Helena walked half-naked to the kitchen while Javier lounged on his couch, a cigarette in his mouth and a glass of whiskey in his hand.

"¿Qué me ofreces de tomar?" she asked, taking a clean glass from the sink.

"Whiskey o agua de la llave," he answered as he light up the cigarette.

"Agüita, pues," she replied in a lower tone. She would never admit it, not to Javier, but deep down, she always hoped he would offer her a coffee and ask her to stay. He never did, and he never would. She would say no anyway; she had to pick up her daughter from her mother's place.

Javier took a sip of his whiskey and decided to steer the conversation toward business. "By the way, Helena, I was wondering if you've heard anything new about the cartel lately? You know, anything that might be relevant for us."

She nodded and leaned against the kitchen counter. "Yeah, there's been some chatter. They seem to be making a move down in Cali, and there are rumors about a new player on the scene. They call him 'El Fantasma.'"

"El Fantasma, huh?" Javier raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. We'll have to keep an eye on that." He reached for his wallet, pulled out some bills, and handed them to her.

Helena didn't like that part of their encounters because she felt like he was paying for the sex, not for the information. She had made it clear to him that "if you were my client, you would pay me first," just to let him know that she had sex with him because she liked him. She never rejected the money, though; she had a daughter.

As Helena finished her glass of water, she began to gather her things. "Well, Javier, I should get going. I need to pick up my daughter."

He nodded, his attention briefly diverted to the TV. "Sure, Helena. Thanks for the information."

She approached him, hoping for a warm goodbye, and leaned in to kiss his cheek. "Take care, Javier. Stay safe out there."

But instead of returning her gesture, he instinctively pulled away, avoiding her kiss. It was a reflex, something he couldn't control. "Yeah, you too," he mumbled, his eyes focused on the television.

Helena felt a pang of hurt but quickly masked it with a forced smile. "Alright, then. Buenas noches, Javier."

"Buenas noches," he replied, still focused on the TV.

She turned and left his apartment, trying to shake off the feeling of rejection, knowing that she was just another transaction in his complicated world.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The Embassy's kitchen was an unexpected haven of calm amidst the chaos of daily operations. Javier, after a particularly grueling morning meeting, spotted you entering with purpose, a silent promise of coffee and respite. Perhaps it was the allure of a caffeine boost or a subconscious attraction that led him to follow you.

Unconsciously, he trailed behind, navigating the labyrinthine hallways of the office until he found himself standing next to you by the coffee machine. As he poured his own coffee, a wave of regret washed over him. He didn't want to be the type of guy who awkwardly followed someone around. Besides, how was he going to look at you after thinking about you the night before while he was involved with another woman? You deserved so much more than that.

He watched as you reached for a coffee mug, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air. Just as he was contemplating a hasty retreat, you turned, almost as if sensing his presence, and smiled at him. Javier mentally cursed himself for being so transparent.

"Morning," you greeted warmly, holding your coffee cup in your hand.

Javier cleared his throat and replied, "Morning," with a faint smile.

As you leaned against the counter while preparing your coffee, you engaged him in conversation. "So, how's it going with the reports today?"

Javier was surprised by your friendly tone and felt a bit awkward about the fact that he'd been trailing you, but he decided to go along with it. "Ah, you know, the usual. Paperwork and chasing leads. It's a never-ending cycle."

You chuckled, "Sounds like a tough gig."

"It has its moments," Javier admitted, feeling slightly more at ease. "But I can't complain."

The two of you continued chatting about work, the latest developments in the field, and more. As the conversation flowed, Javier began to appreciate your intelligence and wit. You weren't just another pretty face in the office; you had substance and depth.

"You have a curious accent," he pointed out, breaking a brief silence as you took a bite of a cookie. "Can I know where are you from?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Javier wasn't one to dig into personal information about colleagues, or in general. Not even with his partner, Steve Murphy. Let alone with any woman; he preferred to keep such matters separate.

"I'm from Mexico, actually," you answered, lifting your chin with pride in your roots. Javier was on the verge of smirking but refrained. There was something about you, the way you spoke and articulated things with your delicate hands, that had him captivated.

Javier hesitated for a moment, unaccustomed to discussing his personal life with colleagues. He thought, fuck it. "My family is also from Mexico," he admitted.

You raised your elegant eyebrows, "Well, I guess 'Javier Peña' has to come from somewhere."

His smile couldn't be contained. "My father's grandparents were from Reynosa, Tamaulipas," he explained, "and my mother's parents were from Ciudad Juárez, Chihuahua."

"So your parents were born in America?" you inquired.

He nodded, "Texas. And so was I."

You opened your lips, ready to say something else, when the tall and blond figure of Murphy interrupted you. He had a file in his hand and a hurried expression. Steve looked at Javier and then at you, lifting his eyebrows when his gaze returned to Peña.

"Messina approved the raid," he said with a slight nod.

Javier straightened up, his broad shoulders becoming firm and resolute. Suddenly, he looked taller and more imposing, you thought.

"I'm gonna grab my gun, and I'll see you in the parking lot," Javier informed Murphy, who nodded and, after one last glance in your direction, turned around and left the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, I've got to..." he began, looking at you.

"It's okay," you replied, holding your coffee cup. Then, after a brief hesitation, you added, "Take care of yourself, Javier."

The sentence warmed his chest, and he felt a warmth that almost reached his cheeks. He nodded, not quite sure what to say, and then left the room.

But as he walked away, there was a moment of realization. You had extended a friendly gesture, an opportunity to get to know each other better, and he had responded with genuine interest.

Maybe, just maybe, Javier Peña wasn't that hijo de puta that everyone said he was.

NEXT CHAPTER

[softpascalito]

Beyond Saving - Javier Peña x F!Reader

Summary: Javier is on office duty when he learns that someone close to you has passed, causing both of you to spiral.

Relationships: Javier Peña x Reader, Javier Peña & Reader WC: 1300 Tags/Warnings: can be read as romantic or platonic, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Suicide, Character Death, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Breakdown, Crying, Soft Javier Peña, Protective Javier Peña, Author urgently needs therapy, Trauma, she/her pronouns for reader Read on AO3

notes: please take the tags seriously. this is not a happy fic in any way. make sure your mental health is stable enough to read about the mentioned topics. more detailed warnings are on ao3 if someone needs them.

For my love.

Leave me, like you do (like you do). If you need me Wanna see me Better hurry 'Cause I'm leaving soon.

-‘listen before i go’ by billie eilish

It’s not one of those days that he thinks will be difficult. He doesn’t expect anything bad to happen. It’s not supposed to. But it does.

Javier never sees it coming.

He is seated at his wooden desk in the embassy, ready for a day loaded with frequent trips to the coffee machine and lots of paperwork. It’s his turn to file away reports. Reports that usually aren’t interesting to him, that aren’t relevant to his case. The numbers of the dead that are written down on the reports of the Colombian police stay numbers in his head. They don’t turn into the people they represent.

Until they do.

His coffee mug hits the floor a few moments after he reads the name. The brown liquid runs over the tiles, pooling in the crevices between them, as he reads the name again. And again.

Javi’s eyes fly to the cause of death. 

Investigation pending. Suspected suicide.

He doesn’t even grab his jacket as he stands up abruptly, the shards of the mug that held his coffee moments ago crunching under his feet. For all he knows, they could be piercing his skin and he wouldn't notice. His body acts of its own accord.

It's Steve who approaches him and it's Steve who realizes in an instant that something must be very wrong. 

“What is it?” The voice next to him is gentle but still stern enough to get through, “Javi?”

“I have to go.”

He is surprised at how solid his voice sounds compared to the feeling in his stomach, the one that makes him sway slightly on his feet, the impact of the world seemingly having stopped turning.

“Can you drive?”

At that, Javi clears his throat and nods, his brown eyes now flying up to meet the blue ones in front of him, “I'll be okay. I- I'll let you know.”

Steve's voice is low as he nods, “Okay.” As Javi turns to leave, the other man gently reaches for his hand, placing the car keys in them, “You'll need those.”

“Right,” is all he can choke out in return. He doesn't catch the way Steve watches him leave with a concerned look on his face or the sigh that leaves his lips as he reads the paper that is still on the desk next to him.

Javi functions on autopilot. He's not sure how he makes it to her apartment, how he remembers which pedal is for what, how he knows how to get his body to move out of the car and up the stairs.

The keys are already in his hand as he reaches the door but he doesn’t remember taking them out of his pocket.

The apartment is dark.

For a split second, he considers if she has left, if she has gone to see someone, the parents, maybe.

Then he hears a noise that sounds like a whimper, one that is so loaded with pain that it causes him to rush forward in an instant.

She is on the floor in the kitchen, back pressed tightly against the cupboard, knees drawn up to her chest, the entire form below Javi shaking with each small sob that reaches his ears.

Javi drops to his knees rough and uncoordinated, ignoring the pain that shoots through them and his back as he steadies himself and leans forward to cradle her in his arms, one hand sneaking beneath her knees as the other wraps around her back.

He immediately feels the reaction to his touch, as the sobs get worse and his heart breaks the way his coffee mug had earlier, with one quick motion, shattering into a million pieces that will be stepped on and discarded by someone who doesn't care for them.

“Estás bien. Estás bien, querida,” he mutters under his breath, repeating the phrase over and over, a phrase that he doesn't believe. There's no way she is even close to okay.

“I'll get you to the couch, okay?” Javi whispers as he gently scoops her up into his arms, taking the few steps over to the living room, focusing hard on his feet to make sure he won’t trip.

“Hold on to me,” he commands softly, making sure to take it slow as he lowers them both onto the leather sofa, his arms not once breaking their touch. He doesn't let up, trying to absorb the sobs and the trembling as much as he can. He wishes he could absorb the pain too.

“Estoy aquí. No te dejaré,” (I’m here. I won’t leave you,) Javi whispers, bringing one hand up to brush the hair away from her face, leaning back enough to look at her. He's met with messy hair and behind it with bloodshot eyes and a mixture of snot and tears, with pain and grief so evidently written on her face that he himself winces slightly.

Her voice shakes when she finally speaks, the first words she has spoken since the call. They feel wrong in her throat, like throwing up food that was already past its expiration date. They feel even worse when they reach the air of the room, floating between the two of them.

“How did you know?”

Javis eyes soften a little more at that. He doesn't even want to think about the fact that he only knew by chance, that it had been his shift to read the reports, that he wouldn't have had any way of knowing without it.

“Saw it at work,” he replies, honestly, keeping voice soft and his eyes carefully trained on her expression.

“So you know how…” She whispers and Javi nods quickly, not wanting her to say it out loud. Not wanting to hear it said out loud. 

It makes it feel too real.

“Do you know how?” He asks back, using his left hand to reach for a blanket and gently placing it around her shoulders, making sure it doesn't slide off.

“I don't know- I don’t know details. Just that-” A shuddering breath leaves her throat, “that it wasn't an accident.”

There is a fear in her eyes, one that Javi has never seen in her before. One he has seen in very few people. And he has seen enough bad and evil to last him several lifetimes.

Even in the dim light, he can clearly recognize it for a terror that is beyond comprehension, one that he will never be able to put into words.

“It wasn't an accident, was it?” She whispers again, her voice breaking and Javis grip around her tightens a little as he shakes his head.

“No.”

He suddenly feels like he's going to cry, even though he's not sure why. It still feels like the world stopped turning and like he’s stumbling against gravity, against a movement he was so used to until a moment ago. Like a faucet that’s been dripping for ages and finally runs dry or a screen that shuts itself off, fading to black. Like the movement of something inside his chest, inside of her chest, not only a movement that he doesn’t think he can live without but one that he actually cannot live without.

“No, it wasn't an accident,” he repeats, his hand still caressing her skin.

“I'm so sorry, cariño.”

Her face is buried in his chest again as she cries, hot tears leaving her eyes and finding refuge in his shirt. A blue one, the one that she complimented this morning while kissing him goodbye. Waving to him as he headed out the door, a smile on her face. A carelessness that is not only gone now but that seems beyond reach, that seems to be waiting for its funeral the same way the body in a morgue is, a few streets over. Cold and alone and above all, beyond saving.

[intellectual6666]

The line between us (PART-1) (INTRODUCTION)

Synopsis : An independent rich woman lives alone in her world, for which she sometimes gets upset, meets a guy who, for the first time ever, questions her work.

Genre : Enemies to lovers, a bit angsty now.

Warnings : None ig ? The male character mocks the female character

Not proofread (there might be some spelling and grammatical errors)

More under cut ~

Stumbling to the entrance, Kriti balanced all the files she had in her embrace and walked in her office building. Everyone on her bowed her, to which she replied with equal respect and moved inside her office on 4th floor.

No one knew Kriti Sharma, Sales Manager of Whipco company was fuming inside. Little did she knew her day would go that bad. First, she got to know early morning that she accidently deleted all the important emails the last night after getting drunk. Then, after getting everything ready, when she went to her car, she noticed there was a hole in her top. Ughhh. Again running inside her house, she changed and drove to her office in a speed of bolt (reaching late still). Fell in her office while pacing around, attending a call. Then went out for a small break and got the hot coffee all over her dress, burning her skin. Meeting went bad, more work piled up, boss not satisfied, lot of pending work left. The day went worse than worst for Kriti. Driving back home, she saw the beautiful city lights.

After reaching home, she unlocked her attractive apartment and went inside. Throwing away her heels, she flopped her bag somewhere and laid on the couch.

Eyes closed, hands on her stomach and legs spread, she thought about the day. Every thing went bad, nothing worked out, boss is unimpressed with the new interns, mind isn't working, that shitty coffee. Tears formed and trailed down the sides of her cheeks. She was feeling so full of everything, it felt overwhelming.

There was nothing she didn't have in her life. She lived alone in an extravagant apartment, working and earning enough to get her whatever she wants and even thinks of once. She loved all she had, and honestly, anyone would die to live like her. But something always felt missing. Her passion.

Little Kriti always dreamt to be photographer, to travel around the world and capture every other piece of art this world has to offer. But due to the society's pressure that this is not any fruitful kind of a job and especially her family's taunts, she ignored her passion.

Thinking about all of this, tears kept running down her face. The burn on her thigh was hurting her, her thoughts even more. She didn't feel like getting up, having anything and get changed. All her mind wanted was peace. So slowly, Kriti drifted off to sleep.

Next day

Kriti woke up, in her last day's office dress, with the minimal makeup she did last day. Getting ready for the day, she mentally decided "Today's going to be nothing like yesterday." Little did she know her world was about to take a beautiful little turn, making her alone life fill up with a person.

Reaching her office, she got startled by her frenemy, Mr. Prasad on her way. "Do you know that our COO (Chief Operative Officer) is coming to visit us today ?", he asked.

"Oh really, how come I don't know about it ?"

"Anyways, let's run, we shouldn't be getting late."

Running into their office, they reached the 4th floor and almost flew towards the meeting room. Getting inside, both were relieved that the meeting hadn't started yet.

"Kriti, Mr. Mukherjee is visiting us today and he will stay in our branch for sometime. It is a suprise visit. He said somethings are screwed up here so he is coming to fix it", said her boss.

"Oh okay."

"You have all the annual report files with you ?"

"Yes I do, in the laptop."

"Show them to him when needed."

Humming in response, Kriti started growing anxious. Nothing's wrong with their branch. It's running smoothly. Everyone's happy to do their piece of work and they are paid for the work they do. But let's see what the COO have in his mind.

Mr. Aadarsh Mukherjee. COO of Whipco company. The most famous man in the company. Most of them feared him because of the rumours that, he could find loopholes nobody else noticed. So when he visited the different branches, everyone would be scared.

Walking into the meeting room, Mr. Mukherjee was bowed by everyone. Sitting into one chair, he started the meeting, he met everyone's gaze. No, not everyone's though. One girl at the corner, with silky hair done in a pony and brown coloured blazer with black shirt under, looked straight at the projector, not sparing him a glance. Kriti.

After speaking about few things, he asked, "Who's the sales manager here ?" Looking at everyone, he finally saw that girl stand up and say, "Good morning Sir, I am Kriti, the Sales Manager."

"You really need to improve your work. You're not communicating enough with customers more, and thus, not satisfying their needs. I hope you know that communicating with customers is a part of your job." He mocked the last line.

"Yes Sir, I know it's my work but as much as I can remember, everyone commented that I do an amazing job in communicating with our customers and satisfy their needs."

"Well, I might call them blind cause apparently, you aren't doing much good of a work."

"I'll try to be better next time."

"We don't need the better ones here Kriti, we need the best. Try to be best or you're out I guess."

She looked at him in the eyes. He could sense her fuming rage inside. She controlled herself and said, "Okay sir."

Never in her professional life did anyone criticized her like that. Yes, she did mistakes like any other human but she knew, along with others, that the amount of work she did, she did it with focus and perfected them. Though, knowing the fact that the COO will surely try to find loopholes and she may become his target, Kriti didn't like the way he mocked her.

After the meeting ended, Aadarsh wanted to have all the managers infront of him and commanded the rest to go. But knowingly, Kriti left without a word.

Maybe she was upset, but surely, she was angry. She didn't want to stay there with that man any more second. She needed her alone time to perfect her work and don't give him any other option to question her work. He will get to know what Kriti Sharma is capable of.

First impression went bad. Both didn't like each other. But as it can be predicted, the relationship between them will be growing even more bitter by time if not mended. So will this small passive argument between Aadarsh and Kriti grow bigger or mould into something else ? Something better ?

**************************

Ik it sucks. I could do a lot better. This came out to be really shitty. But okay. Let's see what happens next. I hope I'll be better next time.

Tagging : @shadowseductress @bareillyki-barfi @msperfectlydamaged @zeherili-ankhein @emartirabdi @lotuseaterwhowistlesthedark @priimadonnna @0fuzzyduck0

Do no repost. Reblogs are appreciated.

[sillybigbird]

OKAY, SO. Silvie here, before starting I'd like to remind you my IC accounts is @babsggordon and its the only one I mannage.

Previous recaps:

Now

This are are the events of the past week (In order from I remember):

Lazarus Pit

Gothamites started to randomly sip them, encouraged by the numerous PSA's saying to not to.

Alzhul discovers that his pit is being used underground by a lot of other organizations including the court of owls. But also he discovers the experimental additions to the pit are making people expell their organs off, he decided to work on a antidote to add at the pit because theres no way to get gothamites away from it (LMAO). Hes having a lil redention arc

Multiverse

Theres a lot of alternative versions appearing, the most popular are more Dick Grayson's appearing out of nowhere and a lot of there people crashing, so far this are the ones that I know.

Spiderman everywhere, it started with our lovely Peach.

Starfire

Tommy Shepard

Deadpool and one of his variants

Julian Gordon

This is not multiverse but since we're talking of additions we should mention Lux and his initial arc who consisted in dating Crimson, Deadpool, Nightwing by Circus-champion, Kyle, and John Constantine (who also joined this week).

Duke also joined us. (Hi Duke o//)

Helena also joined us

Kidnapping

This was a popular topic this week, this were the kidnaps and consecuences:

Jason: A guy named Evangeline claiming being Jason's original partner appears in our universes Dick Graysons Anons with threats of kidnap Jason, and he does but Constantine, help us rescue him. And they're chilling with Hinata, Deadpool, and Crimson in there where Giovanna Talon appears to attack everyone. Lux f*cking kills her and revives him

Giovanna: That attack was useful to kidnap her and so, Hinata, Crimson, Lux and Babs are trying to debrainwash her.

Dick Grayson: Babs and Wally kidnaps Renegade and retrieve them back to the "Bat's army" (idk how to call it).

Random and pending events

Damian and Jon Start dating

Hinata and Tommy start Dating

Aswell Bart but I missed with who

JJ is apparently fine!

Blackhawk (Hal Jordan) is kinda having his redemption arc but as Talon where he just stopped pushing g everyone away lmao

An apple, TWO faces and joker are fighting for gothams mayor elections

Update on Babs events

She and Dick adopted a new kitty

James Gordon Jr is back and she's losing her head everytime he's around

She's also trying to protect Julian not only from the pit and Talon mess, but now James can find him and she's kinda stressed out

Food poisoning :(

Current events I know of but there still going on and it's not mostly of common canon knowledge

Deadpool did an feather errand for the coos (oh boy)

Jason is getting an ultrasound 👍

If I missed something feel free to add

Additions

By @why-rock-look-tasty-if-no-eat

(Bart got with Jamie. Jason and Roy adopted Damians little brother (Yao I think?) not to long ago to. Jason, Liang, and Joker also had an arc or are still going with it I don't remember. Dick "notnotnightwing" got bought by the COO apparently because he asked them out as a joke so that he wouldn't get killed. Damian got another animal, RR totally got mauled by a (different) cat. Another Nightwing "officialnightwing" is like, flirting(?) with a reporter whose trying to prove that the Waynes are the Bats.)

[badsciencejokes]

Copyright Strike on Instagram

I was unaware Instagram doesn't really vet their copyright reports...

So, I received a copyright strike on something that I didn't believe had any issues, but Instagram said the information of who to contact and to do so saying they owned a clip of video I had posted.

I sent them an email wanting to quickly resolve the matter. They requested a large payout. The price was a bit much I thought but hey, I'm under the assumption this clip I had used was under the ownership of some large company. I request to pay via a secure way and they insisted on a bank transfer. That's immediately when I knew something was up. Stupidly, I did pay the fee as I wanted the copyright strike gone from my account (you can lose your account for those!). I sent a screenshot of the pending payment and within an hour I had more reports to my content. Multiple. All of them, I was sure, were not owned by these people.

I ended up doing some major research on this 'company'. Found lots of evidence that they are not who they say they are. I let Instagram know about this. It took a little while but they reversed the copyright strike and brought my videos back. ....I am out that initial bank transfer, understandably.

But here's the thing.

They didn't vet this company at all.

This company said a bunch of bologna and Instagram immediately sided with them.

I have looked online and have not seen reports of this sort of scam happening. I want to let people know but also not because... well, obviously.

On the bright side, I was finally able to verify the @bad_science_jokes Instagram page.

Be on the lookout for scammers. Instagram isn't doing us any favors! I have checked a previous report I received a long time ago and it, too, was a scammer. Be very mindful!

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

Dear Gallifrey's Institute for Learning,

While my companion, with your help, was concocting the idea of filling my TARDIS with clones, I was in the middle of a hike on Metebelis III, writing a report for the Council. I would never bring my human along to an unexplored planet in order to avoid putting either of us into unnecessary danger, so I left them inside the TARDIS with the usual recommendations, which have always been a good enough deterrent. They often complain, state that they don't want to get bored, but I prefer to call it "being dramatic". After all, the TARDIS can provide a lot of non-techonologically-advanced enrichment to a human.

Alas, I have now installed biometric locks on the laboratories, the storage rooms and any other relevant space, as well as restricted access to the main console. I could have rested a few more hours in my Zero Room, but no, I had to deal with human-proofing my poor TARDIS and making "humanon" absorb all of their clones.

I shall be speaking to your manager.

Dear Esteemed Time Lord,

Thank you ever so much for your continued correspondence. It's always a true delight to hear from a member of the Time Lord race, especially one so expertly skilled in the delicate art of human management.

We fully appreciate the challenges you face—who could possibly have anticipated that a human, left alone in a TARDIS brimming with non-technologically advanced enrichment options, would have the sheer audacity to bypass them all in search of something more interesting?

Regarding your request to speak to our manager, we regretfully inform you that the Gallifrey Institute for Learning operates at a level of organisational sophistication that transcends the need for traditional managerial oversight. However, should you wish to escalate your concerns, we'd be happy to direct you to a suitably advanced AI program that specialises in empathic listening and generating soothing affirmations. You can find this program on the APC net under the keyword 'KAREN'.

We hope this response meets your standards. Please do not hesitate to reach out again should you require further assistance.

Hope that helped! 😃

Any purple text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →😆Jokes |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[bratfied]

Blog Entry #1: Windy City Roleplay

Hello, for the last week while being banned on the server for a very invalid reason; I realized a few things in the Discord while I was timed (untimed since 7/18/24 @ 8:00PM) that I considered "BIAS" Here are a few things I'll list what I realized and staff didn't do anything about it even it falls under Discord Toxicity.

Female Chat: While I was timed, I saw some females making fun of a topic that shouldn't ever be talked about; which was racism and laughing about what happened. Can't say the Lead Admin saw it, but Game admins saw the comments and didn't do anything about it, I believe a lot of females need to be placed in their place, not everything is necessary, and a lot of people can take the awful comments they say sensitive.

Whitelisted Chat: On 7/18/24, there was a huge argument between a male and a female in Whitelisted chat, Game Admins and Testers were active in that situation and nobody was warned, The male threatened the female and the Staff didn't do anything about it. I find that very disappointing that staff only warn people who they want to warn. - Avoid, this was solved with a correct verdict from the amazing admin Dom - Edited Friday, July 19th, 2024 @ 10:50PM

The Staff: I believe a lot of the Staff, that's a Lead to Game admin, are very unsolved people. When someone is being insulted, they don't do anything and don't give warnings. In appeals, they don't let the other party comment back on any kind of ban of what had happened, not giving them the right to reply to the staff, they don't give anybody time to ask why or let the person tell the truth reason why before making a verdict. I believe every staff that handles ban appeals should give the people who are getting banned /pending them a right reason for what had happened before actually giving them an actual verdict because as I see, a lot of Staff just ban to ban without an actual meaning. [If Dom accepts your player report, he will give both parties a chance to speak and ask questions, Dom and Kez are the only ones I know that do so] - Edited Friday, July 19th, 2024 @ 10:59PM

My Verdict:

Every Staff should be looked over, and moved fairly, just because you have a friend or a relationship with someone on the server doesn't mean to suck up to them. TREAT EVERYONE THE SAME. And give people the right to speak to a staff on ban appeals (whoever's taking it) A staff should ask a question and the person should answer it, and if it looks accurate then let them know in the case, don't just give them a verdict and lock the post and force them to speak to someone else towards a situation...

What I'm asking for is Better staff and better fair play around the community, everyone should be treated the same.

[ornii]

My Better Bitter Half, Part 10

Chapter 10: Dance Dance!

“Dr. Kinbott tells me I should get out more. Says I need to open my mind to new people and experiences. Who am I to argue with her professional clichés?”

The Jericho Morgue houses the corpses of those lost in the town. The security system was tough but, effortlessly disposed of by black gum. Thing coats it, which allows the twins to sneak in undetected by the Camera. They slip into the Morgues chambers and Wednesday turns to her brother as they approach the containers.

“While I do the autopsy, you find the files of the monster's other victims and make copies.”

“Seriously?” (Y/n) said.

“Don't pout. Your scalpel skills are questionable. Do you remember my 13th birthday, when Uncle Fester gave me that cadaver?”

“First of it, our 13th birthday. And no I don’t.”

“You sliced right through that man's carotid.” She said, he scoffs.

“Because you decided to steal my embalming tools. But fine, I’ll make sure we get what we need.” (Y/n) walks into the other room across the hall. The twins separate and begin preparations, (Y/n) and Thing head inside the office and search cabinets for the lastest date. Finding one a day or two ago of this year, he grabs what he can and begins to print it off. He checks the papers and an odd coincidence begins to form.

“Lost hand… head? Eyeball?… they all seem to have some form of dismemberment.. but why would a wild monster do that?” He says, he finishes the printing just in time for car lights to catch his eye. He dashed into the autopsy room.

“Wednesday! Someone’s here!” He yells

“Calm down. Who's coming?” She said, the twins come up with a plan and execute it. The Sheriff and the Doctor who oversees autopsies enter

“Appreciate you coming back to the office, Doc.”

“No problem, Sheriff. Whatever I can do to help. Whatever or whoever is responsible for these killings... In all my years, I've never seen injuries like them. I thought you should see this before I issued my report on the latest victim. It's a real noodle-scratcher. The killer cut off two toes from the victim's left foot. Best guess, they used a surgical saw. The final autopsy report's still pending.”

“Minute you're done, send it straight to my desk.” The sheriff responds.

“Happy retirement, Doc.” The sheriff leaves as the doctor nods. He turns and notices on the table, a covered body. He approaches and pulls back the cover to (Y/n), dead. The doctor sighs. He pulls further back to see his body, with off scars and bruises, many healed.

“Hm.. many broken bones, scars.. you went though a lot. I suppose you can wait—“ he notices a chill in the air, and looks to the fridges As one is open, the slowly walks over towards it. He opens it and pulls the corpse back, and it’s Wednesday.

“I don't remember this one coming in. Full rigor. You've been dead a while. Guess you won't mind waiting another day for me to cut you open.” He smiles and locks her inside, and finally takes his leave. Thing, hiding in the fake skull pops out and heads to Wednesday. He pulls her from the fridge.

“Five more minutes. I was just getting comfortable.” She says, Thing angrily prances around, and Wednesday rolls her undead eyes.

“Fine. You know he won’t stay dead.” She says and gets out of the fridge and approaches her brothers corpse. She calmly looks over him.

“My Brother, for all his dreadful Traits, is annoyingly resilient. He’s cheated death more times than one can count, and his ability to seemingly resurrect himself from death is impressive, so long as he can get a jumpstart.” Wednesday thinks, and a small creepy smirk creeps along her face as she draws a taser.

“Luckily, I have just the thing.” She jams the taser into his chest, shooting lighting though him, and like Frankenstien, he rose up gasping for air. The once dead look in his eyes was full of life now.

“Never… Again.” He says growling.

“Not unless I want to, now put your clothes on.” She said, leaving the Morgue, (Y/n) grumbled as he stood off the table and grabbed his clothes in the corner.

The next morning, Wednesday had the files; everything printed out upon a plaster, analyzing the information, Enid approached, obviously concerned.

“When I suggested giving your side of the room a makeover, I did not have Ted Bundy's Pinterest in mind.”

“Still not as creepy as your stuffed unicorn collection.”

“Is this why you snuck out last night?” Enid asks. L

“My Brother and I made an unsanctioned trip to the morgue to copy the files of the monster's victims.”

“Okay, there are so many levels of ew in that statement, I don't know where to begin.”

“I need to get inside its head. Discover any patterns or anomalies. I've already made a big discovery. Turns out all of the monster's victims have had body parts surgically removed. The first one a kidney, the second a finger...” Wednesday shows Enid the graphic photos.

“Wednesday, I don't feel...”

“Third a gall bladder. And the bearded man from the meeting house, two toes. Do you understand what this means? These murders aren't mindless. He's collecting trophies like a seasoned serial killer. It's impressive, actually.—“ Wednesday hears a thud, and she turns around to Enid on the floor. Suddenly, (Y/n) enters with his backpack.

“Enid, Wednesday, Pardon the intrusion I found—“ (Y/n) stops talking as he sees Enid on the floor.

“… what did you do?” (Y/n) asks In his sister’s deadpanned voice

“I did not do anything to your pet.” Wednesday said.

“I Did nOt dO aNyThInG—“ (Y/n) says mocking his sister. “If you were literally anyone else I’d believe that.” He says, he kneels down at Enid and picks her up.

“Fetch the smelling salts, she’s going to be late for class.” He says and walks to her side of the Dorm. Wednesday stares with an off sensation, another girl has her older brothers attention besides Her, perhaps this is what we call, Jealousy.

In Ms Thornhills Herbology Class, the lesson continues as planned. Thornhill showing off a particularly evil looking plant.

“While most plants reward their pollinators with sweet nectar, many carnivorous varieties turn to sеxual trickery or deception. The orchid produces a pheromone that mimics a female insect, luring the males in. Now, once the plant is pollinated, what do the male insects get in exchange?”

“Nada. Just like all the guys at the Rave'N.” Bianca says out loud, which gets a few laughs from the student body.

“Okay, okay. I know you're all excited about Saturday, which is why I haven't assigned any homework. But I do still need volunteers for the decorating committee. Anyone interested, come and see me up here.” Thornhill says, Xavier turns to Wednesday.

“You're not gonna volunteer? Aren't you pumped about disco balls and spiked punch?There's even a DJ. MC Blood Suckaz.”

“I'd rather stick needles in my eyes. I'll probably do that anyway.”

“Or you could invite someone and have a little fun.” Xavier replies, he gets up to leave and Wednesday can notice his lack of limber, something is wrong.

Inside the local Coffee spot, (Y/n) sat gingerly, reading the Autopsy reports.

“Severed Limbs and Organs, none the same.. like they’re building a.. body.” (Y/n) begins to piece everything together. His eyes catch from the corner, his Sister and Enid walking past, going somewhere. “Hmm..” he said, but didn’t think too much of it, as he begins to wrap up, Enid enters and spots him.

“(Y/n)!” She says walking over so giddy. (Y/n) prepares mentally for what he’s about to hear. And hides the autopsy reports.

“Enid… how are you?”

“It’s going to such a Hot girl summer!”

“It’s.. August..” he replies, She scoffs and sits next to him, getting a bit close to him, the sudden flourish of blonde hair and beauty in his face cause him to be a bit lost for words.

“Okay.. what is it?” He says, and she grabs his hand to share her excitement.

“Your sister is going to The Rav’N!” She says, which makes (Y/n) stare for a moment in literal disbelief.

“You… you mean Wednesday, right?”

“Duh, who else?”

“… We’re talking about the same person right? She isn’t the social butterfly, more like a death hornet.. that’s besides the point who would go out with my sister?”

“Well wouldn’t you?” Enid asks, which just confuses him even more.

“You’d take your sister to the dance, because that’s what family is for. Plus she’s going with Xavier anyway, so I was going to help her Shop but she doesn’t need it.” Enid explains.

“Well.. what about you?” (Y/n) asks, and She sighs.

“Ajax and I aren’t.. working out.” She admits; which was a good thing from (Y/n).

“Well… I can offer a counter suggestion.” (Y/n) said, but their conversation was interrupted by a young man, who approached.

“Is it okay if I talk to Enid?” He asks, and (Y/n) immediately cuts him off

“Anything you can say, you can say to me as well.” He said, the man awkwardly sat across from them

“Thanks. I'm—“

“Lucas Walker, mayor's son. Recently split from cheer captain, Chrissy Smothers. Cute brunette who needs to rethink her spray tan.” Enid said

“That's kinda scary.”

“I think it’s pretty cool.” (Y/n) chimes in.

“I have a nose for gossip and I follow half your grade on TikTok. Also my roommate scares you.”

“Wednesday Addams is your roommate? And you—“

“The bother.” (Y/n) says, and Lucas awkwardly nods

“The resemblance is—“ he begins.

“Off putting? Uncanny? Absolutely Terrifying?” (Y/n) says, staring right into Lucas’ eyes. Lucas tries not to look into the eyes of the abyss.

“Sure is. I know this isn't a random encounter. So, why are you sitting here, Lucas Walker?

You must want something.” Enid asks.

“I've got a friend who works at Hawte Kewture.

She overheard you're on the hunt for a date to the Rave'N. Maybe we can help each other out.” Lucas begins, (Y/n) realizes what’s about to happen, and takes the biggest leap in his life, he puts his hand on Enids and she looks a bit, taken aback.

“Apologies, but I’m taking this lovely Wolf out on the Rav’N.” He says, with a growing confidence, he turns to Enid who was getting more and more red.

“Y-yeah, I’d like to go with you too…” Enid could barely form a coherent sentence, (Y/n) turns to Lucas.

“Apologies, but it’s a no.”

“That’s fine, I have another plan. The relationship between Nevermore and Jericho is.. not the best, so if it’s cool with you, can we bring a few Jericho students to the dance? A show of good faith.” Lucas asks, (Y/n) and Enid share a glance.

Later in the day, the twins look at The Billboard Wednesday put together. This time inside the Bee hive.

“But why Dismemberment?” Wednesday asks.

“I’ve yet to figure that out either Wednesday.. but the cuts were clean, no monster could do something that complicated…”

“So we’re dealing with a Serial Killer… but no motive.

“It’s possible, no motive as you said, the victims seem sporadic. No connecting traits, attributes…” (Y/n) rubs his chin, and Wednesday taps her foot. Eugene enters the Bee hive.

“Enid wouldn't let me keep this in our dorm.” Wednesday said.

“No worries. Mi colmena es su colmena. I assume this is the creature that's been rampaging in the woods.”

“You've heard about it before?” (Y/n) and Wednesday ask.

“Rumors. Mr. Fitts banned me from bug-hunting until further notice. Claimed a bear was on the loose, which I knew was a lie. Didn't match their hibernation schedules. Speaking of monsters with sharp claws, could you give this to your roomie?” Eugene shows her a letter, (Y/n) raises an eyebrow.

“Put in a good word for me? I hear she's still sans date for the Rave'N.” Eugene says.

“Sorry to Break your heart..” (Y/n) said, “Enid and I are going together.” (Y/n) said, and Wednesdays attention turns to her brother.

“You didn’t inform me of this.”

“Because I didn’t have to?” (Y/n) said, “I dork have to inform you what I’m doing, you never told me you were going with Xavier.”

“That was a preservation of my status, I couldn’t let him know I was on to him. You are taking Enid on some fabricated “Date.” For no reason; it’s counter productive.

“You think everyone and everything that doesn’t work for you is counterproductive.”

Because Brother, We're original thinkers, intrepid outliers in this vast cesspool of adolescence. We don't need these inane rites of passage to validate who we are.” Wednesday said.

“So you're not going to the Rave'N with Xavier?” He asks smugly, She glares at him as Eugene slowly backs away.

“It's not like I like Xavier. I just have ulterior motives. Sketches are the closest thing I have to a lead to try and stop this thing.” She says, the twins turn back to the board.

“These drawings are… odd. I’ve known Xavier, but his artistic skill eludes me.” (Y/n) said.

“That circle...I think I know where that is.” Eugene pipes up, the Twins turn to him.

“Show us.”

Eugene takes the twins deep into the forest, and specifically to a cave with the same spiraling formation seen. They look at the drawing and confirm.

“It Matches..What were you doing out here?” Wednesday asks Eugene.

“Collecting specimens. This place is ground zero for hоrny gypsy moths…You think it's in there?”

“Only one way to find out.” (Y/n) walks forward first, slowly peering into the darkness of the cave.

“I'm not a huge fan of enclosed spaces. I'm claustrophobic…” Eugene backs away, and Wednesday follows her brother.

“If you hear me screaming bloody murder, there's a good chance I'm just enjoying myself.” She says, before heading inside. She creeps in and finds (Y/n) kneeling at something, looking at the ground. It’s deeply scared for rock. “This is definitely its lair, the claw marks on the ground suggest it holes itself inside.” (Y/n) explains. He shows his sister a bone.

“Venison…”

“Nothing human… It doesn’t eat them.” He says, from the corner of his eye he sees Wednesday pick up a claw.

“What is that?”

“Concrete proof. I just need to find something to match against the claw's DNA.”

“And I assume you have a suspect..”

Night falls, and it was the perfect moonlight for the Rav’N. Tyler and Enid accidentally bump into each other.

“My bad, i was waiting for Wednesday.”

“I’m waiting for (Y/n).” Enid replies, the two didn’t have to wait long, they soon looked upward to the stairs and the twins descend, Wednesday in a gorgeous black Aliana dress, adorned with jewelers to boot. Her brother matching Black pinstripe suit, gothic tailcoat and blood red vest and brooch to combo. They descend down and the two are at a loss for words.

“Wow, you look...” Tyler begins

“Unrecognizable? Ridiculous? A classic example of female objectification for the male gaze?” Wednesday says, (Y/n) scoffs.

“Ignore her pestering. She’s just being stubborn.” (Y/n) says, and looks at Enid.

(This woman has no Right being this beautiful someone help me—)

“Enid how are—“ He said, getting a much closer look at her, absolutely taken aback by her beauty. The fluent fur dress, the perfectly pink hair and her adorable smile.

“You… you look..” he says, but she grabs his hand smiling.

“You look great! Cmon we have to show you off!” Enid happily takes him away as he grins ear to ear, leaving Tyler and Wednesday alone. Enid shows (Y/n) the theme, which was mostly white.

“Is that an abominable snowman?” He asks, looking at the statue.

“(Y/n)! You can't say that, it's offensive! The correct name is Yeti.” Enid said.

“Uh.. okay? They've been extinct since the 1950s. I doubt they’d want to draw and quarter me for it.”

“Ms. Thornhill chaired the dance committee this year. She wanted the Rave'N to feel relevant. So our theme is climate crisis meets extinction event. But in a fun way!” Enid explains

“Oh, so Hell frozen over.” He says, he looks at her with a soft smirk.

“A fitting theme.”

“Enid?” A voice called out, the two turn to see Ajax with his date.

“I thought that was you. Is that your date?” He asks. And Enid sternly grabs (Y/n)‘s arm..

“Yes, and he's having the best time with me.’We are both loving this dance... together.” She says

“Sweet.” Ajax murmurs before leaving. (Y/n) turns to Enid, and notices her dismayed face.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asks, she snaps out of it and nods.

“Y-yeah! I’m fine! I’ll go get us punch.” Enid awkwardly scampers over to Wednesday.

“Hey, Interesting choice of date.” Enid says, peering over to Tyler.

“I could say the same.” Wednesday replies, Enid couldn’t hide her blush.

“Your brothers great! He’s just like you… Look, at first I thought it was a good idea since I'm trying to make Ajax jealous. But now, i realize your brother is, like the perfect present wrapped up in a box!”

“Or a casket..” Wednesday replies, and Enid laughs. “As much joy as i find out of the pain and suffering he endures, I’d be a “Bad sister.” If I allowed you to toy with his heart.” She said, and Enid nods.

“You’re right, Everything he does for me, I can’t do him like that! Alright! Cmon, at least have some fun!” She says and Leads Wednesday away, the party continues, until a certain song begins to play

When the sun goes down And the moon comes up.

Goo Goo Muck By the Cramps begins to play, and Wednesday, for her all gothic melodramatic attitude, begins her own off putting dance.,


I turn into a teenage goo goo muck


Yeah, I cruise through the city And I roam the streets


Looking for something That is nice to eat

You better duck


When I show up


The goo goo muck


I'm the night headhunter Looking for some head


With a way-out body Underneath that head


Yeah, I'll get you, baby With a little luck


'Cause I'm a teenage tiger And a goo goo muck


You better duck


When I show up


The goo goo muck

(Y/n) and Enid dance together, elated, his eyes waver only for a moment to see his sister, somewhat enjoying herself, which brings a bit of joy to himself.

Most have calmed down after the dance, and Wednesday exits the dance floor to the side rooms, as Bianca sits

“Whoever invented high heels clearly had a side hustle as a torturer.”

“As my dear mother always says, "Fire tests gold, suffering tests a woman." Bianca said

“Speaking of suffering, where's your date? I didn't see you and Xavier on the dance floor.”

“We had a little tiff. About you, actually.

You don't know what it's like.”

“Being beautiful and popular?”

“Never knowing people's true feelings. If someone likes me for me.”

“What about your amulet?”

“It's not foolproof. It's a mild prophylactic, so to speak. That's why Xavier broke up with me.

He could never fully trust me. The worst part is I could never trust his feelings either. I never knew if they were real or not. You're lucky.You don't care what people think of you.”

“Honestly, I wish I cared a little more…” Wednesday replies, “My brother is the sympathetic one.

“He also has quite the looks..” Bianca chimes in.

“I can barely handle Enid drooling over him I don’t need another. His happiness makes me life sick.”

“I’m just saying your brother is.. a thriller.” Bianca says, and if on queue, a familiar song begins to play. (Y/n)s body moves almost like a zombie, perfectly mimicking a dance

It's close to midnight

And something evil's lurking in the dark

Under the moonlight

You see a sight that almost stops your heart

You try to scream

But terror takes the sound before you make it

You start to freeze

As horror looks you right between the eyes

You're paralyzed

'Cause this is thriller, thriller night

And no one's gonna save you from the beast about to strike

You know it's thriller, thriller night

You're fighting for your life inside a killer, thriller tonight, yeah

Ooh, ooh

You hear the door slam

And realize there's nowhere left to run

You feel the cold hand

And wonder if you'll ever see the sun

You close your eyes

And hope that this is just imagination

Girl, but all the while

You hear a creature creepin' up behind

You're out of time

'Cause this is thriller, thriller night!

There ain't no second chance against the thing with forty eyes, girl

Thriller, thriller night

You're fighting for your life inside a killer, thriller tonight

Students begin to chime in, dancing as well, like an army of the undead. A hallowing voice begins to speak, emulating though the world as the song reaches its climax, (Y/n) drops down, slowly crawling towards Enid, like a zombie, until he gets on one knee, and takes her hand, looking lovingly into her eyes.

The foulest stench is in the air

The funk of forty thousand years

And grizzly ghouls from every tomb

Are closing in to seal your doom

And though you fight to stay alive

Your body starts to shiver

For no mere mortal can resist

The evil of the thriller!

(Y/n) slowly stood up, and took Enids hands, looking into her eyes, and for a moment.

“Enid.. I—“ he says stammering, but she takes the moment for herself, because this is her moment and she gives him the softest kiss on the lips. (Y/n) stares in disbelief.

“I’m sorry!” Enid begins “I wanted to make Ajax jealous cause I knew he’d be coming here with another girl, but I couldn’t do that to you. And Wednesday talked me into telling you the truth and I just can’t lie anymore.. do you, forgive me?” She asks, he continues to stare, before his hands awkwardly wrap around her.

“I do… it’s just..” he lets go, and tries to speak, before noticing something, red.

“Enid? Are you okay? You’re blessing.”

“What?” Enid feels something rush down here face as she sees red. Soon the room begins to pour red, seemingly blood, which grossly stains the white themed party. (y/n) looks around At everyone panicking, and Enid spots Lucas leaving and follows.

“Enid? Enid!” He says, “They couldn't even spring for real pigs' blood. It's only paint.” He turns to his sister, who’s smirking.

“…. Wednesday..” he says.

“No. I had nothing to do with this.” She says

“This time, I actually believe you.. give me a moment.” He walks off to chase after Enid, as she spots Lucas with other Jericho boys, laughing as they poured the red ink into the schools water supply.

“You did this?” Enid said, holding back tears, “I can't believe I fell for your crap. Enid, after Crackstone's statue... I thought you were different.”

The Malicious laughter of the boys echo in the night, “Wolf out! Wolf out! Wolf out!” They chant, before (Y/n) exits. He see Enid on the verge of tears and the bullying monsters, he storms over.

“Get away from her, now.” He says, Lucas looks around, seeing the situation slowly rise in tension, the three other boys surround (Y/n).

“Or what? You gonna cry to your Mommy? Freak.”

“I bet his moms an ugly ghoul or something.”

“Ha! Is he right? I bet your dad is just as gross.”

“You’re gonna look like it when we’re through with you.”

(Y/n) said nothing for the moment. He calmly took the blood on his face and combed his hair back with it.

“You are Hopelessly outnumbered..” he says, the boys chuckle.

“Really? Just you, Asshat.”

“No, it isn’t.” He takes a deep breath, and looks down. They look down as well, as if the bowels of hell opened up, glowing hands slowly begin to erupt from the ground, swiping at boys. They scream and scamper about to abound being dragged to hell. But hands grab them, ghosts and ghouls alike hold them in place, ready to drag them to the underworld. (Y/n) calmly turns to Lucas.

“Take your friends, and never come back here. Or I will drag you to hell personally.” With a snap of his fingers, the hands let them go and scurry off. He looks down at the hands.

“I thank you for your assistance, and yours mister Poe.” He says to a ghostly man. Who resembles the fallen poet, he nods

“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary” the ghost says.

“... Quoth the Raven, Nevermore.” (Y/n) replies, and the ghosts fade. (Y/n) turns to Enid and rushes to her side.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and she hugs him with no hesitation. He gladly accepts her affection, until her claws accidentally come out, poking his back

“Ow ow Enid! Claws!” He says and she lets go.

“I’m sorry! Sorry..” the two stand there, “I.. I’ve never gotten this far with a woman.” He admits. “What is, the next step?” He asks

“Oh. We should, uh...We should probably take it slow.” Enid says, and offers her hand, and he holds it.

“I can do.. slow.” He says with a smile, it quickly fades though, as Bianca comes in, spotting him.

“(Y/n)!” She says

“Yes? We Found the fools behind the prank..”

“No it’s not that!”

“What is it?”

“It’s your sister.. and Eugene.”

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

so like we're all aware of the uh absolute disaster of arrests related to the coronation, right? with the police arresting people for seemingly no reason at best?

anyone want to hear a first hand account of one of them? yeah?

well, let me introduce you to the group who were arrested in the middle of a seminar that was entirely unrelated to the coronation who were arrested by the metropolitan police with a rather surreal tangent about vegan breakfasts.

[Alt Text:]

‘It was utterly surreal’: police accused of farcical error after 14 arrested at seminar on day of coronation

Primary teacher and ex-civil servant were among those attending class. Here they recount what happened

Daniel Boffey Chief reporter, Sun 21 May 2023

“I felt that they knew by the time they had taken us to the station in the van that they had the wrong people,” said Lauren, 26, a medical writer in the pharmaceutical industry.

The post-coronation wash-up over the last fortnight has been marked by an array of surreal stories of bungled arrests, from the republican activists swept up by police for possession of luggage straps to the pro-monarchy Australian architect who had been simply seeking to enjoy a pleasant day out at Westminster Abbey.

It has been notable that in each of those cases, after intense media attention, the Metropolitan police has since admitted some regret and announced that no further action would be taken.

The group, almost entirely female or non-binary, aged between their mid-20s and late 60s and largely new to activism, let alone its more extreme manifestations, were arrested on suspicion of being a Just Stop Oil cell intent on disrupting the crowning of Charles III.

In reality, they had gathered in a small nondescript room in a rented work space in east London for a seven-hour seminar about the theory, history and practice of non-violent protest after expressing an interest in the social activist group Animal Rising, largely via its website.

They were put in minivans outside the building, with eight of the group taken to Brixton police station in south London and six to Stoke Newington in north London. Hillwood was sat in the vehicle for hour and a half before disembarking in Brixton. There was a further 90-minute wait outside the station before being checked in at the custody desk.

It was 4pm by the time Hillwood was led to her cell. She asked for her solicitor and was served a vegan “all day breakfast”. “It was literally beans,” Hillwood said. A solicitor advised her to offer no comment to the officers’ questions.

But when it came to his turn, Jenkins felt no such compunction. “I said my intention was to sit in an all day training course learn about non-violent protests, meet some new people and avoid the coronation.”

The group were let out late in the evening on bail pending further investigation. Those arrested have since tried to piece together what may have happened. They learned that Just Stop Oil had previously used the building for meetings, along with many other organisations.

The police had mentioned some placards lying around in part of the building, and some paint unconnected to the training. The truth, said Caitlin, was that it was a horrible bungle. Animal Rising is planning a civil case for wrongful arrest and imprisonment. “I want the police to drop it,” said Caitlin. “I want my phone and my watch back and I want this wiped from the police database.”

The Metropolitan police has declined to comment.

full article here

so little tl/dr: the metropolitan police essentially raided a 7 hour seminar that was unrelated to the coronation, and arrested 14 people on suspicion of being part of just stop oil and held them for over six hours because uh, well theyd rented the same room as just stop oil did one time and there was some signs i guess.

(side note on just stop oil; ive read a lot of conflicting information about them as activists and i honestly dont know if they are a real activist group or if its astroturfing. if anyone more educated on them wants to elaborate, please do.)

they were arrested “on suspicion of conspiracy to cause a public nuisance” because the police believed they intended to disrupt the coronation.

im not sure how they planned to do that since they were five miles away from it and in a seven-hour seminar, but who needs logistics or facts when you have a law that violates human rights.

theyre still being investigated now; the police still have caitlins phone; theyre out on fucking bail.

again, the police believe their part of just stop oil because they rented a room that anyone can rent and apparently they saw some signs and placards.

if you wrote "25 police officers mistakenly raid a seminar on non-violent protest as they believed them to be part of a conspiracy for renting a room" as satire, youd probably get the feedback or it being a little on the nose. but nope, this actually happened.