#I'd forgotten all the details :P

[aethersea]

hi hello I'm lurking the tags on that wuxia spiderman post and you said my sleeper agent activation phrase, "that show with all the badass women" - I don't suppose you remember enough identifying details for me to find it?

(the wuxia spiderman post)

I do! I watched it on Netflix, where it was called Handsome Siblings. it was extremely fun, but I do have to warn you that I watched this just after finishing The Untamed, which has like three women who all die tragically. so my standards were ROCK bottom.

however! this show begins with a helpless damsel revealing herself to be the biggest badass in this ambush, and then she and her husband are accosted by not one but TWO other badass women, and the three of them have a big showdown. they are totally fighting over a guy, but this was already more women onscreen at once than I was expecting. I was absolutely not prepared.

then we flash forward twenty years and meet our heroes, two brothers separated at birth who are traveling the land. one of them was raised by the martial sect of badass women, and he travels everywhere with two lady bodyguards who are cooler than you and will make sure you know it. the other promptly runs into a woman disguised as a man, who's got a deadly rivalry with another woman (not disguised as a man) and the two of them have a massive showdown. the woman disguised as a man joins our travels and becomes one of the major characters.

we hop between the brothers as they run into villains, heroes, people in need of aid, etc. many of these are women, and many of these women are stone cold badasses.

also, one of the brothers is nobly honorable in all his dealings, while the other is a conniving sneak who's just here for a laff. they're trying to kill each other. obviously I have a preference for the conniving sneak, but they're both a lot of fun to watch.

this show was adapted from a novel (or series of novels?), the one mentioned in the spiderman post, and I got the strong feeling throughout that the novel was full of Ye Olde Sexism, but the showrunners made a concerted effort to give all the women a personality and a spine and all that to fix it. but it's possible I'm wrong, and they were already cool! sometimes Ye Olde Feminism is a little hard to recognize when we don't have the historical context, and it's doubly hard when watching a modern adaptation, so really I wouldn't know. but wherever it is all these female characters get their, y'know, personality and moderately believable goals, it's a great time!

[cottoncandyswisherz]

tell me.

softdom!matt x exgf!reader

warnings: p n v, dirty talk, semi-public sex (in an office) a lil emotional

as i sat in the backseat of this car, driven by my driver, paul, i thought about everything i did to get here.

i thought about the people i left behind. my friends. people i called family. it pains me to know that they'll probably never forgive me. 

but nothing hurts more than thinking about matt. he stuck by my side through my senior year of high school. he loved me and i loved him. 

i loved him more than anything i've ever known. 

my biggest regret is listening to my fucking parents when they told me that he wasn't going anywhere. that his dream of being an influencer was unlikely to come true. i listened when they told that i should just go to howard and become a lawyer and forget all about him.

but i never forgot. how could i?

im jolted out of my thoughts when the car eases to a stop. 

its almost mechanical, the way i grab my brief case, and step out of the car, into the building and onto the elevator. 

im here to negotiate the terms of a brand deal between an influencer and my firms client, CHERRY LA.

who this person was, i had no idea. this wasnt my case. i'm just a associate. this client belonged to one of the partners who dumped it on me. 

again, im jolted out my thoughts when the elevator stops. i look up to see who's gonna be joining me and to make room for them but i freeze. 

my breath stalling in my chest. 

my heart does a quick double beat. 

here, in this small elevator, over a thousand miles from massachusetts, i find myself standing a foot away from the boy who changed my life. 

he doesn't look surprised. he doesnt look shocked. he looks pissed. 

"matt." i whisper his name.

in one quick movement, matt closes the gap between us. his hands come up to the sides of my face. he leans in, his bright blue eyes inches away from mine. i'd forgotten how bright his eyes were. i swore i'd memorized every detail about him, but- being this close again, feeling his heat again- is setting my body on fire.

"y/n." he growls my name. 

he leans in at the same time i push up onto my toes. our lips collide, his mouth is warm and soft and demanding. i grab onto the front of shirt, vaguely aware that the elevator doors have shut, and it feel like we're moving. 

matts hands slide around to the back of my head. his fingers gripping my hair. the tug is enough to tilt my head. taking instant advantage of the new angle, matts tongue slides against my bottom lip. i nip at him as he pulls my hair, causing me to groan. 

he presses against me, bringing our bodies flush. 

i'd missed him. missed his body. missed the way he makes me feel. 

when matt breaks the kiss, i realized that elevator has stopped, and the doors are sliding open again.  

he grabs my hand, intertwining our fingers, and pulls me out to follow him. the move has me flashing back to when he took me with his family to vermont and he was dragging me through the woods to show me the creek that he loved. his grip on my hand is now even more passionate than it was then.

i almost have to hog to keep up with his long strides, not sure where hes taking me. the lights are off, but i think we're on the top floor. the executive floor. where my meeting is. 

my meeting is in 20 minutes, but for him, im saying fuck the meeting, fuck the job, fuck the career, fuck the rest of the world. 

matt steps through an open door, pulling me with. he stops suddenly, turning back to face me. with his free hand he reaches out to slam the office door shut.

"where are we?" i ask.

"in a room with a lock. 

matt walks into me, using his body to press me against the door. 

i hear the click as he locks the handle. adrenaline surges through my body. i know what he wants. 

and i want it too. 

i let go of matts hand so i can use both of mine to push his jacket off his shoulders. he lets me, but as soon as it hits the floor he crowds back into my space. 

in a move i've only ever seen in movies, matt reaches down, grabs my hips, and lifts me. pinning me against the door with his body between my legs. my thighs automatically wrap around his waist. my arms around his neck. my mouth fusing to his. 

his hands are so large the nearly cover my entire ass as he grinds into me. matts mouth leaves mine, trailing open mouthed kisses down my throat. reaching my collar bone, he scrapes his teeth across my skin. the sensation sending a shiver straight to my core. 

pulling us away from the door, matt supporting all of my weight, he walks us across the room. i drop my lips to that hollow spot at the base of his throat and lick. 

"fuck, sweetheart." matt grinds the words out.

that name. that silly pet name he used on me seven years ago. i never realized how much i loved it until i wasnt hearing it anymore. i sink my teeth into the side of his neck. this boy- no this man, has turned me back into a 18 year old girl. being so close to him, all i feel is safety and desire. 

"why'd you leave me? why'd you run?" his questions rumble through my body. 

i shake my head against him. "if i didn't leave then, i'd still be there." 

a crack sounds throughout the room, accompanied by a sharp sting on my ass. 

i rear my head back. 

he narrows his eyes at me, daring me to talk back and get spanked again. "you didn't say bye." 

he stops walking and lets go of his hold on me. i only drop a few inches before i find myself sitting on top of a desk. 

he leans in close. "and you kept my clothes."

he hands start on my bare knees, and slide up my thighs, pushing my dress up as he goes. "tell me youre sorry." 

when i dont reply, he pinches my hip. 

i  startle and whisper, "im sorry." 

"good girl." he kisses me once more. brief but hard. 

pulling away from the kiss, he presses on my chest until im laid out on the desk. 

"i should bend you over this desk. fuck you from behind. pull you hair. smack your ass until its red. punish you for what you did." his breathing gets heavier with each word he bites out.

holy shit. the idea of getting punished has never turned me on before, but his filthy words have me soaked. 

matt steps from between my legs, undoes his belt, lowers his zipper then his pants. finally he releases his already hard cock. his pants, around his knees, he steps back between my spread thighs. 

i've never been an extremely sexual being, but the sight of him, long and hard and ready, has my mouth watering. 

"i should do that." he says. "but i want you like this. i want you watching me. seeing what you missed." 

he grabs my hips and pulls me until my bottom half is hanging off the desk. i reach up and grip the edge of the desktop above my head. if he steps away from me now, i'll slide off. 

matt groans as he pushes the skirt of my dress over my waist. "fuck sweetheart. look at you."

he runs a finger over my clothed core, demonstrating how wet my panties are.

with one hand he pulls the fabric to the side, revealing my pussy. with his other hand he strokes the tip of his dick up and down against my entrance. 

"tell me you want this." he demands.

i dont hesitate. "i want it. i want you."

matt pushed in one inch. "say it again."

i moan. "i want you. please. please!" im begging for him to fuck me.

he pushes in another inch. "tell me you thought of me. tell me youve thought of my cock inside you. stretching this perfect pussy." 

his voice is strained. hes trying to stay in charge. but i know hes close to losing it. 

i roll my hips up, trying to get him deeper. 

another smack sounds through the room. with my ass hanging off the desk he still has access to my bare skin.

"tell me." he growls.

"i've thought of you." i pant. "i couldnt stop thinking of you. matt, please." 

a change comes over his eyes. its small, but watching it happen was like watching a flower bloom in 3x speed. like he was opening himself up. i said exactly what he wanted, but he knew, it was exactly what i felt as well.

in one sudden move, matts lips crash against mine at the same he pushed his cock inside me. all the way to the hilt. in one hard thrust. the feeling of him filling me again, combined with the emotional wave of my confession, is too much. the sensation is too overwhelming. i cry out in shock and pain and pleasure. 

he pulls out, presses in, and just like that, im a puddle on this desk. my orgasm hits me like a slash of cold water, my breath leaving my body completely. 

im caged in. matts encasing me. one hand holding my face, his mouth mouth plundering mine, his other hand squeezing the back of my thigh. my body doesnt know whats going on. my pussy is throbbing with each thrust, matching matt. my minds so blurry i cant form words, and i think i have tears in my eyes. 

"fuck. y/n. fuck." matt buries his face in my curls. "you feel so good."

im lost in him. in this moment. in the experience. sense of time evades me, and i feel myself hanging on for dear life. i dont want it to ever end, but im afraid i wont survive another minute. 

his thrusts are getting slower. harder. his movements jerky. 

matt groans against my neck. "goddamn, you feel so fucking good." 

he slams into me hard. once, twice, then i feel his thumb on my clit. my body can't take it. i think i've been suffering from one long never-ending orgasm this whole time, but that doesn't stop my body from starting all over. i shatter. moaning loudly. clawing at matts shoulders. arching against his body. 

"thats it, sweetheart." one more thrust and matt stills. his body going tight. his groan of release filling my head. his actual release filling my cunt. 

he raises up and looks me dead in the eyes. im mesmerized by his blue orbs. so bright. full of hope and hurt. 

"im sorry, matt." i murmur, letting the tears fall. 

then a phone rings and we're brought back to reality. matt pulls out of me and i moan quietly. 

while he answered his phone i just lay there on the desk, trying to get myself together. 

"yeah nick, im on the way." i hear matt say, before hanging up and walking over to me. 

"i have to go, but we're gonna talk. i promise. i just have this meeting with this brand and chris really wants to team with them-"

"brand?" i ask. "what brand?" 

"CHERRY LA." he answered" "chris really like their clothes and we're here to negotiate the terms of our deal." now he's getting himself together, pulling his pants up and grabbing his jacket off the floor. 

"matt." he stops what he's doing. "im CHERRY's lawyer. your meeting is with me." 

he smiled. "of course it is. i made sure we only spoke to the best attorney in california."

niyah speaks i been watching suits teeew much guys. anyways new chapter for against all odds tonight!!!

remember that if no one loves you, mommy loves you (and my mommy i mean me)

taglist: @mattslolita

[loquaciousquark]

Cazador's Ritual Runes, Translated

Inner: AMPLIFY + HIM + FLOW + EMPOWR [sic] Middle: WE OFFER THE FORCE OF LIFE Outer: WE GATHER HERE TO INVOKE THE POWER OF BLOD [sic]

Mephistopheles can't spell for beans.

(Detailed analysis & conjecture regarding this text, the Rite of Profane Ascension, & Astarion's translated scars under the cut.)

The second ring was the easiest, as the characters are very similar to Latin letters and clearly read out "WE OFFER THE FORCE OF LIFE." Characters were now known for C, E, F, H, I, L, O, R, T, and W. It wasn't clear yet if there were cases.

I was struggling with the first ring, though after decoding the second, I could get a likely "_M_LIF_ + _IM + _LOW + EM_OWR". Guessing the character for P, Y, and A based on context gave me "AMPLIFY + _IM + _LOW + EMPOWR", but I had doubts over the first characters for words two and three. I suspected they would be HIM and FLOW, but the H and F characters didn't match the H from the second ring's "THE" or the F from "AMPLIFY". Also, "empower" was misspelled, which made me pause.

Abandoning those for a moment, the third ring mapped well onto "WE _ATHER HERE TO I__O_E THE _OWER OF _LO_". Ruling out known letters which were not present, I could guess "WE GATHER HERE TO I__O_E THE POWER OF _LO_", but again the P from "POWER" was not the same as the P from "AMPLIFY" in the inner ring. However, it was very, very similar, and nothing else fit, so I committed, now suspecting there were capital versions of some letters included in the text.

At this point I went digging for resources. I found a copy of an Infernal alphabet on the Forgotten Realms wiki, and while it looks like the typeface Larian used is a bespoke creation for the game rather than a 1:1 copy of this alphabet, the letters for lowercase G, N, K, B, and D were nearly identical. Y (from AMPLIFY) also matched perfectly, confirming that earlier guess. This gave a clear "WE GATHER HERE TO INVOKE THE POWER OF BLOD."

This resulted in: AMPLIFY + _IM + _LOW + EMPOWR WE OFFER THE FORCE OF LIFE WE GATHER HERE TO INVOKE THE POWER OF BLOD

Looking at the wiki for capital letters, the only ones I could find which might reasonably fit the _IM missing character (assuming the Larian alphabet was based off this wiki typography) were A, B, H, O, T, V, and Y. Of those choices, only AIM, HIM, TIM, and VIM were words, and as cheesy as Cazador is, I couldn't imagine him saying AMPLIFY TIM FLOW EMPOWR. Given the alternatives, HIM was the only choice which made sense.

I went through the same process for _LOW, but this character seems unmatchable to me. By far it looks the most like the E from the Infernal alphabet, with maybe a capital Y being a distant second. However, ELOW and YLOW are certainly not words, and absent all other comparatives, the character in question does resemble a fancy F. Barring other languages, FLOW with a capital or unique F fits best.

AMPLIFY + HIM + FLOW + EMPOWR WE OFFER THE FORCE OF LIFE WE GATHER HERE TO INVOKE THE POWER OF BLOD

I did double-check the texts available in Cazador's mansion just to make sure this hadn't been translated elsewhere (after I'd done all the work, of course), and the only written text of relevance is from the Black Mass scroll you find near Vellioth's skull. It reads:

The Rite of Profane Ascension Oh, piteous dead! Oh, ravenous dead! Immortality is your gift, but darkness is your prison and hunger its gaoler. The Rite of Profane Ascension will release you. Walk in the sun. Suffer not from hunger. Grow your power beyond anything you imagined. A pact has been made with the Lord of Hellfire. Deliver unto him seven thousand souls, each bearing an Infernal mark, and you shall be free of your chains. You shall know true power. Deliver the souls. Speak the words. Ecce dominus, Has animas offero in sacrificio, Nunc volo potestatem quam pollicitus es mihi.

The Latin translates (as best I can tell with my incredibly weak Latin) to:

Behold [the] Lord, I offer these souls in sacrifice, I want the power thou hast promised me.

Which is interesting, but not clearly mapped to the Infernal above. Then I started wondering what relationship Astarion's scars have with all this, but thankfully, someone else has done the work here!

Astarion's scars have been transcribed and translated in a wonderfully detailed Reddit post by northpaw_s in 2020, but the salient points are that they appear to be in a mishmash of mangled Latin and Romance languages ("Infernal") and read:

Hoyc inferiu non iurare per igneu Naec virba loquor Eoai mundo muoat

Which appears to roughly translate to:

This soul swears no oath by fire Nor words does he speak In the realm of death

This makes sense if it's a fragment of a contract. I suspect the other spawn's scars are all identical to Astarion's for game mechanics/development reasons, but it'd be wild if they did have minor differences to complete the rest of the phrases! I know the scars don't show on their backs they way they do on Astarion's outside of the moment of the ritual, but it really does make me wonder if there's a complete text of the poem in some writer's documentation somewhere.

Anyway, what did you do with your Thursday night?

[scekrex]

Prompt for Adam x reader !!(male ofc)

Don't really know how to go into big details about this, but y'know how in your NSFW fics Adam and the reader have this "red light green light" system? where one asks the other a color and if they say green then they're good to go? yeahbb

Maybe a situation where the reader says red? Like where they need to stop? (Maybe from it being too rough and it hurting? but not the good kind of hurt..) so it's like NSFW but turns into fluff!! (Also because I wanna see how Adam handles aftercare..)

anyway thank you, last night I read like ALL of your Adam fics im so SRS!! 😞😞😞 I love ur writing sm!!

(I'd add a silly Adam image but idfk how asks work so ...)

Okay so I feel like Adam would suck at providing comfort and aftercare in a verbal way, he just doesn't have the words to guide you through it verbally, so he does it physically. I hope ya like it xoxo/p

This hurts me like Heaven

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language, anal sex (in the beginning)

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

Adam pounded into you, rough, quick, there was no thought behind his eyes, not a single one that didn't scream ‘pleasure him, pleasure yourself’. His nails had broken the skin stretched over your hip bones a while ago, you didn't remember when, you were too zoned out. There was no mercy, not a single break and usually that was just fine by you, today though, today it very much wasn't. Why? You weren't quite sure yourself, it felt more painful, more intense, just more. In the most negative way possible.

The sound of his balls slapping against your ass over and over again which you normally liked, which normally came with pleasure and desire felt now bittersweet, you were enjoying it - well, you had been. Until it got too much. When that point had been reached you didn't remember, you had zoned out when the pain became too overwhelming at first, you had thought it would go away eventually. It didn't. It became unbearable, too painful, too quick.

“Stop,” you cried out as your face scrunched up in pain and you tried to pull your body away from the uncomfortable feeling that was causing many things but most definitely not pleasure. “Adam, stop,” you whined again, yet the man on top of you didn't stop and you couldn't blame him, stop never meant stop, stop usually meant ‘keep going’, ‘please, more' and ‘this feels good'. And given the pleasuring high the first man must've been on, you couldn't be mad at him for not recognizing your discomfort. He was too caught up in his own feelings, his own pleasure and your words didn't really indicate that you seriously wanted to stop and while your tone was filled with pain, it was also soaked with lust that started to wear off.

“Adam, red,” that got the brunette to stop immediately, he stared down at you as the clouds lifted from his golden eyes and his vision seemed to clear from the foggy lust that had occupied his mind. His confused frown shifted to something softer as he was quick to pull out of you yet gentle when he lifted your legs from his shoulders. Yes, there was a code word for when it got too much, but neither of you had ever used it before so the first man was quite overwhelmed on how he was supposed to handle the situation - the fact that he was still as hard as you were, was completely forgotten. “Are you-” he didn't finish the question, too afraid of your answer, too afraid that he had fucked up, that you would leave like everyone else had done. His mind was telling him that this was it - you had called out red and now you were never to have sex with him again. The look on his face said it all and you didn't like it, that's why you had code words, that's why you had red as a safe word. It was not like you had cried out red and he had continued to hurt you, no, the exact opposite was the case so why was he feeling bad? Well, simply because deep down inside, this man was very insecure.

You grabbed him by his neck and pulled him down, you felt how his arms and legs gave out and how he simply let himself collapse on top of you - that position didn't last long though, he was quick to roll himself over so that you were the one laying on his chest instead of the other way around. It eased the pain a little, the comfort your partner was providing felt like fluffy clouds that filled your brain, like a high that only Adam could give you, a high that took all the worries you had and threw ‘em away for as long as he held you. “You did fucking well, babes,” he hummed softly as he buried his face in your hair and wrapped his wings around you like a secure blanket that not only gave you comfort, but also pulled him closer against Adam's chest. “Did so fucking amazing by telling me that,” he added quickly, a soft kiss was pressed against the top of your head and you closed your eyes for a moment. The pain still lingered heavy in your body, the pain and the shock equally. You didn't move, couldn't move, but you embraced the warmth Adam offered so dearly. “I-” the word was barely audible, so quietly spoken that even you missed it, only Adam knew it had been spoken at all, a quick, “Fuck,” followed. You felt his body trembling, felt how his grip on you tightened, how he pulled you closer to his chest. He hadn't meant to hurt you, hadn't meant for it to go as far as it did. He knew you would brush it off later, and would tell him that that was what safe words are there for, but to Adam it was different. To him this meant that he had screwed up, that he had ignored your body language and had continued anyway even though your discomfort had been very visible. And yet this wasn't about you comforting him because of his overthinking, this was about him comforting you because he overstepped. And fuck, he was bad at providing comfort. Talking you through it he could technically do but his words failed him, they always did when it came to offering you comfort. He wasn't good with words, never had been.

So instead, he provided comfort with his actions, he kept you close, your head rested on his chest, you looked stressed and peaceful at the same time and while Adam thought it looked cute, it also made him worry. Your breathing was steady though, so that was one good thing. Your body was slowly calming down. Good, that was good. His wings remained wrapped around your body, your own wings had done the same thing, they had come up to wrap around you, to shield you away. One of the first man's hands gently petted the soft feathers of your wings as he started to hum a soothing tune. Oh how you loved that tune he hummed. His other hand traced the little gap between your wings on your back up and down, leaving his scent all over you.

Slowly your wings withdrew, exposing your body to Adam as he continued to hum that certain tune you enjoyed so much, when your eyes met his, it was love that looked down on you, non-verbal but love. You offered him a small and weak looking smile, that smile was met by an unsure one. You snuggled against his chest without a word being spoken, letting him know that you were okay for as long as he would hold you, so he continued to do so.

[velvet-paradox]

Naughty

Fandom: Call of Duty Pairing: Keegan P. Russ x Female reader Length: Medium Summary: You like your man a little mean and he obliges. Warnings: NSFW 18 + ONLY, reader discretion advised, established relationship, name calling (dumb, dummy, toy, slut), strong language, porn with very little plot, a lot of brain rot going on here friends, light slapping (but not painful), oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, dirty talking, detailed smut. P.S. I may or may not have a lovi obsession just sayin'. OK BYE Tagging: @synnersaint

She likes it when he's mean.

When he comes home hot and still full of spit and vinegar. Says it turns her on to get a little kaleidoscope glimpse in to what his enemies get the full taste of. Of course he's never truly mean to her, how could he? He loves his little dummy back home. With her glittering eyes and open arms, waiting patiently for him mission after mission. Her hugs are the best. Welcoming him home, where he belongs, even if he does reek of gun residue, sweat and gore.

Blood doesn't bother her, whether it be her own or Keegan's, she's not shy with the sticky stuff. She's cleaned his wounds with bare hands and when she's finished she's got more dirt and grime under her nails then he did. She's even stitched his forehead once or twice, much to his disapproval even though when he chances a look in the mirror, he can barely see the scars.

She's good.

Too good.

Too good for him, she doesn't deserve the junk and turmoil he brings to her doorstep. Wounds that won't heal, scars that won't fade. But he tries. He tries to be a good man when he's not running point, when he's not given instructions to just barrel through and get the job at hand, done. Keegan wants to be a good man; good enough to deserve you.

He looks at your photo when he's alone in his tent, on the road, in the helo. When the world is just too fucking loud, he's careful to take it out of his front left breast pocket (safe keeping of course), looking at your beautiful handwriting first.

FROM ONE DUMMY TO ANOTHER XOXO

He'll smile at it, beneath his ghost balaclava or bare and streaked when he's all alone, before he'll turn it over. Still after these tedious months, he gets that tingle in the pit of his stomach, the ends of his toes, the balls of his feet, the seam where God himself split his sac.

You don't have to be naked to look this fucking good. In fact, you're fully clothed, only your soft hands are available, giving two peace signs on the back of his motorcycle. Two of his most precious guilty pleasures.

"Come on, come on." Your whine cuts through the forgotten music in the background, the faint smell of a homecooked meal wafts up the stairs and renders the man completely useless.

Keegan is transfixed at the leash in his hand, the black leather is soft and worn in his palm, the chain clinks quietly when he moves his wrist and finally looks down. Stunned once more by your beauty. On your knees in a lacy one piece, slinky at best, leaving just a hint of peek-a-boo skin through the fine material. The leash is of course attached to the collar around your neck, next thing he sees is your wiggling, hips swaying as if you had a tail, sticking out your tongue in a lewd and obscene manner.

"You said we were gonna' play," you pouted as Keegan smiled down at your desperation. Distance did make the heart grow fonder and stitched your desires back together. "Don't you wanna' play with me?"

"Of course I do baby," Keegan pet your pretty face, humming when you nuzzled against his palm. "I'm just trying to figure out which hole I'd rather stretch out tonight."

The gasp and look in your eyes hit him straight in the groin, knowing damn he'd never sunk into that tight ring of muscle as of yet. You'd need preparation, time and training of course and more than just spit as lube.

Keegan shuffled and wound the chain around his thick fist, drawing you up on your knees. "You wanna' play? Let's play."

….

Your noises are music to his ears, long forgotten are the spraying bullets and shouts of commands, what's left, the only sounds that matter are of desire. Not too long ago were you taunting him from over your shoulder. He forced you to stand, about face, hands on the wall as he kicked your legs open. Biting his tongue at the way you arched your back and made your ass jiggle, pushing back against him as he tried to remain as still as possible. Which wasn't easy.

You never took it easy it on Keegan, he was a man of war. As much as you'd tease him, make that pretty noise when you wanted something badly enough to vocalize it, he'd lose his composure. Keeping the balaclava on just a little longer until he couldn't take it anymore.

He tossed you to the bed after that stunt, crawling over you, the clips of his fresh gear snagging on the lace as he covered your mouth with one hand, pinned your hip down with the other and stared into your fluttering eyes.

"You sound so good baby, so damn needy for me. You can hardly stand it, huh? Look at you, already moaning like a slut for me, just for me right? No one else."

You shook your head frantically, mumbling behind his palm until he lifted it away from your lips. "What's that, pet?"

"No one. No one else, I promise. Just you," you licked his hand sensually, keeping your eyes on his face as you laid back down. "I only want you to slut me out."

Keegan chuckled lowly with a nod of approval, pinching your side. "Good girl. Now just keep letting me know how good you feel, yeah? 'm gonna' keep going until you're shaking, making a fucking mess, is that understood?"

Your enthusiastic face made him hard.

Keegan ripped off his mask and got down on his knees, dipping the bed with his weight. He delighted in your squeals and giggles, fitting your legs over his shoulders, licking his lips when he realized the only the thing separating his mouth from your pussy was a pair of flat snap buttons.

Now listen, Keegan is no slouch when it comes to eating pussy. He knows what he's doing. If there were a (pun intended) eating contest, there would be a trophy case decorated with a few honorable medals as well.

The first time he tasted you, you almost broken his nose, bucking up hard into his face. You apologized repeatedly but Keegan just laughed it off, saying that would be the best excuse for his twice broken nose already. He licked his name against your clit. Letter by letter, shapes and swirls as he claimed your cunt.

K was a pointed tongue slashed against the hooded nub, the first E was gentle and flat tongued, the other E was followed by a slow and deliberate suck, G was a sloppy swirl and A and N were hummed to a tune of his own making.

Your hands moving to brush back his hair felt so damn good on his scalp, panting and wiggling for him. It had been two weeks too long. "Please baby that's it, that's it." Your voice was already fucked.

"I know you fucking love it," Keegan grunted against your sex, taking a moment to grace your slick folds with the bridge of his nose, chuckling lowly when you keened. "You just fucking love it when I devour you whole, don't you? Yes you do, tastes so fucking good."

When Keegan got lost in the sauce there was no telling just what he'd say, what string of commands or obscenities he'd loop together in some sensual tapestry that left you breathless.

"Yeah? I taste good?"

Keegan lifted his head, remnants of black grease paint over his pretty eyes looked up at you from between your legs, making them tremble in his grip. "You taste divine, princess."

With that, Keegan brought you to the edge, licking and sucking, toying with your cunt when he tagged in his fingers to join in the fun, those thick fingers breached your hole and stretched you out over and over until you begged. Sobbed for him to let you cum, that you couldn't hold it back any longer and oh how did Keegan love it when you begged!

"Come on sweetie, you can do better than that. Turns me on when you do it…. so fucking beg."

He licked your arousal from his fingers, making an absolute show of it too. "Good job, baby. You did such a good job for me." Keegan groaned as you panted to catch your breath, laid out and limber. He could throw you over his shoulders if he wanted, flip you over with ease, your limp body just going through the motions. Keegan could (and has) had you in every position possible and some that required a bit of technical work, a little fine tuning, angling his hips just so, holding your neck or lacing your fingers together.

Keegan is a man of many talents, in and out of the bedroom as he shifts and takes off his belt-- one handed. Your glassy eyes shine in the dim light from the room, predatory as you drink him in while he undresses.

Your hands are on his waist, burning hot before gives a gentle pat to the outside of your thigh, rolling you over on to your stomach. Sometimes he can't help himself and he gets this primal surge deep in his groin to obliterate you, break you, fuck you raw and stupid until you're a sloppy little mess of limbs and cum.

The smacks to your ass are deliberate and you raise up only to be pushed back down, Keegan grunted at you to keep still, to spread your legs, keep that one bent, just like that.

Keegan edges himself, rock hard in his hand as you dips just the crown of it around the base you, still wet. That bit of pre-cum on the tip is enough to wiggle between your cheeks with ease.

You shudder when he does that thing you like.

His spit slips between you, another glob of it makes it a sound leaving his mouth and hitting his shaft.

"Jesus Keegan, fuck me already. I need it."

"Oh I've got just what you need you dumb little pet," he grabs the leash, tugging on the chain as you pull on the sheets. "Whose my dumb little girl, huh? Is it you, baby? Are you my dummy girl?"

"Fuck. Yes."

Keegan yanks on it, jerking your head back. "Say it. I wanna' hear you say it."

Fuck; he's throbbing.

"I'm your dumb little girl. Just so fucking-- God that feels so good... I'm so dumb, so dumb for your cock, baby. Please."

"Good job." Keegan cooed and then thrusted in deep. "Let's slut you out then, yeah?"

….

God you're pretty. Clawing at the sheets as he fucks you through another orgasm. The clanking, your moans and body bending, arching into his touch like a needy cat. Pet me pet me pet me.

"Baby please," you paw at him, sentences die on your tongue, failing to make it out of the column of your throat. "I'm gonna' cum again." Now on your back with your knees pretty much to your chest, rocking on his cock with his momentum, the leash pulled skin tight.

"Awww of course you are. I can feel you squeezing me, my dumb little girl is getting her pretty little hole fucked out. You're so fucking hot," Keegan moaned out, he dragged a hand down his face, salt and sweat, paint staining his hands before he smeared it over your chest. He's marked you in a number of ways but to see you marked like this, with his mystery always got him going.

"Just like that-- ha!" you drawled, an almost pained 'oh my God' seeped into the air behind clenched teeth. Keegan mimicked you instantly, keeping his hand pressed between your tits. "I'm gonna' cum again, don't stop!"

Keegan's chuckle held desire and humor, fitting one of your legs over his shoulder, smearing his face against your calf. He was tempted to take a bite, too. Those intrusive thoughts always got the better of him.

"You think I could ever stop fucking this pussy, huh? Fuck yeah, squeeze around me again baby. You're such a good girl for me," Keegan was rewarded by his own praise when you leaned up to watch him split you open, spit on your pussy and fuck you harder.

What can I say? The man has stamina.

"Oh my God! Keep going keep going, fuck."

Your legs started to shake the minute Keegan's thumb met your swollen bundle of nerves, throbbing around his cock, crying out for more more more, that you couldn't take it. You came with a whine, sobbing with your release that flooded around the base of his cock. Keegan growled and gave it, chomping down the sensitive meat of your leg.

"Good job, baby. You look so fucking cute when you cum, when you're all brain dead," Keegan hissed through his teeth and pinned you down, heavy hands on your knees as he spread you open. "Open up for me, let me finish inside you. Gonna' fuckin' fill you up, two weeks is bullshit. Stay awake baby," he gently slapped your face in quick succession, jerking your chin to make you look at him and only him. "Don't get all dizzy on me now dummy, you've got some more dick to take."

She's really going to get it now...

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter XVIII.

GIF by joelsteinfeld

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: Things come to a head during the full moon.

WORD COUNT: ~14.2k

RATING: 18+ Explicit topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: angst, very brief slut shaming, not one but two confrontations, fist fiiight, gun violence, light descriptions of gore, religious imagery, character death (not main so y'all can breathe), more of that crime stuff, smut, p in v sex, fluff i think, if there's typos/grammatical errors just pretend that there's not, other things that i'm probably forgetting.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: strap in you guys, this emotional rollercoaster is... something! i'm in the process of moving so updates will be slowwww <3 as always feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

Leaving her proves to be difficult the following morning. The rain continues its steady rhythm outside, a drizzle now compared to the torrential downpour of the previous night. Javier hadn’t expected to fall asleep, especially not through the entirety of the night. It’s been so long since he’s slept without being plagued by nightmares or restlessness.

Something about her presence softens the sharp edges of his anxieties. With her in his arms, he finds a peace he hasn’t known in years, and now he doesn’t want to go another night without her by his side.

He leans in closer, his lips brushing softly against her bare shoulder, savoring the warmth of her skin one last time before he carefully begins to slide out of bed. He’s done this before— quiet exits in the early hours of the morning— but this time feels different, like he’s leaving behind a piece of himself.

As he moves, Paloma stirs slightly, and he freezes, unwilling to disturb her slumber. His eyes drift to the plush snake he had won for her at the fair, now lying forgotten on the floor. The sight of it tugs at something deep inside him, a small smile playing on his lips.

So, he grabs it from where it fell off her bed and lets it replace his spot next to her, hoping that it’s enough to make up for his absence. 

After redressing, he makes his way to the bedroom door. He pauses just before leaving, casting one last lingering look over his shoulder. His eyes trace the outline of her form beneath the sheets, admiring, before seeing his way out. 

The house is still, save for the gentle patter of rain against the windows. The grandfather clock in the hall ticks softly, its hands edging closer to six in the morning. He lets out a slow breath, his steps careful and quiet as he enters the room he was originally supposed to stay in to grab his duffel so he can get ready for the day.

Throughout his morning routine, Javier’s thoughts are consumed by Paloma. He stands under the warm stream of the shower, amazed at how she can take the discomfort of being exposed and vulnerable and transform it into something he’s no longer hesitating to embrace.

The barriers that once fortified around his heart seem pointless now, as all he wants is to let her in— to let her glimpse into his tumultuous mind with the hopes that she’s able to quiet it down. 

As he shaves and brushes his teeth, his mind drifts to the possibility of bringing her home to Laredo. He can already picture her there, fitting in as if she’s always belonged. Her southern twang and radiant smile charming everyone instantly. He imagines the way her golden heart would win over his gossipy aunts, and he can almost hear his cousins’ teasing jabs about Javi bringing home someone way too pretty to be with him.

And Chucho— he’d probably insist that his son make an honest woman of her before someone else tries to sweep her off her feet.

He realizes then, with startling clarity, that he has no intention of letting her go. It’s enough to make his pulse quicken, love blooming in his chest with an intensity that does scare him just a little.

He finishes buttoning up his uniform shirt and catches his reflection in the mirror. A scoff escapes him, “How about you date her first before jumping the gun,” he mutters under his breath, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he clasps his silver watch around his wrist. It’s both a chastisement and a reminder to pace himself, even though his heart is already racing far ahead.

As soon as he steps out of the bathroom, the smell of freshly brewed coffee pulls him toward the kitchen, where he finds Romeo leaning casually against the island, still in his sleepwear, a steaming mug in hand. The sight of him in such a relaxed state shouldn’t make Javi nervous but it does.

That’s just what happens when you harbor secrets.

“Morning.”

“Mornin’. You get some rest?” Romeo replies, his tone easy and conversational.

Some of the best goddamn sleep I’ve gotten in years he thinks but Javier just nods, “I did. Thanks for letting me stay the night. It got pretty rough.” A double entendre that threatens to pull him into inappropriate memories— the way Paloma’s mouth had felt on his cock, the sound of her soft gags, the perfect arch of her back as he fucked her. The images flash vividly in his mind, tempting him to lose focus.

This is not the time, not with her dad standing just a few feet away, unaware of the perverse thoughts swirling inside Javier’s head.

He sets his bag down by the entryway, trying to push the tantalizing recollections aside as he engages with the sheriff, hoping his face doesn’t betray what’s really on his mind.

“No problem. Didn’t bother me none, I was out like a fuckin’ light the second my head hit the pillow.” he rasps, sliding a mug over to Javier.

They chat about their plans for the day, the conversation flowing easily until Romeo excuses himself to get ready. With his drink in hand, Javier steps out onto the front porch, leaning against one of the wooden pillars. He gazes into the distance, where the rain has settled into a gentle mist and the morning sun remains hidden behind a shroud of gray clouds.

Upstairs, Paloma stirs awake, the familiar plush clutched to her chest.

But no Javier.

His absence, while expected, still hits a sore spot in her heart. Yet, as the memories of their passionate night together flood her mind, they balm that ache, warming her from the inside.

A soft smile curves her lips as she recalls the way his hands had felt on her body, the stretch of him inside of her, and the other phantom sensations of their lovemaking that still linger.

She shifts slightly, rubbing her thighs together in a futile attempt to quell the lingering stirrings of desire he manages to elicit. It’s annoying how effortlessly he can provoke her without being anywhere near.

Then she feels the soreness between her legs and at her shoulders from him pinning her hands behind her back while he ruthlessly took her.

She rolls over, pressing her nose into the pillow he slept on, and inhales deeply. The faint scent of his cologne lingers there, and she hums softly in contentment. 

Wanting to catch him before he leaves, Paloma tosses off the blanket, her naked form exposed to the cool morning air. She stretches luxuriously, a small grunt escaping her lips as she feels the delightful tension in her muscles. Her first impulse is to throw on his flannel, but with her dad still around, she decides against it. 

Instead, she makes her way to the dresser, choosing a more appropriate outfit. After freshening up in the bathroom, she takes the stairs two at a time, her heart racing with anticipation.

She hears the sound of the shower running, but it fades into the background as she spots his silhouette through the screen door. The sight sends a thrill through her, and she bites her lip, struggling to contain the broad smile that threatens to spread across her face.

The door creaks softly as she pushes it open. Javier, expecting to see Romeo, turns his head. The moment his eyes land on her, an electric jolt has him straightening up. His entire body responds to her presence.

“Good morning, officer,” she purrs, closing the door behind her. Leaning against the pillar opposite him, she lets her gaze shamelessly trace over his uniform-clad figure.

Her eyes linger on the authoritative stance that makes him look so irresistibly manly and commanding. Now that she’s had a taste of him, all Paloma can think about is how she’d love to drop to her knees and indulge him whenever he’s around.

“Miss Leighton,” Javier acknowledges with a slight jut of his chin, lifting his steaming mug to his lips. The move hides the small, knowing smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Maintaining a façade of casual indifference, she asks, “Did you have a good night?”

Javier’s eyes narrow, just slightly, as he glances toward the house, checking for any potential eavesdroppers. “Decent,” he replies, keeping up the pretense, the tension between them already winding tighter.

Paloma’s tongue flicks across her teeth, her eyebrow arching. “Yeah, that bed in there ain’t exactly the most comfortable.”

A few seconds of charged silence stretch between them before she pushes off the pillar, closing the distance. “What time did you end up leaving?” she asks, tone soft, trailing her finger slowly down the center of his chest. She gazes up at him through thick, fluttering lashes, her touch light but electrifying.

“Six.”

Her heart stutters as she processes his words, realizing he spent the entire night with his arms wrapped around her. “Really?”

Javier nods, captivated by the way her eyes seems to hold him in a spell. She licks her lips as she leans up to place a quick, teasing peck on his. The fleeting contact serves as a clever distraction as she deftly snatches the drink from his hand and steps back, taking a sip, her face scrunching up in disgust as the bitter taste hits her tongue.

She quickly hands it back to him. “Ew, of course you drink yours black. You could try not being such a cliché,” she teases with a playful grimace. Javier exhales a soft laugh through his nose, shaking his head.

He uses the exchange to pull her back into his embrace, setting the mug on the thick wooden railing of the porch. “Don’t be mean, sweetheart,” he murmurs, kissing her properly, one hand cupping her cheek and the other on her waist.

She sighs against his lips, butterflies in her gut fluttering and she might lift her leg like in the movies. His kisses are so thrilling, so perfect, that she reluctantly pulls away before things get heated and she has him reenacting the first wet dream she ever had about him— the one where he fucked her right here on this porch.

“Am I going to see you today?” Her mouth is already forming a disappointed pout, as if she knows the answer before he even replies.

“Unfortunately no,” his thumb gently brushes over her full bottom lip, “Trust me, I don’t like it either but we’re busy as hell.”

She kisses his thumb, “What y’all got goin’ on?”

“Helping clear roads all morning. There are still people in town without power, and they don’t expect to fix it for a few more days, so we’re checking in to make sure everyone’s okay.” He explains, squeezing her hip in a reassuring gesture.

“And tonight?”

Javier’s face reflects the weight of the responsibility he carries. “It’s a full moon tonight. After we wrap up in town, I’m hauling all the case files from my place to the station. I need to prep for a big debrief with all the officers in the county. We’ll be patrolling as soon as curfew starts. If I’m right— he’ll be out tonight.” He pauses, letting out a long, steady breath, his resolve palpable. “I want to catch this motherfucker so bad.”

Paloma hears the steely determination in his voice and nods in understanding. “Y’all will. Been workin’ so hard on this, honey. Even if it’s not tonight or tomorrow or whenever; you’re doin’ the best you can.”

He offers her a small smile, one that she mirrors with a tenderness of her own. They lean in at the same time, their lips meeting in a gentle kiss. “Thank you, nena,” he mutters. “You gonna be at home all day?”

“Yeah, with the weather and curfew tonight, I’d rather just stay in,” she answers, “I’ve got some stuff to work on, too.” She’s been writing about him. Inspiration struck her unexpectedly, as it often does, and she’s been refining his song ever since. She wonders if he’ll like it, and if his reaction to her playing the piano was any indication, she feels optimistic.

Javier is relieved to hear that she’ll be safe and at home. “Good. I’ll call you when I can to check in.”

“And I’ll be waiting by the phone, very eager to answer on the first ring.”

She giggles, scrunching her nose habitually and he swears he can feel his heart swell so big that it almost erupts out of his chest. “If I don’t end up getting home too late,” his voice drops to a lower, more seductive timbre, “maybe we can revisit one of those sexy little phone calls again?”

Her breath catches at the sultry tone, a faint throbbing sensation stirring between her legs, despite the soreness, and she squeezes her thighs together. “Absolutely,” she breathes out, hell— she’ll stay up just to have his voice in her ear, directing her to touch herself.

As if drawn by the magnetic pull of their shared desire, his hand slips boldly from her waist, descending to cup her ass before giving it a light, playful spank. The gesture makes her flush with excitement.

“Great, now let me grab my stuff before your dad comes out here and sees me all over you like this,” Javier says, his voice teasing but edged with urgency.

She gives him one last kiss, pulling away, her eyes following him as he retrieves the mug, finishing off the last sip of coffee then head inside.

As anticipated, Romeo appears not a second later, dressed and ready to tackle the long ass day they have ahead.

“Hey sweetheart,” her dad places a kiss to the top of her head, descending the porch steps, “Dunno when I’ll be home. Got a lot goin’ on today. I’ll have the phone on me at all times if you need anythin’, ‘kay?”

She nods, smiling at him, “Be careful.”

“Always.”

Javier comes out shortly after, his hand discreetly brushing against hers as he passes, a final, sweet touch until he’s able to make time for her again. The sound of their footsteps fades as they move down the driveway, leaving Paloma standing alone on the porch.

Determined to keep herself occupied, she turns and heads back inside once they’re gone, feeling his absence keenly. The memory of his touch, the warmth of his kiss, and the promise of their next encounter weave through her thoughts, making it a challenge to concentrate.

Yet, she remains resolute, channeling her energy into her work, each note of the song a testament to the feelings she has for him.

All eyes are on Javier as he stands before the gathered crowd. The small sheriff’s department is packed, not just with his own officers but with personnel from surrounding towns, each of them united by a single, pressing goal. Whether they’ll achieve this goal tonight is uncertain, but it’s better to act decisively than to remain idle, waiting for something to happen.

He wraps up his briefing, his voice steady as he delivers the final instructions. The room buzzes with a tense energy as the officers disperse, each heading off to prepare for the night ahead. The rain outside continues, a literal reminder of the metaphorical storm that they’re up against. He hopes the weather won’t deter their assailant; but criminals with such precise, obsessive patterns rarely stray from their habits, rain or shine.

Thanks to the extra helping hands, the files from Rome have been organized and filed away, leaving Javier with a rare sense of order. He walks over to his desk, where a lone manila folder sits. It contains the remnants of his surveillance on August and his group, back when they were his prime suspects in the investigation.

They’re an odd bunch, and the deeper he dug into their past, the more their story seemed to make sense. Misfits who grew up in the worst parts of their hometown, subjected to abusive or neglectful parents. Their rebellion was almost predictable— an inevitable backlash against the suffocating piety they were born into.

There is something off about them, something that sets off alarm bells in Javier’s mind. But despite his instincts, he could never find anything that linked them to the crimes that have haunted this corner of Texas.

For a long time, Javier wrestled with the idea of coincidences, aware of his tendency to chase them down just to fit his narrative. He knew that this bad habit often undermined his hard work, leading him down paths that wasted precious time and energy. This folder, filled with days wasted and dead ends, is a tangible reminder of that flaw.

But he likes to think he’s gotten better about that. Better at not being so reactive right off the bat.

Amidst the photos of the three young adults, there are a few that stand out and make his stomach twist. Paloma, caught in the frame, August’s hands all over her, sitting on his motorcycle, a joint between her fingers. He had considered bringing them in for the drug use alone, but he knew that making a move, especially during that rough patch with her, would have done more harm than good.

There’s no reason for him to hold onto this anymore; the folder likely got lost in the shuffle, buried beneath a mountain of others that he hadn’t had the time or energy to sort through until today. He’s set on shredding its contents when his phone rings.

Reaching to unclip it from his utility belt, he brings it up to his ear.

“Peña.”

“I didn’t call at a bad time, did I?” Her voice is like honey and he loses composure for a second.

“Hold on, baby.”

Setting the folder aside, Javier glances around the busy workspace before slipping away. He walks down the hallway, making a quick left into the interrogation room.

“Palomita, you okay?” Javier asks, a hint of concern creeping into his voice. He’s a little confused as to why she’s calling. Not that he minds— he never does— but his first instinct is to worry that something might be wrong.

“Just fine, cowboy. I’m bored… ‘n missin’ you, s’all.” Her soft drawl seeps through the line, melting him entirely.

He scratches at his brow with his thumb, trying to play it cool. “Missin’ me already? I just saw you this morning,” he teases, a grin pulling at the corner of his lips as her airy laugh dances through the phone.

“Pathetic, I know.”

He hums thoughtfully. “If you think that’s pathetic, then I’d hate to hear how you feel about me missin’ you all the time.”

“Oh, that’s just pitiful ‘n wretched. I’m disgusted, really.” He hears her shuffling and wonders what she’s doing. If she’s laying in her bed, twirling the phone cord around her pretty little finger or if she’s leaning against the wall with her lip between her teeth.

“So, you just called to tell me you miss me and then to chastise me. Got it,” he quips, though her laugh— bright and genuine— makes his chest ache in the best way.

“As flattering as this all is, sweetheart, I hate to leave you but we’re getting ready to head out. Your dad is waiting for me.”

He can almost see the downturn of her lips when she responds, “Okay. Just wanted to call before I didn’t hear from you for ‘nother three to five business days.”

“I promise to take you out again soon. Maybe this time I’ll actually get to fuck you in the bed of my truck.”

“Oh, please don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I’ll follow through, don’t worry that pretty little head of yours, alright?”

A few more teasing exchanges pass between them, her giggle ringing in his ears like a melody he never wants to end. When she finally lets him go, there’s a noticeable lift in his mood.

She just has that way about her— making him feel like he’s carrying a piece of her warmth with him wherever he goes.

Javier heads back to the others, his mind still lingering on the sound of her voice. He’s ready to dive into the action, to focus on the task ahead—but then, without warning, a powerful force slams him into the wall.

The impact knocks the breath out of him, his shoulder searing with pain as he struggled to regain his footing. It’s Romeo, his face twisted in rage, and before Javier can react, his fist connects with his jaw, sending a sharp pain radiating through his skull. The taste of blood floods his mouth as his lip splits open, and the world seems to tilt for a moment, the sounds around him dulling to a low roar.

“You think you can fool around with my daughter after I’ve been nothin’ but fuckin’ nice to you? Let you into my town after all your shit in Colombia?” His voice is a guttural snarl, laced with betrayal and fury. He doesn’t wait for an answer, his hand gripping Javier’s collar and shoving him harder against the wall. “I welcomed you into my home, and this is how you repay me?”

The room falls into a stunned silence, the officers who had been preparing for the patrol now frozen, their eyes wide as they watch the two men— men who have been working tirelessly side by side for months— erupt into violence. Some of them move forward, trying to pull the sheriff off Javier, but he’s like a man possessed, shaking off their attempts to restrain him.

“I knew somethin’ was goin’ on but I refused to believe it could be this. Never thought you’d screw around with her. Not after I entrusted you to look after her! I practically handed her to you on a silver fuckin’ platter!”

Javier’s own anger flares in response, his hands coming up to shove Romeo away, but not with the same force. He knows he should keep his mouth shut and take it. He shares some blame in this mess, but the words spill out before he can stop them. “I’ll admit I fucked up, but I’m not going to stop seeing her.” This sends the other man lunging forward but he manages to swiftly dodge him. “She’s a grown-ass woman that can make her own decisions— be with whoever she wants. Do whatever she wants.”

Romeo’s eyes blaze with an almost feral intensity at the back talk, and he lunges again, fists flying, and this time, they collide with Javier’s ribs, causing him to grunt in pain. The scuffle is a mess of limbs and rocketing emotion, the room filled with the sound of grunts, curses, and frantic shouts of the officers trying to pull them apart.

It isn’t until the sheriff shoves Javier hard against his desk that the chaos comes to a sudden halt. The force of the push sends the lone folder on the desk flying, its contents spilling out in a haphazard mess onto the floor.

For a split second, everything seems to freeze as the photos flutter down like damning evidence, landing face up for everyone to see.

Hs daughter, in those compromising, intimate poses with August. The silence is deafening as Romeo’s gaze zeroes in on the pictures, his expression shifting from rage to something far darker and unreadable.

His face twists in disgust, leaning down to collect it all before turning on his heel and storming out of the building, shoving past anyone in his way. The door slams behind him with a thunderous crash that echoes in the shocked silence.

Javier stands there, chest heaving, blood leaking from his lip. The officers around him are still, their eyes shifting between him and the door the sheriff had just disappeared through. 

“We leave in ten minutes.” Javier announces roughly. They listen to him instantly, snapping back into what they were doing before the scuffle broke out.

He reaches for the phone, dialing the Leighton home number, his heart pounding in his chest.

Ring.

“Come on, come on…”

Ring.

“Pick up, fuck. Please…”

But there’s nothing. Just the monotonous drone of an unanswered call. His grip tightens around the plastic, dread curling in his chest. At least their relationship is out in the open now; if there’s a silver fucking lining to this mess, he supposes that’s it. 

He calls her a few more times with no luck.

She’s lost in her own world, pacing the porch with her headphones snug over her ears, her eyes closed as she lets the music wash over her. The rhythm guides her steps, mind drifting far away from herself.

The sheriff’s truck skids to a halt in front of the house, wet gravel crunching under the tires. He doesn’t even bother shutting the door as he storms up the porch steps, the folder clenched tightly in his fist.

She doesn’t hear him approach, not until his rough hand grips her shoulder and spins her around.

The shock of seeing her father’s face, twisted in anger, has her yelping out. She quickly pulls off her headphones, the music falling away as she takes in the sight of him. “What’re you doin’ here?” Her voice is laced with confusion, brows furrowing. He wasn’t supposed to be home until much later— what the hell had happened?

Romeo doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he thrusts the folder at her, his jaw clenched so tight that the muscles in his neck bulge. “What the fuck is this, Paloma?”

She blinks rapidly, her confusion deepening as she rids herself of her portable CD player, opening the folder. Her breath catches in her throat as she sifts through the photos.

Her stomach drops when she meets his burning gaze. “Where did you get these?” she whispers, barely audible.

Romeo lets out a dark, humorless chuckle that has a chill running down her spine. “Don’t matter where I got ‘em. What matters is what the hell you were thinkin’ gettin’ involved with trash like him! And doin’ drugs?!” He’s seething.

The venom in his voice stings. “Daddy, it’s not what you think—”

“Not what I think?” he interrupts, voice rising. “You think I’m blind? Stupid? I know about you and Javier too.” The name comes out as a snarl, his eyes flashing with betrayal.

Her face blanches. “What are you talkin’ about?”

“He’s the one who had these!” he roars, temper boiling over. “Javier was keepin’ tabs— hid them in his damn desk while he was screwin’ around with you behind my back. I can see it comin’ from him, but from you?”

The weight of his words slam into her like a freight train. She knew that he would blow up and act rash, but this is nothing like what she anticipated. “Daddy, listen to me—”

“No, you listen to me!” he shouts, stepping closer, face inches from hers and she stumbles back slightly. “This is why I don’t trust you to be out on your own. Why I have to keep an eye on you— because you can’t make sound decisions. You’re reckless, you’re—” He cuts himself off, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps as he tries to rein in his anger.

Paloma’s emotions erupt in retaliation. “Reckless?” she shoots back, shaking with anger and hurt. “I’m suffocatin’ in this damn house. Puttin’ my life on the back burner so I can keep you content instead of doin’ what makes me happy. You treat me like a child, like I can’t think for myself!”

Romeo’s face twists with contempt, the harsh words tumbling out before he can stop them. “Because you’re actin’ like a damn whore!”

The insult hangs in the air, a bomb that has just gone off between them. She feels as if the ground has been ripped out from under her, his words echoing in her ears like a cruel taunt. 

It shouldn’t surprise her, it really shouldn’t. He has a history of making sly comments such as these, especially when it came to what she wore.

But to hear him say the actual insult? Spitting it in her face in such a disgusted tone?

Her vision blurs with tears, but she refuses to let them fall. Without another word, she shoves past him, her heart pounding in her ears as she flees into the house. His furious shouts follow her, but she doesn’t stop, doesn’t look back.

Her room feels like a cage, the walls closing in on her as she yanks open her closet and grabs a suitcase. She can’t stay here— not after this. The tears finally spill over as she starts packing.

Romeo’s heavy footsteps pound up the stairs, each one like a hammer driving nails into her chest. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’?” he demands, banging on her bedroom door. “Paloma, open this door right now!”

She ignores him, her heart aching with every item she throws in. She doesn’t have a plan, doesn’t know where she’s going to go, but she knows she has to leave.

When she finally has everything she can carry, she steels herself, taking a deep breath, and yanking the door open. Her dad stands there, his face red, but she doesn’t give a fuck. She moves past him without a word.

“Paloma, stop!” he pleads, following her down the stairs and into the hallway that leads into the foyer, “What would your mother think of you acting like this? This is not the daughter she would be proud of!”

The mention of her mother brings her to a screeching halt, and she whips around, her eyes shimmering with a fiery spark. “You don’t know shit about her!” she spits, venom dripping from every word. “Who she was, what she felt— the things she went through.”

“And you do?!” 

Oh, how she’s tempted to unleash everything on him right here, to reveal the divine blood that courses through her veins— the same sacred lineage that had flowed through her mother’s. But he wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t grasp the significance. It’s crystal clear to her that this has always been about control. She could tell him a thousand truths, and he would still remain unchanged.

Determined, she ignores him entirely and turns to push open the screen door. The keys to her car are tucked away in the visor, waiting for her.

“Come back here!” exasperation peaks as he rushes to catch up with his daughter. His hand latches onto the handle of her suitcase, pulling it— and her— back toward him. She cries out in frustration, fiercely trying to reclaim it, but he overpowers her with his strength.

Their struggle becomes a frantic dance, the suitcase flailing uncontrollably. In their chaotic clash, it catches on the iridescent wind chime that has hung on the porch for years. The chime crashes to the ground, splintering into a million glinting fragments.

The soft tinkling of broken glass and metal join the sound of her choked sob, and she fights the urge to fall to her knees.

She and her mother used to spend Sunday afternoons crafting wind chimes together.

They would hand them out at church or when they visited town. Paloma cherished the joy of giving, the way people’s faces would light up at receiving something she had poured her effort into, guided by the one person who loved and believed in her unconditionally.

Her skills and creativity come from her mother, who never allowed her daughter to be idle. She was always engaged in some project or another, her hands and mind constantly at work.

This particular chime was the only one she had left to remember Abeline— Calmana— whoever she was, by, having gifted away the others. Paloma stopped making them after she passed away.

Romeo stares down at the broken, sentimental item, his face a mask of shock and grief. 

She shoots him a glare full of disdain, her voice quivering. “No wonder she killed herself.”

The words hit like a physical blow, a gaping wound in both of them, the kind that can’t be mended. Romeo opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. He can only watch, frozen in place, as his only daughter turns her back on him and walks away, victorious in claiming her bag.

At what cost?

Her footsteps are urgent and unyielding as she hurries down the driveway, her suitcase bumping against her leg with every stride. The darkness of the night surrounds her like a shroud, but she doesn’t look back, the pain too raw, the burden of what just transpired is almost unbearable.

She flings her belongings into the back of her car and slides into the driver’s seat, her hands shaking as she starts the engine. She drives off, eyes blurry with unshed tears.

She drives aimlessly at first, but the familiar streets soon lead her to Tammy’s house. Her heart feels like it’s been ripped apart, each beat laden with pain. The sobs she’s been holding back break free, and she cries, gut-wrenching cries that echo in the car as the miles between her and the house grow.

By the time she pulls up to Tammy’s, she is drained, her body exhausted with the aftermath of her tears. She barely has the strength to step out of the car, but she does, walking up to the familiar door. The weight in her chest is so intense, it feels like it might drag her down.

Tammy opens the door, her eyes widening in shock as she takes in Paloma’s tear-streaked face. Without a word, she pulls her inside, enveloping her in a warm, comforting embrace. She guides her to the couch and sits beside her, rubbing soothing circles on her back, not caring that she’s wet from the weather.

She explains what happened, her voice cracking with every word. The fight, how it escalated, how her father had berated her and, worst of all, how her mother had been dragged into it, something that made her feel small and worthless.

Tammy’s anger rises, “I oughta go over there myself and put his ass in place. The hell was he thinkin’?” her voice is fierce, but it’s tempered with genuine concern. Her eyes flash with indignation, reflecting her deep sense of protectiveness for Paloma. She and her sisters have always treated her like she was their own.

Paloma shakes her head, too exhausted and emotionally drained to engage in further conflict. “It’s okay. I just... I need to make a call.” She nods understandingly and directs her to the landline, giving her a moment of privacy.

Paloma picks up the receiver, her fingers trembling as she dials Javier’s number. When his voice finally comes through, it’s like a lifeline. She struggles to keep steady as she explains the situation again, but her emotions betray her, and she chokes up several times.

“Javi, I just... I don’t know what to do,” she whispers, wanting nothing more than to be wrapped up in his arms right now.

He listens patiently, his concern evident in his tone as he reassures her and tries to provide comfort through the phone. He doesn’t tell her about his own confrontation, solely focused on making sure she’s alright.

“There’s a spare key to my place taped inside of the mailbox. Use it to let yourself in. I’ll be home as soon as I can, cariño.”

Paloma clings to his words, letting them anchor her as she fights to calm her racing thoughts. Just talking to him makes her feel a little less broken.

“Okay. I’ll see you later.”

Javier knows it’d be unprofessional to ditch his patrolling assignment, especially with tensions running as high as they are tonight. But after everything that’s unfolded— he’d rather be with Paloma than driving around the deserted backroads of town.

His anger bubbles up, hot and unforgiving, at what Romeo had said to her; the same vile insult he had spat at her under the gazebo when he was trying to push her away. 

To hear it come from her own father? He can’t even imagine how she must feel.

His jaw aches, a dull thudding reminder of the blow that had landed earlier. It’ll definitely bruise. Javier works it gingerly, lip throbbing from being split open. 

It tears him apart inside. He would take a dozen more beatings, hell, a hundred, if it meant sparing her from any kind of hurt. He’d do anything— anything to take away her suffering, to replace it with the love and respect she deserves.

The radio in his cruiser crackles to life, pulling him back to the grim reality of his job. The voice of an officer comes through, tense and urgent. “Twenty-four-year-old Samantha Hardesty has just been reported missing by her parents. Window to her bedroom was left wide open. There are signs of a struggle.”

There it is. The threat that’s been looming over their heads, now taking a tangible, terrifying shape.

His grip tightens on the steering wheel as a surge of adrenaline sharpens his senses. He calls out instructions over the radio, directing officers to the Hardesty home, dispatching others to canvas the surrounding areas. His heart pounds in sync with the rain tapping against the windshield, the urgency of the situation momentarily overshadowing Paloma.

The cruiser’s tires hum over the slick asphalt, carrying him further into the darkened outskirts of town. He’s crossing the abandoned railroad tracks when something catches his eye— a car parked awkwardly on the shoulder.

His gut lurches, a cold dread seeping into his veins.

Slowing down, Javier flips on the blue and red lights, the beams carving through the murky darkness.

He parks, his every nerve tingling with tension. There’s no movement inside the vehicle, no sign of anyone nearby. But his instincts are screaming at him that this isn’t just a coincidence.

He grabs his tactical vest from the passenger seat, slipping it on with practiced efficiency, the familiar weight a small comfort. With the vest secured, he steps out of the car, the rain immediately soaking into his uniform as he cautiously approaches the idle vehicle, his boots crunching against the gravelly road.

His hand moves instinctively to his sidearm, fingers curling around the grip of his pistol as he draws it, keeping it at the ready.

Brown eyes scan the surroundings, every shadow a potential threat, every sound amplified by his heightened senses. The soft rustle of leaves in the wind, the distant hum of the running engine of his cruiser.

Approaching the car from the rear, he announces himself in an authoritative tone, only to be met with silence. The windows are fogged over, making it difficult to see inside. He circles around to the driver’s side, gun pointed, when he notices the door is slightly ajar.

With a deep breath, Javier reaches out, nudging it open with the tip of his boot. It swings slowly, the creak of the hinges tears the silence like a scream. Inside, the car is empty, but the front seat is stained with something dark— blood.

“Fuck!”

He inspects further, the inside of the car is empty, offering no clues about the owner or what might have transpired here. Frustration gnaws at him as he quickly jogs back to his vehicle, grabbing the radio to request backup.

The nearest unit shouldn’t be too far out, but every second feels like an eternity as he waits. He shrugs on his windbreaker to shield himself from the downpour, the cold clinging to his clothes, chilling him to the bone.

The wind howls through, bringing with it the distant echoes of thunder, adding to the ominous ambiance.

Javier’s eyes continue scan the surrounding area, every sense on high alert. The soaked ground is uneven beneath his boots, the mud sucking at his feet as he moves cautiously.

Then he hears it— rustling. It’s faint, but unmistakable, and not the kind caused by an animal scurrying by or the rain brushing against the leaves. This sound is different, deliberate. His pulse quickens, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

He swings the flashlight towards the source of the noise, his other hand steadying the grip on his pistol. The beam of light cuts through the rain, illuminating the thick brush ahead. His breath catches in his throat as he comes face to face with a tall man, a few years younger than himself, emerging from the shadows.

The man’s eyes gleam with a sinister calm, but it’s what he’s holding that sends a pang of terror through Javier. The girl— Samantha Hardesty— is clutched tightly in his arms, her face pale and streaked with tears, a large gash running across her stomach.

She trembles, barely able to stand on her own, and Javier’s eyes widen once he sees the gun pressed against her temple, the metal gleaming wickedly.

He knows he has to be careful— one wrong move, and she’s dead. The man’s expression is cold, calculating, as he watches Javier. The tension is so tense, it feels like a physical barrier.

Standing before the person who’s terrorized the community for so long feels almost surreal.

“Put the gun down,” Javier orders, low and steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. His eyes flick to Samantha, her terrified gaze locked onto him, pleading silently for help. He takes a step closer, his movements cautious.

The rain pounds against them, the droplets like bullets hitting the ground. The silence is suffocating, broken only by the sound of her sobs and the assailant’s labored breathing.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Javier warns, trying to keep the man’s focus on him, to buy time until backup arrives. But the man doesn’t flinch, his grip on the girl tightening as he shifts the gun ever so slightly, pressing it harder against her temple.

“Let her go,” he continues, his tone coaxing, though every muscle in his body is coiled, ready to spring into action. “We can figure this out, she doesn’t need to get hurt.”

The man’s lips curl into an unsettling smile, and Javier’s stomach pinches. He’s seen that look before—the look of someone who’s already made up their mind, someone with nothing left to lose.

“Get back,” the man hisses, taking a step back. Javier can see the madness in his eyes, the wild, desperate edge that makes him dangerous, unpredictable.

Javier doesn’t move, doesn’t dare take his eyes off him. Every second that ticks by feels wasted. He can hear the faint wail of sirens in the distance, but he knows they’re still too far away to help. It’s up to him, right here, right now, to keep this situation from spiraling into tragedy.

The grip on the gun is unsteady and for a moment, it seems like he might surrender. But then, in a flash, the man makes his move.

The night explodes into chaos as the shot rings out like a cannon blast in the storm. The force of the bullet slams into Javier’s chest, knocking the wind out of him as he’s sent staggering backward. Pain radiates through his body, but it’s dulled by the protective padding of his tactical vest, which absorbs most of the impact.

He hits the ground hard, rain soaking into his clothes and mud splashing up around him. His vision blurs, and he presses a hand to his sternum.

Then, through the fog of shock, the adrenaline kicks in. His heart pounds in his ears, louder even than the rain or echoing gunshot. He gasps, drawing in a ragged breath, and forces himself to move. The man is running, dragging a terrified Samantha with him, and Javier knows he can’t let him get away. 

He grits his teeth, pain shooting through his chest, but he pushes it to the back of his mind. There’s no time to dwell on it. He has to plow on, has to stop the man before it’s too late. 

The beam of his flashlight flickers wildly as he races through the rain-soaked woods. Lightning splits the sky, illuminating the twisting branches overhead, casting jagged shadows on the path ahead.

Gunshots ring out through the trees, the man firing blindly behind him. The bullets whiz past Javier, too close for comfort, but he doesn’t falter. He fires back, his shots precise, but the man dodges them with maddening ease. The trees blur by, branches clawing at his face as he barrels through the undergrowth, the ground uneven and treacherous beneath his feet.

He can feel his frustration mounting with every step. Despite being so close, he can’t seem to close the gap between them. The man is quick, too quick, and the darkness only adds to the challenge.

His lungs burn with the effort. He thinks of all the cigarettes he’s ever smoked and curses himself for each and every single one of them, for every breath that now feels harder to catch.

Just as he’s starting to think the chase will never end, the man veers off the path, disappearing into a thicket of trees. Javier skids to a halt, eyes narrowing as he spots a faint light ahead. He follows, heart thudding, and emerges into a small clearing where an old, decrepit shed looms out of the darkness. The door hangs ajar, swaying slightly in the wind.

He’s methodical as he presses himself against the side of the structure, peering inside. 

Nothing.

He doesn’t hesitate and kicks the door open. It’s empty, save for a few rusted tools and decaying wooden beams. But then his flashlight picks out a hatch in the floor, half-concealed by dirt and debris.

He hesitates, the radio on his belt crackling to life with the voices of his fellow officers. They will be here soon, but he doesn’t have the luxury of waiting. Every second counts. If the man gets away, or worse, if he decides to end the girl’s life down in that tunnel... Javier can’t live with that. 

Bracing himself, he grips the hatch and heaves it open, descending into the darkness. The air is damp, the scent of earth and decay prominent. His light reveals narrow, dirt walls as he makes his way down the tunnel, every step echoing eerily in the confined space.

It’s quiet— too quiet— and that only makes his pulse race faster. The oppressive silence only broken by the sound of his own breathing.

Then he notices the glow of candles lighting the way ahead. The tunnel opens up into a larger chamber, and what he sees stops him dead in his tracks. The room is filled with religious iconography—crosses, statues, relics—but all twisted, defiled.

Candles flicker on every surface, casting long shadows across the walls, which are plastered in what looks like pages of the bible, the symbol he’s seen in the Rome files and on the scrap of flesh in the vomit of their earlier victim scribbled over them.

The air is thick with the stench of rot, and in the far corner, a large, stained cooler hooked up to a generator hums ominously. 

Javier’s flashlight passes over a series of weapons laid out on a crude altar. The whole scene feels like something out of a horror movie, but this is no set. This is real.

And then he sees him. The man who led him here, standing on the other side, holding Samantha in front of him like a shield, the gun still pressed firmly to her head. Her eyes are wide with terror, her body trembling uncontrollably, blood seeping out of the wound on her torso.

Javier stops in his tracks, his gun trained on his target. They’re both panting, chests heaving as they stare each other down, drenched in rain and mud. The man’s eyes are feral, but there’s something else there too— something dark and fanatical, a madness that Javier knows he can’t reason with.

“Let her go,” Javier commands like he had in the woods, “I’m not going to tell you again.” The man doesn’t respond, a twisted smile playing on his chapped lips.

“One small move,” he grumbles, his voice low and menacing, “and her pretty little brains are goin’ to paint the fuckin’ walls.”

Javier’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t doubt him for a second, He knows what this fucker is capable of.

He can’t risk a shot— not with Samantha so close, not with the man ready to pull the trigger at the slightest provocation.

Then, in a move that catches Javier completely off guard, the man pulls the gun away from Samantha’s head and tosses her aside like a ragdoll.

Instead of dropping the weapon, he brings it up to his own temple, his sinister grin never faltering.

“Don’t!”

“It’s all for her,” the man mutters, almost to himself, as if Javier isn’t even there. Those three words confuse him, but then it all happens so fast— too fast for him to intervene, to stop it.

The man pulls the trigger.

The gunshot reverberates through the enclosed space. His lifeless body hitting the cold, damp floor. Blood pools around his head, mixing with the mud and grime.

Samantha lets out a broken sob, and Javier rushes forward, holstering his weapon as he drops to his knees beside her and shields her from the scene.

She’s shaking uncontrollably against him, her eyes wide and unseeing, her face as pale as death itself. Javier wraps his arms around her, pulling her close despite the ache from the bullet he took.

“It’s okay,”  he whispers, though the words feel shallow in the face of what’s just happened. “You’re safe now.” 

The heavy weight of the case can finally be shed— no more victims, no more suffering. But something about how it unfolded tonight doesn’t sit right with Javier. The way it all fell into place— it was too perfect, almost as if it was orchestrated just for him.

Officers swarm the area, flashlights illuminating the darkness as they descend into the tunnel. He directs them with sharp, clipped orders, ensuring the chamber is thoroughly searched and every piece of evidence is documented. The place is a nightmare— literally, and the cooler... God, the cooler.

Its contents are going to be a nightmare for the forensic team to identify— human remains, some fresh, others in varying states of decomposition. 

Javier is all too familiar with the grotesque depths of human depravity. The narcos had brutally educated him on it, but still, it doesn’t make witnessing it any easier.

It will undoubtedly tie the now-deceased man to their and potentially other unsolved cases. And yet, there’s no satisfaction in the discovery, only a cold, hollow feeling in the pit of Javier’s stomach.

When he emerges from the tunnel, the scene outside has only grown more chaotic. Police, ambulances, and news reporters all converge by the abandoned tracks where everything set off. The press, hungry for details, hound the officers, their questions blending into a cacophony of noise that Javier tries to block out.

He stands off to the side in an attempt to finally catch his breath; chest heaving with the remnants of adrenaline. The rain has stopped, but the ground is a mess of mud and puddles, the dampness clinging to everything.

He watches as Samantha is loaded into the ambulance, her small frame dwarfed by the large stretcher. Her expression solemn, still reeling from what she’s faced. The paramedics speak in hushed tones, their movements quick and efficient, wrapping her in a thermal blanket before shutting the doors.

Javier winces slightly as he removes his vest, and a paramedic walking by stops, concern etched on her face. “You should get checked out too,” she says, gently guiding him to the back of another ambulance. He waves off her concern but doesn’t resist as she sits him down, shining a light into his eyes, checking his pulse.

“Everything looks fine,” she says after a moment, her tone professional but kind. “You’re going to have some serious bruising where that bullet hit— your vest took the brunt of it, so you’ll be sore for a while.”

He nods, hardly listening. His mind is somewhere else, his thoughts tangled. The weariness settles into his bones as the paramedic presses an ice pack into his hands, guiding them up to the spot he was hit at.

“You’re lucky,” she adds. “It could’ve been a lot worse.”

Javier grunts in acknowledgment, his gaze drifting when a cluster of reporters move from the officers and over to the sheriff when he makes his appearance, their cameras flashing, microphones extended towards him. He’s trying to answer their questions, his expression tight, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining composure.

Their exchanges over the radio have been minimal, strictly professional, with an edge of bitterness.

The tension between them is prominent, an unspoken rift that neither man seems willing to bridge. Javier catches a glance from Romeo, but it’s fleeting, their eyes barely meeting before the sheriff turns back to the reporters.

Exhaustion begins to nestle within his body. He’s done enough tonight— enough to get by, enough to wrap up the loose ends so that he can leave this hellish scene behind. 

He stands up, handing the ice pack back to the paramedic with a nod of thanks. His eyes scan the scene once more— officers hauling the perpetrator’s dead body into the back of a coroner’s van, forensic teams combing through the area, the reporters still badgering Romeo for answers— but none of it holds his attention. His mind is already elsewhere, already focused on where he needs to be.

Only one thought remains clear. Paloma. He needs to be with her, hold her, to reassure that they’re okay, that she’s okay. The thought of her is the only thing that makes sense right now, the only thing that matters.

Without another word, he turns and starts walking, ignoring the looks from his colleagues, the murmured questions. He heads for his cruiser, slipping into the driver’s seat with a wince as his chest protests the movement. The rain has left the interior damp and cold, but he doesn’t care. He starts the engine and pulls away from the chaos.

Thoughts swirl in a disjointed mess that he cannot qualm, and it isn’t until he’s pulling into his driveway that he remembers— he didn’t call her. He should’ve checked in, caught her up on everything.

But the sight of her car parked in his driveway, the soft glow of light from his bedroom window, fills him with a wave of relief. She’s here. She’s safe.

He exhales a long breath, trying to shake off the lingering tension as he steps out of the car. His body aches with every move, but he preserves. He just needs to see her.

Javier is careful as he enters, muddy and wet, his clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin. He kicks off his boots by the door.

Calling out her name, his voice is rough from the night’s exertions.

“In here,” her voice beckons from the hallway, a honeyed reply that tugs at his heart. He follows, brows furrowing as he nears the bathroom. When he steps inside, he’s greeted by a sight that almost undoes him.

She is in the bathtub, bubbles covering her body, her hair piled into a messy bun with loose strands clinging to the damp skin of her neck. The bathroom is warm and filled with the scent of lavender, a stark contrast to the cold, harsh world he’s just come from.

She turns to look at him, her eyes widening as she takes in his disheveled appearance— his busted lip, the small cuts from twigs lashing at him during the chase, mud and rain still clinging to him.

“Javi, what happened?” she asks, concern lacing her words.

He steps closer, crouching, eyes tracing the lines of her face, taking in all her natural beauty. His gaze shifts to the mug on the edge of the tub, the scent of whiskey faint but unmistakable. He notices the glassy look in her eyes, the way she blinks slowly.

She’s drunk.

“Querida,” he murmurs, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “How much have you had to drink?”

Paloma narrows her eyes at him, her tone edged with defiance even in her inebriated state. “I asked you a question first.”

There’s a beat of silence, his throat bobbing. Finally, Javier lets out a sigh, slumping his shoulders as he answers. “It’s over. We got him.”

He explains what transpired and Paloma listens. Her eyes widen, her breath catches, disbelief and concern paint her expressions when he tells her about the tunnel, the chase, the way it all ended so abruptly.

She brings one hand from under the water to take hold of his, the warmth of her touch enough to settle his frayed nerves.

“It’s over,” he repeats, more for himself than for her. “No one else is going to get hurt.”

She nods softly, her fingers tightening around his before she slowly pulls away. “Join me,” she murmurs in a gentle invitation.

Javier chuckles, glancing skeptically at the small tub. “Baby, I don’t think I’d fit in there even if I tried.” His words are light, but the way her gaze holds his makes the excuse falter on his lips, the sentiment dying as quickly as it was born.

With a resigned sigh, he stands, the soft pop of his joints barely audible over the quiet splash of water. His hands move to undress, and when he gets to his shirt, the fabric falls away to reveal the dark, angry bruise on his chest. The instant Paloma’s eyes land on the mark, she gasps, her concern evident.

“Javi—”

“The bullet I took,” he brushes off her worry with a soft grunt. “It looks a lot worse than it is.”

But the look etched across her face pulls him closer, and he bends down, capturing her lips in a tender kiss, the contact lingering longer than intended. “I’m fine. I promise.”

She shifts to give him space when he steps into the tub, the water sloshing gently around his bigger frame. Despite the tight fit, they settle opposite each other, their legs brushing beneath the surface.

Once he’s seated, Javier reaches out, gently pulling her leg towards him. He presses a soft kiss to her ankle, his lips warm against her skin, before he begins to knead the tension from her calf with strong, skilled hands.

“Where the fuck did you get lavender-scented bubbles?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement, aquiline nose grazing her wet skin as he trails soft kisses up to her knee.

Paloma lets out a light, drunken laugh, her head tipping back as she revels in his touch. “Tammy gave ‘em to me when I left her place. Told me to take a bath and that it’d make me feel better.”

“And?” he asks, his deep brown eyes flitting up to meet hers.

“Feelin’ better now,” she breathes, the contentment in her voice mirrored in her relaxed posture, reaching over for the cup.

Javier’s hands still momentarily as he repeats his earlier question, “How much have you had to drink?”

“Dunno. Maybe like two mugs’ worth.” She hiccups, a small, sheepish smile playing on her lips.

His gaze moves to the mug she clutches like a treasure. “You know I have glasses specifically for that, right?”

“Yeah, but I thought this mug was quirky,” she says, holding it up for him to see, as if it wasn’t already familiar to him. It’s the one Steve had given him— a tacky gift after he had accidentally broken the one that usually sat on Javi’s desk back at the embassy.

He remembers his partner saying something about how Javier survived on coffee, cigarettes, and cunt— the Holy Trinity. Steve would always accompany this jab of his with a wink and a teasing grin.

He can’t help but laugh at the memory, shaking his head slightly, “Of course you did, hermosa.” His tone thickens with affection as he resumes his gentle massage, the tension in his own body beginning to ebb away as he focuses on her. Funny how that works.

A gentle silence envelops them, the kind that speaks of comfort. Paloma breaks it with a soft, but probing question, “Now that the case is closed… does that mean you’re leaving?”

The question manifests like a heavy mist, and Javier’s hands still on her leg, his fingers lingering before he slowly lowers it beneath the water.

He hadn’t wanted to face this moment, had told himself he wouldn’t think about his departure until it was staring him in the face. But now that it is, now that it’s here, he finds himself utterly uncertain.

Of course he wants to stay with her, to pursue this relationship that feels like it could be everything he’s ever wanted. But with the tangled mess of issues between them and Romeo, the barely restrained animosity that is bound to fester— it’s hard to see a clear path forward.

“Dunno,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, as his head tips back to rest against the cool tile of the wall.

Paloma shifts from her relaxed position, sitting up then setting the mug aside, and his heart skips a beat, worried he might have upset her.

“You don’t know…” Her brows knit together, confusion and a touch of hurt evident in her eyes. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

Javier takes a deep breath, searching for the right words. “You’re the only thing that’s keeping me here, palomita. I’d only stay for you. Fuck everything else.” His voice is tender, full of the raw truth of his feelings. Reaching out, he strokes her cheek, his fingers leaving a trail of fluffy bubbles in their wake.

“You want the God honest truth?” She nods eagerly and he continues, “I go where you go. If you want to stay here, then I’ll stay here. If you want to leave, then I’ll leave.”

Warmth spreads through her chest, filling the space where doubt had started to creep in. She nuzzles into his hand, her eyes searching his, “You mean that?”

Javier’s gaze holds hers, steady and unwavering. “Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

His sincerity makes her feel both cherished and understood. “So you would go anywhere? Just for me?”

He hums softly, nodding his head. There’s no hesitation, no hint of doubt in his eyes— just that familiar, endearing glint that always melts her heart, the one that tells her how much he loves her, how much he’s willing to do for her; even when his words can’t.

“I wanna leave Seminary,” she admits, statement spilling out with a quiet determination. It’s something she’s been feeling for a long, long time— more now after everything that’s happened with her father.

Javier isn’t surprised. “Yeah? And go where?”

She averts her gaze, a shy smile playing on her lips as a blush creeps up her cheeks. “Promise you won’t make fun of me?”

“Now why the hell would I do that?”

Paloma bites her lip, her fingers twiddling nervously beneath the water. “‘Cause it’s a little silly. Somethin’ I’ve been dreamin’ of since I was a teenager…”

He gives her a look that says keep going, I’m listening.

“Wanna head west, towards California,” she finally breathes out with a wistful longing. “Stop along the way. See the deserts and mountains. Have a house on the beach so every mornin’ I can walk outside and put my toes in the sand and work on my music. That’s my dream.”

He can see it so vividly— the two of them driving through vast and differing landscapes, the wind in her hair, her laughter filling the car, and the sun setting over the ocean as she strums her guitar on the beach. It’s a beautiful dream, one that tugs at his own restless spirit, one that makes him want to chase it right alongside her.

He leans in, brushing his lips softly against hers, tasting the promise of their future on her mouth. “Then let’s go.” he whispers in a tender vow. “I’ll come with you if you’re sure it’s what you need.”

She needs it as much as she needs him. Paloma’s eyes shine, a mix of joy and disbelief that he’s so willing, so ready to follow her wherever she wants to go. She kisses him, her heart soaring with the knowledge that she’s not alone in this, that wherever her aspirations take her, he’ll be right there by her side, loving her, supporting her, and making her dreams his own.

Javier feels a tide of emotions crashing over him as he sits there in the warm bath, her presence filling every corner of his being. The night has been brutal—his body aches with the bruises of the chase, his chest still sore from the angry bullet, but it’s the weight of everything that they’ve been through together that overwhelms him the most.

He looks at her now, tipsy and beautiful, bubbles clinging to her soft skin, her eyes half-lidded with affection, and it hits him just how much he loves her, how much he’s loved her since that moment on the ferris wheel.

They’ve overcome so much, so many hurdles he put in place that could’ve easily torn them apart, and yet here they are, in each other’s arms, in this intimate moment that feels like the culmination of… well, everything.

His nose grazes hers, his breath fanning over her face as he tries to find the words that suddenly feel so urgent to say. “Palomita…” he murmurs, tightening his hold on her, as if she might slip away if he doesn’t. “I was going to wait until after I talked to your dad and make it a whole big thing but…”

She stares at him expectantly, unsure of what he could possibly say.

“I want you to be my girl,” the statement is laden with weight of his feelings. “No more wondering, no more holding back. Just you and me, together.”

Her eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, he fears he’s said too much, that he’s somehow scared her off. 

But then her lips shift into a soft smile. “Your girl…” she likes the way that sounds. “There are worst things to be.” She jokes but her answer is clear as day. Of course she wants to be his.

The relief that floods through him is almost dizzying, and he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He leans in, capturing her lips in a kiss that’s slow and tender, a kiss that’s filled with the promise of everything they’re committing to.

As their lips meld together, the tenderness quickly ignites into something far more passionate. She tries to be mindful of the cut on his lip but he doesn’t seem to mind, the faint pulse all drowned out by the sweetness of her mouth.

He shifts his weight, adjusting their position as best as he can, sliding himself between her legs, the warm water swaying around them as he pushes her up a little further in the tub.

Javier’s hands slide down her body, fingers tracing the curves of her waist before finding her full breasts, cupping them gently, his thumbs brushing over her nipples that peak under his touch. The feel of her soft, soapy skin beneath his calloused hands sends a shiver of need wracking right through him, and he feels his length stirring, poking against her thigh.

Paloma’s breath hitches, her lips parting with a soft moan as she presses herself closer to him, her own hands moving to cradle his jaw. Her kiss turns desperate, tongue sliding against his with a fervor that matches the growing heat between them. Her legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, body instinctively seeking his in a way that leaves no doubt about what she wants.

His cock glides between her folds, hips twitching instinctively from the friction and her thighs clamp around his hips at the feeling.

“Javi,” she whimpers against his lips, “Need you to take me right here.”

His hands roam everywhere they can reach, squeezing and groping as he holds her steady. He doesn’t respond with words, just a deep grunt when she rocks her hips against him purposefully. 

“We’re gonna make a mess,” he nips at her chin, moving his heated kisses down to her neck.

Her nails dig into his shoulders, as if to anchor herself to him. “Don’t care. Just fuck me.”

The bathwater spills out of the tub, as if proving his point, but neither of them get hung up on it, completely swept away by the lust that overcomes them.

Strong hands grip her hips as he lines himself against her entrance, the anticipation of sinking inside her making his dick twitch. He pauses for a moment, brown eyes locking with hers, wordlessly seeking her affirmation. And when she nods, her eyes dark with desire, he pushes into her, a low groan escaping his lips at the way her pussy clenches around his cock like she was made just for him.

Paloma’s mouth parts in a breathless gasp, eyes fluttering shut as her head tilts back, arching into him. The blissful sensation of him filling her leaving her utterly overwhelmed in the best way possible. Javier leans in, kissing along the column of her throat, his lips pressing against the pulse point that races beneath her skin before biting down, groaning at how sweet she tastes.

His movements are slow, savoring every second, every flutter of her sweet cunt and being so connected to the woman he loves.

Their rhythm builds, his pace increasing as their bodies move together in perfect harmony, soapy water splashing everywhere as they lose themselves in each other.

“You feel like fuckin’ heaven, my sweet girl.” He grunts against her, the praise having her walls viscerally clench around his girth, a whiney moan of his name getting stuck in her throat and he coaxes it out by snaking his fingers down between them to rub at her clit.

The atmosphere hums with the sound of their heated panting and moans, unbridled desire pours forth with every touch, every kiss, every stroke.

Javier’s hands are restless— caressing her breasts, gripping her hips, cradling her face as he kisses her deeply, passionately, desperately, like she’s the very air he needs to breathe. The sharp pang in his chest draws a wince, her eyes widening with concern, but he quickly dispels her worry by hiking her legs higher on his waist and driving into her deeper.

“Oh my god,” Paloma clings to him, her fingers threading through his hair, her nails raking down his back, pulling him even closer and deeper, until they’re both on the edge, teetering on the brink of an earth-shattering orgasm.

“So good, Javi, I’m about to come.” 

He growls, her words fueling him to increase the intensity of his thrusts and bringing forth his own orgasm. His thick fingers to return to her swollen clit, trying to get her there so they can come together. “Good girl, give it to me. I’ve got you.”

And when they finally reach that peak, when the pleasure explodes at their cores like fireworks, it’s not just a release, it’s a culmination of everything they’ve become together.

He doesn’t pull out, burying himself to the hilt as her pussy milks every ribbon of cum from his throbbing cock.

It’s love in its purest form, raw and intense and beautiful, and as they come down from that high and hold each other in the aftermath, their hearts still pounding, their breaths still mingling— he knows it’s the only place he’d ever want to be.

“Really testing that birth control,” Javi murmurs, his voice low and teasing as his tongue glides across her jaw. He lingers there for a moment before his lips find the sensitive spot beneath her ear, sucking a possessive mark into the softness.

“You sure are,” she breathes out, feeling more intoxicated by him than by the whiskey she had earlier. “Told ya I was on it once ‘n you haven’t looked back since.”

He bites down gently on her collarbone, a playful growl rumbling in his chest. “Want me to stop?”

“Nuh-uh,” she replies, a mischievous expression on her face as she shifts beneath him, her body pliant and eager. “Love bein’ full of you.”

A satisfied smirk finds its way onto his mouth and he moves to kiss her. The cramped space of the bathtub and awkward angle finally begin to take their toll on him. His lower back spasms, but even that doesn’t get him to pull out of her. He loves the feeling of her warmth wrapped around him, it outweighs any of the discomfort.

“We made a big ‘ol mess,” she giggles, peering over the edge of the tub to see the water that’s splashed out, soaking the floor. The small disaster only adds to her delight, her laughter filling the small bathroom.

Javier chuckles, his breath warm against her neck as he shifts slightly, trying to ease the strain on his back. “Worth it,” his lips brush against her ear, hands sliding up to cup her breasts, pinching her nipples.

Her laughter fades into a soft moan as she arches into his touch. Leave it to him to flip the mood from playful to horny.

He leans back just enough to catch her gaze, “Can’t get enough of you,” he admits, voice low and husky.

“Then don’t,” she retorts, her fingers trailing down his back, nails grazing his skin just enough to make him shudder.

“Don’t think my back can handle another round in here.”

She opens her mouth, ready to make a teasing remark about his age, but he sees it coming, quickly bringing one hand up to cover her mouth. “Don’t,” he warns, a smile playing on his lips.

Her eyes narrow playfully, and she licks his palm, making him tut at her. His hand slips away, replacing it with his lips in a quick kiss as he eases his soft cock out of her which has them both letting out a breath.

They let the remaining bathwater swirl down the drain before starting the shower, the warm spray washing over them, actually bathing this time. Paloma’s fingers trail gently over Javier’s chest, lingering on the large bruise that has already begun to darken beneath his tanned skin.

Her eyes then travel up to the bruise on his jaw and the gash on his lip that she’d momentarily forgotten about in the heat of their fucking. A frown tugs at her lips as she reaches up to trace the wound with a feather-light touch. “I take it Daddy didn’t take the news of us very well,” she murmurs with resignation as she tries to picture the scene he must have caused at the station. She wonders how the hell he even found out.

Javier shrugs, his expression unreadable as his hands follow the curves of her body, moving with a tender reverence as he lathers the soap across her skin. “The ass beating was partially deserved,” he admits. “Would have been worse, but he stopped once he saw the pictures…” He pauses, studying her face for a reaction, but she doesn’t give him one. Her eyes flutter closed as he continues to wash her, the gentle motions of his hands soothing away the lingering tension.

“I shouldn’t have taken them in the first place. They weren’t necessary,” he continues, even though his mind tells him to shut the fuck up. “I was just pissed because of how things were between us at the time. I was chasing after August,” his voice hardens as he says the name, “trying to find something, anything, to tie him to what was going on. But that proved to be pointless real quick.”

Paloma hums softly, her expression indifferent as she lets the water cascade over her. “It’s okay, honey. Bygones are bygones. I wasn’t really myself while I was with him, anyway.”

Javier’s curiosity stirs, tempted to ask more, to dig deeper into the mystery of what exactly went on between her and August. He knows so little about the inner workings of his collective, only that it’s a group of troubled minds that reject traditional religion and never stay in one place for long. It explains their absence from town, how they disappeared without a trace after the Fourth of July celebration.

But he doesn’t press, not now at least. All he wants is to forget as much of today’s bullshit as he can and just enjoy her.

They work in quiet harmony, the sound of the soft patter of water against tile soothing. Once they’ve rinsed away the last of the suds, they reluctantly step out of the shower.

Paloma’s eyes trail over him, his toned back and firm ass catching her attention as he grabs towels for them. The sight of him is a welcome distraction, and she bites her lip, appreciating every inch of him as he moves.

They sidestep the water, making their way to his bedroom to find something to wear. She snatches one of his shirts from the closet, slipping it over her head. The fabric hangs loosely on her frame, but the way it falls just right on her curves makes Javier pause, his gaze lingering on her with a mixture of affection and desire.

“C’mon,” she teases, breaking the spell once she slips her panties on, “we gotta clean up before we go to bed.”

With a playful groan, Javier nods, and they head back to the bathroom. They move around each other easily, laughing and joking as they clean up the floor, using his shitty mop and some of his other towels to get it done. 

“You know,” he says with a grin, wringing out the mop, “if this law enforcement thing doesn’t work out, I could see us starting a cleaning business.”

Paloma smirks, rolling her eyes in mock disbelief. “Oh yeah? Javier Peña, professional crime fighter by day, janitor by night? Astronomer on the side?”

He chuckles, giving her a playful nudge with his hip. “Something like that.”

She shakes her head, her smile widening as she tosses another towel into the pile. “Well, I’ll give you this—you’re pretty damn good with that mop.”

They continue their lighthearted banter, the task of cleaning becoming less of a chore. When they finally finish, the bathroom is restored to order, the floor dry and the towels piled up in the hamper. Javier leans against the doorframe, watching Paloma as she wipes her brow, her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the shower and the exertion of their playful cleaning.

Without a word, he reaches out, tugging her gently towards his bedroom. 

She follows willingly, her fingers entwined with his as they cross the threshold and slip into his bed. She lets her eyes scan over his handsome face and all the small wounds. Her smile falters slightly, eyes softening.

“I don’t wanna go back home. Not yet,” she confesses, voice small.

Javier pulls her into his lap and she straddles his hips. “You can stay here as long as you want. Take it one day at a time. If you need to go back for anything, I’ll go with you.”

“Playin’ house with you, huh? Sounds like fun.”

He chuckles softly, cupping her face, his thumbs brushing over her cheeks. “Yeah, well, we’ll see how you feel after a few days of my cooking. Or my obnoxious snoring at night.”

The lightness of their conversation is a balm to her nerves, and she leans into him, pressing a kiss to his nose. “M’sure I’ll survive.”

Javier’s expression turns thoughtful, his mind not fully able to move on from today’s happenings. “I’ve got this weird feeling about tonight,” he admits, brows furrowing slightly. “The guy down there in that chamber… he said something. ‘It’s all for her.’ I don’t know what he meant by it, but it doesn’t sit right with me.”

She tilts her head slightly, looping her arms around his neck loosely. “He was twisted, Javi. Don’t let him mess with your head. Whatever that meant— it’s irrelevant now. He’s dead. It’s over.”

He nods slowly, but the unease lingers in his eyes. “Yeah… you’re right. It’s just… something feels off.”

“Sleep on it,” Paloma offers, her fingers weaving through the curls at the nape of his neck as she tugs gently, her body not-so-subtly grinding down on his lap. The warmth between them begins to intensify. A slow, simmering desire. “Maybe you won’t feel this way tomorrow.”

Her words seem to pull him back from the edge of uncertainty, grounding him. The doubt that lingered in his mind begins to fade as his cock twitches against her, feeling the soft pressure of her body moving against him. “You’re just trying to shut me up so you can get some,” he teases, his lips brushing against her jaw, the scent of his body wash clinging to her skin and making his head spin.

She tilts her head back, offering more of her neck, her breath hitching as she keens beneath his touch. “Maybe… Is it a crime to want to fuck my boyfriend?” she replies in an airy breath. The title of boyfriend makes his heart jump and he’s all but ready to take here right here and now.

Their lips meet, the kiss deep and consuming as her tongue slips into his mouth, taking control in a way that makes him follow her lead. His hands find their way under the shirt she’s wearing, fingers tracing the smooth skin of her hips, pulling her closer.

When they break apart for air, Javier keeps her close, foreheads resting together. “I meant what I said about California, Paloma. I’ll go anywhere with you.” His voice is soft, but the conviction in it is unmistakable.

She smiles, heart swelling with so much affection she feels like it might burst. She knows there’s still so much shit that needs to be sorted out, especially with her father. The path ahead isn’t without its challenges. 

But for the first time, the oppressive burden that’s weighed on her shoulders seems lighter. She feels the freedom to chase the aspirations she’s held onto for so long, the dreams that have lived quietly in the back of her mind.

Mother’s history be damned. Father’s control be damned.

She’s ready to step into her own future, to grow and blossom into the woman she’s always known she could be, with a man by her side who’s willing to go to the ends of the earth to make her happy. His own happiness is intertwined with hers, his satisfaction stemming from seeing her thrive.

“Okay,” she finally whispers, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, her words a soft echo of his own. “Then let’s go.”

[jojo-schmo]

what are your personal favorite headcanons for meta knight?

Boy, oh BOY am I glad you asked!! You have unleashed me!!

First of all, I am very much Team White-Eyed Meta!!! (And his pretty pink cheeks!!!!!) -slams my drawing from last year on the table as exhibit A-

I respect everyone on Team Yellow-Eyed Meta since that's what is technically canon. But I just think drawing white eyes is so fun and pretty to look at... My first Kirby game was Squeak Squad and I was so mesmerized by his pretty white eyes when they were revealed for that split second! I'd replay that boss fight a bunch as a kid just to see them.

So yeah, I have the power to be in denial about a few facts for my own amusement and that's one of them. Draw and consume the content that makes you happiest, friends!! :P

About his backstory and origins, I don't have any solid headcanons of my own since I really like seeing other people's takes on it! Being Dark Matter-born, made by Nightmare, blending anime and game lore together, etc. There's so much I enjoy! His mysterious past can be frustratingly open-ended but at least it's given a lot of people the opportunity to be super creative!

I do like to think he gets more enjoyment out of a good, honest battle than he likes to let on. I mean, it's what he's best at! He fights for fun! An entire arena was built for him in Waddle Dee Town!

...So speaking of fighting, I've been doing some thinking about his powers... Like a lot of thinking. This is what I really wanna talk about!!

He's got some good old-fashioned, hard-earned skill with a sword. Probably from years of training. But his more powerful attacks use a lot of wind and electricity. That's why I think Meta Knight has the power of Storms.

Some examples of his use of wind:

One of his signature moves is Mach Tornado, after all!

Now, the bat effect to his spin in RtDL Deluxe kinda puzzles me. It just looks cooler I guess. This is a dude who put his face on his airship so why not have tiny bat particles come from your signature moves? Could just be a natural evolution of his power growing stronger, teehee.

Anyway, here are some examples of his use of electricity: (This man has a LOT of electric effects in his attacks!)

So much electricity!! Zappo! Bzzzzt!

And as a bonus, when Meta unsheathes Galaxia in the anime it materializes from lightning. THAT IS DOPE AS HELL. I don't personally subscribe to much of the anime lore, but I eat this detail UP.

Next, I used to think Meta had telekinesis because of Star Allies. All that purple aura when he lifts the rocks seems like solid evidence.

But then he does the same move in Forgotten Land and he's actually lifting the rocks with wind!! And a lot of it!! So his mastery of wind is significant to me! Probably helps him fly better too! I think his use of wind could certainly give his opponents the impression that he has telekinesis and psych them out a bit!

Finally, I used to think his duplication move was because of the Jamba Heart in Star Allies but I realized he does this in the Kirby Mass Attack mini game (whose canonicity is probably up for debate, but hey.) I'm willing to hear someone else out for an explanation because I'm stumped! Lol :P

....So yeah!! TLDR I think he is a swordsman with the power of Storms!

I'm interested to see other people's takes on him, this is just what I've made up for myself, haha! Either way, I love Meta Knight and he is super cool!! Thanks for reading!!

[fisheito]

fisheito sama one of the things i love about your art is the way you simplify forms and designs — something i struggle a lot to do so i try to learn with your art to focus more in the full picture than the tiny details that make me go nowhere because i get so lost ar the middle- anyways- if you were a youkai master i would love to be your pupil. your yakumo art makes me see sparkles. youre so cool. i will work hard to be as cool as you are. i would be more than happy to call you my master. my master in the art of making nu carnival art. thank you master 🙇‍♂️

who the heck in my inbox callin me -sama?!?!!?? maybe i am -senpai on my strongest most radiant day. MAYBE.

but yes i feel your sentiment and am very pleased to see you having fun with *gestures vaguely* whatever it is i'm doing here

reading this reminds me of my own struggle with drawing details... long thoughts ahead😦💭💭

every time i draw that angy dissatisfied voice From Within is shaaaaaaaming me going, "this is nuca. you know the art, RIGHT? you've seen the intricacies of the designs. part of its beauty is in its details. if you don't honour that, then how can you REALLY stay true to its spirit????"

and yes the art is HELLA cool and i really like it and it's got insane details that make things even more fun for the analysts in the crowd

even more impressive is the FANART because whOO seeing all these artists matching the skill of the source material?! hobbyists or whatevs drawin these fantastical gayboys in elaborate outfits and poses and everything you could dream of and more?? the anatomy! the colours! the careful attention to EVERYTHING! the hair strands and?? ALL FOR FREE? they are letting me see this for FREE ?????

so i can't help but feel a little inadequacy when i try to pull off the same thing

occasionally i'll try to draw.. idk. something similar to those magneefeecent elaborate fanarts,, or just as detailed as the original game art. ya know, the anime aesthetic really baked in there, but mixed with technical prowess!

i'll draw a pose. i'll try to draw several sections of hair according to actual gravity rules. i'll really focus on what they're wearing, and try to add the details of the shirt and-- oops, i forgot the 12-pointed necklace thing-- just put that in.. oh, shieb,it's connecte d to some sort of cascading sash -=um-- how is that fabric supposed to fold again? better look it up;; WAIT it's not actually fabric? it's ... A BUNCH OF TINY BEADS? what material are they. are they translucent? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO REP{LIICATE THAT. p..pointillism? but then i...

[SEVERAL HOURS LATER. FAR MORE HOURS THAN I WOULD USUALLY SPEND] > me, not even finished the torso, slumped on the floor in defeat because every gem on the necklace looks too flat and i've forgotten the original intent of the drawing

sometimes, days later, i'll compare these attempts with my other drawings done in less time (the ones where i don't think too hard and don't bother with the details). and i'll find that i enjoy the simpler result anyway. ya think with all the EFFORT i put into the detailed one... wouldn't i jump thru mental hoops to justify my invested time? shouldn't i think, "oh yeah, i REALLY worked on this. it's not the best but i'm still happy with it. the time was worth it."

.NO???! I end up thinking, "that time was NOT worth it. i feel more fulfillment and joy from the simpler drawing. if i can accomplish that with less effort, why would i bother with the extra stuff?"

i'm no workaholic. lower-effort doesn't necessarily mean bad,..... right? just.. incorporating all those jingly bits and WOWEE TEXTURE WITH THE BEAUTIFUL AMBIENT LIGHTING AND COLOURSs takes a LOT outta me. then, am i willing to put in the extra effort to really improve those areas and make em as nice as those top tier taiwanese artists on THAT section of birdsite?!?! ...... not realy.... it's not... worth it. for me at least.. i'd rather focus on facial expressions . and silly interactions.

(yes of course there are ppl who can do the silly AND the technical moodlighting extreme magnifico detailtastic everything else. MAD RESPECT!!! TO THEM!! FOR WORKING UP TO THAT!!!! but my goal is not so ambitious. i am but here for a laugh...)

so maybe i'm not the best knight for the job, if the job is Dick Fight Island-tier anatomy and environments (seriously if you haven't read that manga , you should. it is wild and truly respectable)!

but for MOI? wittle floppy ME? if i don't draw what i like, i won't have the energy to complete anything. You want me to put that extreme improvement-journey-effort into every drawing?

.Do y'all want aborted torso sketches with 62% of a necklace??? cuz that's how u get aborted torso sketches with 61% of a necklace.

anyway, if i helped you realise that maaaaaaybe you don't wanna focus on certain things in yo art ? and you'd rather put ur energy into an aspect u care about more? sounds good! i hope it leads u to increased-enjoy Creating 😎

[chromotps]

p-please. if you still ship ace/luffy? if not then it's fine no need to read/answer etc. i just wanted to ask because i think i saw you post related art on here earlier at some point? and i haven't stopped thinking about it since honestly. could you possibly. please add some more thoughts on that future/time-travel/age swap (??) AU that's basically older/pirate king luffy meeting spade captain ace? because it has infinite angst potential to me (something something you're as beautiful as the day i lost you....), but also an equal amount of emotional hurt/comfort. and i'd like to hear more. how would an older luffy react to a young-ish (still alive.) ace? like, how would their dynamic change? (or not at all, with luffy going immediately into younger brother mode despite being in his 40s or something like these videos of fully grown up golden retreivers acting like puppies in specific situations. though not gonna lie, a more collected/a fully grown luffy in both the physical and emotional aspect is also. ugh.) would he respect the potential time-travel /rules/ that probably the rest of the strawhats would try to make him adhere to (like not talking about events that ace doesn't know about yet, or generally not engaging physically with people that clearly don't belong in the timeline), or would he just selfishly try to enjoy the moment while it lasted? (or a secret third thing, maybe?)

it's like. a purely self-indulgent AU for me because it both allows luffy to meet ace once more/say goodbye to him/thank him for a lot of things or just do things that he didn't get to do being the younger brother (even more self indulgent sub-scenario to this is. similar to your acelu week work? luffy helping ace bathe/washing his hair because it had always been the other way round, with ace taking care of him), and ace technically gets to see luffy as the pirate king? which partially equals to seeing him accomplish his dream.

yeah. sry for all the spam but i'm. just so weak for this AU honestly and just wanted to reach out to you as i think you came up with it initially?

hello!!! yes, thank you for messaging—I've had Ace on the brain so much lately... Definitely still ship acelu!! It just started seeming like there were fewer and fewer people who shipped it in, er, the same way I did? Which is totally fair, with how much possibility for interpretation there is with these characters.

ANYWAY, my version of the time travel acelu AU (since, you know, I don't think I came up with anything groundbreaking—there are a few fics out there, I think, with an older Luffy saving his younger brother Ace, things like that)... So much of it depends on the circumstances, like, if Ace was briefly transported forward in time, or Luffy + the SHs went back. I might go with the first option—let Ace get a fullllll sense of Luffy in his Pirate King grandeur, haha.

"angst potential"—I definitely see that possibility, like, the pure shock Luffy would have seeing Ace young and healthy, miraculously alien after however many years it's been and yet so, so familiar. The little details Luffy might have even forgotten... the particular way the freckles fell across Ace's skin, the way he was always so expressive in his movements, tensing up in this new environment, leaning in toward Luffy when he's laughing. Also, different kind of angst, but I could imagine Ace having this sinking, freezing feeling when he finds out he died. A sort of resignation, like, his fear that he never deserved to live confirmed. Then, Luffy explains more about the situation—how he owes Ace his life, how so many people fought for him, how even Ace was moved to want to be alive. So then Ace is like, at least my death was worth it—I made something valuable of my life. And finally Luffy has to be like, no. I appreciate your sacrifice, but what I really wanted was for my brother to live.

Also (it's probably clear already) but because this is *my* take on the AU I wouldn't have it get too angsty. Not that I want everything to magically be perfect, I'd want whatever catharsis happens to feel earned... but with any of my headcanons, I'm just not compelled by a story where Ace still dies. 😂 So:

"would Luffy respect the potential time-travel rules" absolutely not, ahahaha. Mr. "I heard your rules, and they're stupid, so I'm making my own"? Fair, a more mature Luffy would recognize the true weight of messing with the past/future... But even recognizing that risk, he'd actively choose to prioritize his connection with Ace and his faith in his own instincts. Plus, I don't know, Luffy feels like the kind of character who you could tell, "It's either you let Ace die, or your crew" and he'd say, "no! I'm taking option #3" and then he makes it happen.

"how would their dynamic change?" - so, tbh, I first came up with this AU on a horny whim. I wanted older, even more self-assured Luffy to just have the time of his life messing with Ace while also piling on the adoration. I don't think Luffy would really "revert"... The way he acts in Wano, and other places, shows that his mindset has really shifted over time. (Actually, okay, caveat—I could see Luffy in his initial shock of seeing Ace, if you wanted to really push the angst, completely breaking. Then he might get a bit clingy, wrapping Ace in as close as he can get him, crying for his big brother...) On Ace's side, maybe he's put at-ease, because this really is Luffy, the person he loves most in the whole world... Same ridiculous laugh, same unstoppable smile. But Ace is also completely thrown for a loop, because you're telling him this guy?? Right here?? Is his baby brother (who he last saw as some 14yo pipsqueak??)? The guy able to shove him around with a slap to the back, and who's somehow able to restrain himself from yelling for meat because he's so engrossed in Ace, for some reason?

I definitely think Luffy would thank Ace for everything he did, both during Marineford, and just their whole lives... I don't even need to get into it in this post, but thinking of how Luffy carried Ace's love with him all those years (this post says it better). Anyway, Luffy would express all that to Ace, and then let that lead into why he wants Ace to live this time around even more desperately.

From there, it just depends on how long the time travel effect lasts. If it's brief, it might just be Luffy trying to convey some way to make Marineford go differently to Ace ("train your haki!!!! don't make reckless sacrifices thinking it's the only way you can show your love!!"). But............ if I wanted to be really indulgent, I could say the effect is a few days, maybe even weeks. And then, I could so see Pirate King Luffy just doting on Ace completely. Being the one to show Ace all kinds of wonderful things in this future, interesting treasure they've found—the same way Ace made him feel that wonder when they were kids. And then, like, treasuring Ace's physical form, that he's whole and safe... Gosh, with how defensive Ace might get at this whole situation, I could see older Luffy and his insight immediately clocking how much teen Ace was hurting and angry in a way his younger self never noticed. Especially Ace from his Spade Pirate days... So, Luffy's response to that could be the care you mentioned—insisting on doing something soft and appreciative, like bathing, or bringing him his favorite food to share in a private place, like a quiet spot on the ship or Luffy's room or somewhere...

Ahhhhhhhh I have once again dumped an absolute mess of thoughts into the world. Hopefully this is something like what you were looking for (even with all my biases 😂)!

[beevean]

If a Castlevania 3/Akumajō Densetsu reimagining game was created, with all the background details added by Lament of Innocence and Curse of Darkness, what would you suggest for the gameplay and storytelling structures, and handle the language strength in accordance to a T, or possible M, rating?

A hypothetical M rating would influence a lot more than language. In Europe, ShTH, LoI and CoD were all rated 12+: the first game had "damn"s abounding and aliens bleeding green blood, the second game had this utter abomination, and the third game had a graphic stabbing, some swear words peppered around, and Isaac. ShTH looks pretty quaint in comparison lol. A M-rated CV game would probably lean into much more graphic violence and monsters before even changing the number of swear words thrown around. (man, if Beelzebub and the Forgotten One looked ghastly with the graphics of their time, imagine nowadays what they could do...)

Anyway I'm happy with the occasional "damn" and "bastard". Maybe one F-bomb. As a treat. Because IGA knows how many CV characters would benefit from one :P

As for the gameplay, well. Of course I'd retry a 3D approach! LoI and CoD were restrained by an obvious lack of budget and time and probably not much experience: after many years of expertise with the three dimensions, ideally the devs should be able to come up with more compelling level design, perhaps taking inspiration from the LoS games. It would be cool to go through the locations of CV3, but in 3D and popping graphics, switching between characters, with plenty of focus on platforming and combat.

It would be nice to have some sort of Yakuza-esque structure where you switch between two stories, so you'd play as Trevor and his friends in some chapters (keeping the idea that he has to find them and befriend them), and Hector in others, which would recreate the Innocent Devil mechanic... perhaps without the evolution chart, since it would no longer be the point of the game? You'd just make them by finding the right materials, kind of like weapon crafting. You'd play as the villain at the beginning of the game - imagine creating demons as Hector to send to Wallachia, and then killing them as Trevor! - and then you'd play out his betrayal: his final boss would be Isaac, of course, then it ends with them sensing Dracula dying... and then we get to play that moment with Trevor.

(my dream would be playable Isaac too, but I wouldn't know how to make him feel different from Hector and what he could do lol. It would be very funny if he was much faster, like Maxim lmao)

LoI wouldn't influence the game much, I think. It would mostly impact the story. Some easter eggs, like a hidden painting of Elisabetha, could be cool. I'd definitely add more flashbacks that show how Dracula fell in love with Lisa and how the two raised Alucard: perhaps they could be unlockables, to not bog down the main plot?

[sussusamogus47]

here's a clip from something I may realistically never finish :p

bc I may never finish it, I'll detail more below in case anyone is interested

o/ Hiya there! ig I'd better get to typing huh lol

SO! My original idea (that I had way back when Genloss first premiered actually > - >) was to essentially make a full on intro, about 1.5 minutes long, rendered in Blender. Which is uh, kind of insane considering my ability to use Blender is mediocre on a good day.

The idea was that each of the major characters would be made into a marble sculpture type of thing, an idea best demonstrated in the intro for 1899.

On top of that, there'd be other objects too; For instance, a game of mousetrap where the cage was coming down onto a few of the Maul of America pieces.

(For context, see this post I made about the board games)

I had a few other objects in mind, too, though I've forgotten most of them since I first came up with the idea >.> I know one of them was the TV from the first episode, and another might have been Jerma's gun? Again it's been awhile, so things are a bit fuzzy unfortunately

The actual title card is what you've just seen -- albeit a slightly watered down version bc of my poor Blender abilities.

It would all be backed by a custom hack-n-slashed version of Puppet Loosely Strung by The Correspondents, which I've actually managed to do. It was actually kinda hard to keep it at just 1.5 minutes considering the song is like, 4 minutes long, but hey I managed it!! Honestly even having listened to the full song a lot (it goes hard, would recommend) I can kind of barely tell it's been rearranged lol.

(When I get the chance I'll see if I can't upload it somewhere)

Anyway, I think that's mostly everything I had for this. If I can remember anything else I'll add it.

I doubt I'll ever actually get the chance to actually pull through on this idea, unfortunately :( But hey, if you got inspired by any part of this, don't hesitate to make something!!! And if you post it, feel free to tag me in it too, I wanna see :O

Anyway, that's it from me. See ya around, and stay fresh :)

[mccdreamys-writes]

smiles for miles – 18. battered and bruised

indelible scars, pivotal marks, blue as the life she fled. - Taylor Swift, Carolina

S E P T E M B E R   2 2 N D   2 0 1 1

As I stood before the mirror, I examined my reflection with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. My eyes scrutinized every detail, tracing the intricate patterns of scars that adorned my skin like a map of my turbulent journey. Each scar told a story, a narrative of the challenges I had encountered and the battles I had waged.

In the faint glow of the room, the scars seemed to whisper tales of adversity overcome and hardships endured. Some were stark and jagged, hinting at moments of intense struggle and pain that I could barely recall. Yet, their presence served as a reminder of the resilience that dwelled within me, a testament to my ability to persevere in the face of adversity.

Among the scars, the ones on my wrists stood out the most, their deep indigo hues a stark contrast against the pallor of my skin. They bore the imprint of my struggles against the restraints that had confined me, each bruise a testament to the desperation I had felt in those moments of captivity. Traces of bruising, fainter but still visible that had encircled my wrists, echoed in the gentle contours of my ankles.

In the bend of my arm, a lone blue speck caught my eye amidst a swirl of vibrant hues. The colors—purples, greens, and yellows—melded together in a captivating dance, a vivid reminder of the IV line that once snaked through my veins. It marked a chapter of resilience, a testament to my body's fight against adversity.

Around my middle, layers of bandages formed a protective shield over a wound hidden from view. Here, nestled in the core of my being, a bullet had grazed me, leaving behind a scar that spoke volumes of the precariousness of life. They said I was lucky, that fate had spared me by the narrowest of margins.

Yet, it was my face that revealed the deepest scars of the journey I had endured. My once scarless complexion now bore the intricate webbing of stitches, tracing a path from the edge of my hairline on the right to the gentle curve of my left eyebrow, weaving through the strands of hair that framed my face. The split lip, though healing, retained traces of its battle, the bruises lending it an exaggerated appearance of injury.

Dark circles pooled beneath my eyes, a testament to the sleepless nights and ceaseless worry that had plagued the last couple of days, or weeks, however long it'd been. They held the exhaustion worthy of a thousand people.

To further underscore the toll of my ordeal, my underwear hung loosely on my frame, once snug now billowing with excess fabric. The oversized bandage wrapped around my waist served as a stark reminder of the physical toll exacted upon my body, a tangible symbol of the sacrifices made in the struggle for survival. Each aspect of my appearance spoke volumes of the battles fought and the resilience shown in the face of adversity.

I discovered that the wounds cutting deepest weren't etched into my skin but rather embedded in the very fibers of my mind. They weren't the result of visible harm but rather the silent grip of uncertainty and absence that clung to my thoughts like relentless shadows. It wasn't the memory of pain that haunted me, but the void left by forgotten faces—the names and stories of those who I'd spent my time locked up with, now lost in the fog of oblivion.

This cloak of unknowing draped over my existence like a shroud, casting a perpetual shadow of unease. Without recognition, I felt perpetually exposed, teetering on the edge of an uncertain abyss. The fear of being taken, snatched away by whoever had taken me, became a constant specter haunting every moment of my waking life, an unrelenting anxiety gnawing at my soul.

Even amidst Alex's promises of unwavering devotion and protection, the specter of uncertainty lingered. Despite her vows to shield me with all her might, doubts still whispered in the depths of my mind. Though she offered reassurance, the shadows of doubt left me trapped in a state of perpetual watchfulness, never fully able to let my guard down.

A gentle rapping reverberated through the bathroom door, its delicate cadence a soothing balm amidst the turbulent tempest of my thoughts. And then, like a wisp of fragrant breeze, Alex's voice drifted through the keyhole, a tender whisper laden with concern and compassion. "Are you okay?"

In that fleeting moment, as her words hung suspended in the air like delicate dewdrops, I found myself grappling with the complexity of my own emotions. Was I truly okay? The question echoed in the recesses of my mind, its resonance a poignant reminder of the uncertainty that pervaded my existence. Though I longed to offer reassurance, to affirm my well-being in the face of her genuine concern, the truth remained elusive, slipping through my fingers like grains of sand.

I was okay, but I wasn't quite fine.

I didn't want to add to her worries, so I assured her I was okay. Yet, even as the words slipped from my lips, a pang of guilt prickled at the edges of my conscience—a silent acknowledgment of the burden I carried, knowing she cared.

As I draped myself in the hospital gown, its sterile fabric a stark reminder of my vulnerability, I felt the weight of uncertainty settle upon me like a heavy shroud. With trembling hands, I struggled to tie the gown's intricate knots, the task made all the more challenging by the soreness of every inch of my body.

With a soft chuckle that cut through the quiet of the room like a gentle breeze, Alex offered her help, her voice a soothing salve for my troubled soul. "Come here, let me help you."

As I turned to let her help with the tangled gown clinging to my back, I sensed her gaze on me—a quiet observer of the scars etched into my skin, each one a reminder of the battles I had fought and survived. In that vulnerable moment, I dared to lower my defenses, allowing her a glimpse into the depths of my pain.

"Is it bad?" I asked tentatively as I heard her breath hitch. Despite the doubts swirling in my mind, Alex's response was swift and steadfast.

"It's alright," she whispered, her voice a soothing melody that reached into the depths of my being. "It'll be okay, I promise." Yet beneath her comforting words, I sensed a hint of uncertainty lingering.

A delicate shiver ran down my spine as Alex's fingers gracefully worked to tie the gown. Her touch was gentle, yet it sparked a cascade of sensations that swept through me. The contact sent a wave of goosebumps across my skin, each one a sign of the intense mix of pleasure and pain coursing through me.

But just as I began to succumb to the overwhelming feeling, a sudden spasm gripped the muscles in my back. It was a sharp reminder of my body's vulnerability. With a gasp, Alex pulled back, her face reflecting a mix of concern and regret of what she had just done.

"Oh God, I hurt you, didn't I?" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with remorse. Her eyes met mine, pleading silently for forgiveness, and I felt a pang of sympathy.

I turned around and reached out to her, my fingers trembling as they brushed against her shoulders. "Alex, it's fine," I reassured her, trying to calm the storm of guilt that clouded her expression.

But she shook her head, adamant in her belief that she was to blame. "No, it's not okay," she insisted firmly. "I hurt you."

I held her gaze, feeling the weight of her words. "You weren't the one to hurt me," I countered, my voice firm yet gentle. "Understood?"

Before she could respond by saying she was indeed the one to hurt me, I jumped in, my hand cutting through the air to emphasize my point. "No," I urged, the intensity clear in my voice, "Understood?"

Her reply came softly, a whispered agreement that seemed to hang in the air between us. "Yes," she admitted, her voice barely audible in the vast room.

But I wasn't satisfied with a simple acknowledgment, not when the truth was so crucial. "Yes, what?" I pressed further, urgency creeping into my tone.

"I didn't hurt you," she clarified, her words a declaration of innocence that echoed through me.

"Good," I affirmed with a serious nod, the gravity of my words settling between us like fallen petals. "Remember that."

A hesitant smile played on her lips, a hint of uncertainty shimmering in her eyes as she absorbed my words. With a gentle release, I loosened my hold on her shoulders, giving her room to explore her own thoughts.

As I settled back into the comfort of my hospital bed, I watched her closely, noticing the subtle shifts in her expression as she delved into her inner world. "Penny for your thoughts?" I inquired softly, inviting her to share her thoughts with me.

Turning her attention towards me, Alex took a seat beside my bed—a silent guardian watching over our intertwined destinies. The chair had become hers in this hospital room—a promise she would not leave my side.

"I was just wondering," she started, her voice carrying a soft note of uncertainty as she edged toward her own vulnerability, "if you remember anything from the days you spent in the shed."

A wistful sigh slipped from my lips, laden with the heaviness of unspoken yearning as I succumbed to the relentless current of lost recollections. "I don't much," I admitted, my words fragile in the vastness of the sterile room. "There are glimpses, but it's fuzzy. I don't really remember."

With a feeling of acceptance, I looked around the plain walls of the room, its starkness providing little comfort in the face of my own uncertainty. In this clinical space, there was little that felt personal—except for the two of us and a lone photograph resting on the small table beside my bed. It captured a moment frozen in time, a scene captured by Alex's skilled eye—a reminder of the closeness that bound us together amidst the chaos.

In the photo, we relaxed in a hammock, with only 'The Catcher in the Rye' to keep us company in the tranquil stillness. Yet, as I studied the image of our intertwined forms, a sense of emptiness crept over me—a quiet acknowledgment of the absence lingering on the edge of my consciousness.

"I've got a feeling I wasn't alone," I whispered, my words hesitant as I confessed the uncertainty swirling in my mind. "Someone else was there."

A soft smile touched Alex's lips as she confirmed my suspicions, her voice a comforting presence in the quiet of the room. "Yeah," she nodded, her words carrying a weight of truth. "James and Ira were there too."

In the depths of my thoughts, fragmented memories stirred, like whispers in the dark, teasing at the edges of my consciousness. Images of James flickered into view, his figure held down by restraints like my own—a silent witness to the turmoil of our shared confinement. Yet, unlike my own memories, his face remained untouched by the violence that marked my own. It was a detail that tugged at my thoughts, a puzzle piece waiting to be fitted into place.

"Is he okay?" I asked cautiously, my voice barely audible amidst the uncertainty that surrounded us. My concern for his well-being weighed heavily on my mind, a silent plea for reassurance in the midst of my own turmoil.

Alex nodded in response, her expression tinged with sadness that echoed in her voice. "Physically, he's fine," she confirmed solemnly. "But his pride took a hit after he realized he was engaged to a lunatic."

Confusion clouded my thoughts as I tried to process her words. Seeing my bewilderment, Alex offered an explanation, her tone gentle and understanding. "He was engaged to Ira," she clarified, her words carrying the weight of revelation. "The woman who held both of you captive."

After she told me, I felt like a dam broke inside my mind, and all these jumbled memories rushed out. Each one felt like a piece of a giant puzzle, showing bits and pieces of what we went through together. But there was this one big gap, like something important was missing.

"I never remembered a woman being there," I admitted, still trying to wrap my head around what Alex had just said. In my head, I kept going over those memories again and again, hoping to find something that would trigger more.

"It'll come back to you," Alex comforted me, her words a small light in the darkness of my confusion.

I looked at her, feeling a mix of worry and acceptance. Her words felt like they carried a lot of weight, lingering in the air like a thin trail of smoke disappearing into nothingness. "Should I want it to?" I questioned out loud, my voice barely audible in the quiet room.

She paused, deep in thought, trying to figure out how to answer my question. But before she could say anything, the sudden arrival of someone else broke the peaceful atmosphere we had.

As the figure stepped into the room, my whole body tensed up automatically. It's like some primal part of me, learned from all the bad stuff we've been through, kicked in. I was scared, really scared, every sense on high alert, warning me that something might go wrong.

Alex glanced at the newcomer, her face showing the same fear I felt as she checked out this unexpected visitor. But when she turned back to me, her touch kind of calmed me down, taking the edge off my anxiety. Still, I couldn't shake off all the emotions swirling inside me.

"Take it easy," she said softly, her words like a warm hug, easing my nerves. Her hand slipped into mine, her fingers intertwining mine, a silent message that we were in this together. "Maile, meet Special Agent Derek Morgan."

As the fear slowly faded away, I could feel the shaky nerves calming down, like when the fog clears up after sunrise. I gave a hesitant smile and reached out my hand, trying to show that I was sorry for freaking out earlier. "I'm sorry about that. I don't know what came over me," I said, my voice still a bit unsure. "Hi, I'm Maile."

Derek took my hand gently, giving it a reassuring squeeze that helped ease my lingering anxiety. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm Derek," he said, his voice like a comforting melody in the air. "Alex told me a lot about you."

I couldn't help but smile a little at that, feeling a warmth spread inside me from his words. "All good things, I presume," I remarked, a playful twinkle in my eye. "Any other thing she told you, lies."

Derek let out a hearty laugh, filling the room with a sound like distant thunder. "All good things," he said, nodding with a smile that made his eyes crinkle at the edges with amusement. Then, turning to Alex, he got serious. "Sorry to break it to you, Blake, but we've got a case."

Alex didn't hesitate for a second. Her response was quick and strong, showing her determination in the way her jaw tightened and her eyes blazed with intensity. "I'm not going," she said firmly, refusing to budge in the face of duty.

I looked at her, feeling a mix of surprise and respect for her resolve. Her decision weighed on me, but in the midst of it all, a thought popped into my head, a brief distraction from the chaos of the moment.

"Seems like it," I told Derek, my voice a gentle reminder of the bond between Alex and me. Then, I turned to Alex, asking for a small favor to lighten the mood. "Hey Alex, could you grab me some jello?"

With a nod of appreciation, Alex got ready to leave for the errand. Her readiness to help showed how caring she was. "Sure thing. Anything else?" she asked, her voice carrying a hint of worry.

I shook my head, smiling softly to show I was okay. "Nope, just jello for now. But make sure you grab something for yourself too. You've got to eat," I said, reminding her to take care of herself in the midst of everything going on.

She responded with a playful eye roll and a laugh, understanding the underlying message in my words. With one last look at me, she got up and left, leaving me with Derek and the thoughts forming a plan in my head

As Derek confirmed that Alex was on her way out with a nod, I saw my chance to put our plan into action. My mind raced with thoughts as I spoke up, urgency lacing my tone as I laid out the details of what we needed to do.

"Okay, when do you guys leave?" I asked, eager to get things moving.

"Tomorrow morning, 6 AM," Derek replied, his voice steady, like an anchor keeping me grounded amidst the chaos of my thoughts.

"Excellent," I said, satisfaction creeping into my words. "She'll be asleep here. So, around 5 AM, come by. Bring someone else if you need to. Come take her while she is asleep."

Derek looked at me, a flicker of surprise crossing his face as he absorbed my plan. "You've done this kind of thing before, haven't you?" he asked, a hint of admiration in his voice.

I shook my head, a bittersweet smile forming. "No, not exactly," I admitted, feeling the weight of uncertainty between us. "Anyhow, she sleeps deep. I've noticed. So, it shouldn't be too hard to get her out without any trouble."

"Hmm," Derek mused, his expression thoughtful as he considered the practicality of our plan. "I'll see what I can do."

As our talk wound down, Alex came back with a single orange in her hand, a small break from the seriousness of our conversation. "They only had one orange left," she told us, her words bringing a bit of relief to the tense atmosphere. "Consider yourself lucky."

But then, her tone shifted. Alex's question cut through the quiet like a sharp knife, her voice carrying a hint of jealousy underneath. "Has he been flirting with you?" she asked, suspicion evident in her narrowed eyes as she looked at me. I couldn't help but smirk a little at her question, recognizing the underlying tension between us.

Turning to Derek, she got straight to the point, demanding answers with an authoritative tone that brooked no argument. "Did you hit on her?" she asked sharply, her eyes fixed on him with a challenging stare.

Derek's response was quick, his hands going up in a gesture of innocence as he tried to reassure her. "I wouldn't dare," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice, almost like he couldn't believe she would think that.

Alex seemed satisfied with his answer, her expression softening a bit as she looked at him with cautious approval. "Good," she said firmly, her words carrying a warning that hung in the air, promising consequences if he dared to cross any lines.

[thegoodceai]

afddighadfi <3333 sending all the hearts <33, sry for the late reply I had a Long Time at work but I had read your message and was also liek *twirling hair, kicking feet* trying to think of a fitting response !

Letsgo!! IF is soo good, I need to get more into IF if anything. Fallen Hero is Top Tier. Got a top three IF? And Nice! U a player or dming for them?

Aww! I'd love to know any info about her! Plz feel free to yell at me about her. Wuts her (current) name, design?, sign, The Demons (the story ur putting her through lol).

Bro! I've relatively done the same, I had waited so long to play Retri, wut ending did u get 👀👀👀. Ortega is just 😩😩😩

I hadn't heard of her nor the song, but checking it out I can definitely see why it's been on repeat <333.

We love little sharp bbies <3. Do u have a preference for color? Got a name picked out already lol?

Fair Enough, least they chase u with a stake. The Aesthetic and Seduction are unmatched I will give em that ;p. Oh! I know Of the series, but next to nothing what its about, wuts it about/what drew you into it? ((I know I could Google it, butt any excuse to get you to chat/yell more <3))

Thank you for replying to all my random questions lol. Been following for a long time, and in my mind ur already a Friend :))))

<3333 sending all the good vibes, i know we've been mutuals for a while and truly the one reaction i have every time we interact is Friend!!!!!

i am DMing for my friends, it was the only way to get them to play. i started out with only 2 players, just for some light fun, but i ended up with 5 now and a whole homebrew campaign that they can play around in and so far they do seem to be enjoying being chaotic gremlins with the side of Mystery Plot i threw at them

IF is amazing, i love the versatility of the format. idk if i could pick a true top 3, but for ones in progress ones i keep going back and replaying there's A Tale of Crowns (a favorite and one of the first ones i played, like 2 years ago when it was first released), Project Hadea, and Attolo. i love all of them dearly and cannot wait to see how they end up. for finished ones, i loveeeee Way Walkers University (i feel like it's so underrated, but i really like the style it is written in and how well developed the world of it is, there just so much and the variations you can play are huge), The Passenger (Roach my beloved), and i really liked I, The Forgotten One (been following this one before it was published, and it's truly not everyones' cup, but i found it compelling)

the story i'm working on is kind of fantasy adventure, heavily based on mythology and folklore (specifically romanian one), and i am planning to like, make it public at some point this year (still ironing and detailing some stuff, but the bones are solid, it's been rooting around in my brain for A While). the main cast are all variations of very very old ocs i have (originally for another story sort of in the same vein, but i'd like to think i grew a bit as a writer and they're more put together now, as well as the story itself). so imma hold on to the details about this whole thing for now but aaah thank u for being interested in it <3333

aah first ending i got was accident as sidestep, stayed as sidestep, and got the whole old gang involved in breaking them out of the hospital. i've been playing sidestep as a reluctant villain that's gunning for justice/exposing what the Powers That Be are actually up to (anarchist villain baby), all while being friendly with the Rangers and ended up keeping the cover so none of them know about the villain sidegig lmao. been trying to psych myself to play a fully evil sidestep but. it's hard. and i loooove playing reluctant and tired mcs that are done with everything but ultimately will do the right thing at any cost (tragic heroes my beloved)

16 year old me would have given anything to have a black cat named either Loki or Thanatos and you know what? they were right. but in reality i will probably just end up adopting a bunch of stray animals and naming them like. normal human names. or food names (i am very fond of the name Clementine, but it is kind of a mouthful)

lmao i remember next to nothing of the series, i've read it forever ago (i was like, maybe 13?? when i got the first book). all i remember was that i liked Sookie very much at the time. it was i think the first like, adult book series i read and it was fascinating to my young brain, seeing a fully developed female main character being badass and resourceful and kinda doing her own thing (the series is from her perspective, so that was also kind of novel at the time, after reading a lot of like, classical literature and school stuff). idk if i'd recommend it now, but it was definitely formative for me. it's also the series that got me into like, modern fantasy (both reading and writing it)

[haeroniel-doliet]

Bonus content: heres the super speed summary of how I struggled through the dinluke big bang piece I started over 80 days ago! More thoughts and details on my process below to cut

- Overall wanna post this with all the flaws galore for my future self, not at all because I've just left the record function on, forgot about it and now I have this!

- Good reminder that the worst thing is blank paper and just getting something down okay, rough simple lines convey ideas its all good!

- Drawing on an airplane produces questionable results (the first more refined lines, not NEARLY enough references in use)

- Speaking of, never regretted following a reference over trying to improvise. I feel like it always looks better (that smoke is one good example!)

- Redrawing and redrawing sometimes is so worth it, other times you should just let it be and move on (those first trees before the yellow dotting were kinda okay honestly!)

- Less all sorts of different brushes is better, for consistency :')

- Theres many parts I'd forgotten that in hindsight maybe look better than the end result (like overall composition being bigger and with better feeling of space) but choices were made and I gotta choose to be happy with and proud of the completed piece, afterall its better than all the dusty never finished wips.

- Definitely didn't quite follow the big bang deadlines, I'm sorry :') in general I'd consider that greyscale to be 20% sure (proof of idea and a layout figured out!) But hilariously after what I posted for even 80% I went and redid all that work. (Maybe its not actually totally redoing if you're making the same just improved! All the ground work took its own time and I wasn't starting from scratch at all.)

- At the very end it gets abruptly cut off, despite asking the program to leave on the last frame for a bit... Then I remembered the panic I had just yesterday, because the file for these screenshots took up too much disk space and caused Krita to crash, losing all the progress of like good bit of little adjustments and corrections. I guess I never turned the recording back on, so the very final few hours are missing, but thats okay! This is not professional! (Spot the absolutely tiny differences with the final image posted :p)

-Also realizing after many a rewatch, there's been some glitch with it not recording me recolouring the characters entirely!! How sad, but you can see the difference from when they pop up around the time I'm redoing the trees and at 02.53 and when they return all redone at 03.07

- Theres a lot I don't love, theres a lot that could be better if done differently, but I really have to start being okay with being done rather than perfect!

- Really proud of myself for dedicating to doing a more involved and detailed background/scene than i've ever done before digitally. I've pushed beyond my comfort zone of just characters with a hint of a background, it will get better from here!

- Did I need to post this with all sorts of bits missing? No, definitely not, but hopefully someone will find this interesting, and my future self feels that this was helpful!

[carry-on-my-wayward-gays]

your mind powers encouraged me to do this, so have Martyn in a frustrated gay panic over Scott and Ren not doing anything at all to help

It's the evening after the first day of the faire, and no, martyn isn't dreading going back. In fact, he's looking forward to it, it was very fun! But.

He's dreading having to look the pretty boy in the eyes again, and try to hold a completely functioning conversation.

Ren openly mocks him from the bed, fanning out his drying nails like he's not the one who married him years ago. Granted, it was a heat of the moment decision and they were divorced now, but minor details.

What's important right now is Martyn agonizing over what to send to the pretty boy(who he'd learned was named scott)

"Should I even text him today? Wouldn't that make me look desperate?" He frets. Ren just scoffs.

"Dude. Martyn. You are desperate." He snarks, and he can practically hear Martyn rolling his eyes in the way he says "thanks Ren". "I mean, I'd go for it today. Don't want him to forget about you." He shrugs.

"You're right..." Martyn huffs. "What do I say- Does just a hi work? Or- Or should I try and be smooth-"

"Just say whatever you did to make me say yes to marrying you." Ren shrugs, as if it's that simple.

Martyn balks. "Oh, take him to Vegas and get him drunk. Splendid idea, may I remind you that it was you who asked me to marry you?"

"Huh." Ren says, almost having forgotten that fact.

"Oh- nevermind... I'll do this myself." Martyn grumbles, though he feels like he can't do it.

What he sends is simple. Just a text letting Scott know he didn't lose the paper with his number. That should be sufficient, right? But.. oh fuck what if he sounds boring? He wants to be interesting, especially to someone like Scott.. should he have tried to be smooth? Should he have tried a pick up line? Or would an emoji have been better, or literally anything else but-

Ding!

Shit.

Ren looks over as well when he hears it, and watches as Martyn's face turns bright red. "Did he send nudes already?" He says in amazement, only slightly whining when Martyn throws something at him.

"Shut up- shut up, no- he didn't-" Well, not exactly nudes. What Scott had sent back was a photo of him shirtless. Not exactly exposing much, just a hint below the clavicle, which it was aiming at. It did however show off the floral tattoo that started at Scott's shoulder, and crept downward.

"He has a tattoo." Martyn says, almost in shock. "He's got- a lot of tattoos.."

"Damn- that's not what i was expecting." Ren snorts. "Good for him. What's the text say?"

"Just... Hello. With a smiley face."

"Just that- That's it?"

"Yeah..?"

"Oh dude. He's into you. He's trying to make you fall harder- I mean, not like that's gonna be hard-"

"Shut up!"

They go on like that throughout the evening, back and forth banter over whether or not Martyn falls easily, or if Scott's just really good at what he does. Martyn honestly banks on both. Sure, Scott is really pretty, and that does help, but Martyn, well, to quote Cleo, is a little bit of a desperate bitch.

That's fine with Scott though.

He smiles at his phone and at the response he gets from Martyn. This was good.

He can't wait to see him tomorrow.

YEAHHHHHHHHH THE GUYS!!!!!!!! MY FAVORITE HUSSY AND BLOND IDIOT <33 I love them,, Scott's such a flirt and I'm very much looking forward to writing him as such AND Martyn as a very very very gay disaster. Ren will be of no help to him :D

Kicking my feet and giggling twirling my hair thinking ab writing the tension between these two cause OH BOY. It will be thicc w 5 Cs. I love this very much Roxie thank you *mwah* /p

[okami-zero]

Back-to-back posts! Look at me being a chatty mofo today! :P

Anyway!

I saw an FFXIV post that mentioned Azem's mask being black. Which I did not recall ever seeing anything about in-game. Now, there are game details I might have missed or forgotten, either because I was straightrunning MSQ or said MSQ had me in tears (gaawwd this game made me cry SO MUCH .>.<. ), but after poking some things, it appears that yes, the Convocation all had red masks EXCEPT for Azem, who wore a black mask. And I assume white masks were what everybody else wore (were they all silver filligreed like Hyth, Venat, Themis and Erichthonios, or was that something that only high-standing society members had?).

But, we also see... let's call them "minion-level", Ascians wearing black masks. And the Shadowhunter has black masks on his belt. And we know that Azem did not side with either the Convocation and their summoning of Zodiark, nor did they side with Venat's faction and their summoning of Hydaelyn. AND we know that the Convocation saw this as Azem defecting, refused to keep their memories in a crystal (Hades little but of shenaniganry notwithstanding). I wonder if they gave the minion-level Ascians black masks as kind of snub to Azem, like an insult to insinuate they were equivalent to these "lesser" Ascians.

It's an interesting brain weasel I thought I'd share.