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zepskies · 1 year ago

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Midnight Espresso

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized/Latina!Reader

Summary: You’ve never taken Dean’s flirting seriously…until he asks you for an impromptu Spanish lesson.

AN: The muse hit me hard on this one last night lol. I felt like "Midnight Espresso" was catchier than the working title, "Midnight Coffee Shots."

Thanks for the encouragement and inspo: @deanwinchesterswitch @iprobablyshipit91 @freewastelandstrawberry

Song Inspo: "2 Be Loved (Am I Ready)" by Lizzo

Word Count: 7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, mutual pining, body insecurity, ass appreciation, supernatural shenanigans, naughty language, bad bitch o’clock and thicc thirty.

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

When you spot the caller ID on your buzzing cell phone, you have to smile. You answer the call.

“Well if it isn’t Dean I need a favor Winchester,” you tease. You hear his genuine chuckle, deep and smooth in your car speakers.

“Hey, sweetheart…” He hesitates, which makes your lips curve wryly.

“Yeah, Dean? What’cha got?”

“I need a favor.”

You sigh dramatically. “So fucking predictable.”

“Sorry, but look. We really do need you…we’ve got a situation.”

“Oh, a situation? How specific,” you chuckle.

“All right, smartass,” he says, but you can hear the amusement in his voice. “Just listen…”

When he tells you the lowdown on the case he and Sam are on, you have to change directions—all the way to a dusty little town in the south of Texas.

There you find the brothers Winchester outside La Cantina Libre.

You greet Sam first, stretching up to meet his hug. He’s friendly and warm when he rubs your back.

“Good to see you,” he says.

“You too, lumberjack,” you reply, noting the new layer of scruff he’s sporting on his face. Sam gives a dry chuckle and rubs his bearded chin.

“I keep tellin’ him to shave that ferret off his face,” Dean remarks. You turn to him with a grin just as he pulls you in next.

“Aw, he looks good,” you say, giving Sam an encouraging look behind Dean’s back. The taller Winchester sports a good-natured smile.

But you revel a bit in Dean’s warmth when he holds you tight, then let out a little breath when he pulls away, grasping your arms.

“So do you,” he says with a wink.

You roll your eyes and playfully hit his shoulder. “Right. Eight hours of cross-country grime really becomes me.”

But you can’t help blushing a little at his smirk. Always a fucking flirt.

You turn your head to the bar in front of you.

“What’s the deal with this place?”

“The husband of one of the victims is inside,” Sam explains.

According to the police report, his wife returned home from a night out with her friends three days ago. She sat down in the middle of the living room, on the ground. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t eat.

When Hector Rivera brought his wife to the hospital, neither fluids or medication helped her sleep or retain any nutrients. The official cause of death was starvation and dehydration.

It was a baffling case, both for the doctors and the police, who never found any criminal evidence to support a murder investigation.

“Okay, have you talked to Hector?” you ask. Dean raises his brows at you.

“That’s where you come in,” he says. “The guy only speaks Spanish. Neither me or Sam got the chops to Duolingo our way through.”

You can certainly believe that of Dean, but you still make sure to tease Sam on your way inside the bar. He’d studied Latin in high school, but hadn’t bothered to take Spanish?

“Definitely a white boy move,” you tease, which Sam accepts with a chuckle.

But you realize that the guys really would’ve been at a loss here. Most of the bar patrons are Spanish-speaking Latinos (you are a mere stone’s throw from the border of Mexico, after all).

You ask around for Hector and find him at the end of the bar, drinking alone. He’s early forties at most, dark hair, tan skin mere shades lighter than yours. He has three shots down in front of him, and he’s working on picking up his fourth. Sam and Dean trail after you as you slide into the stool next to Hector.

“Señor Rivera,” you greet him in your native tongue and pull out your fabricated police badge. “Good evening.”

He glances at you, then your badge with furrowed brows.

“What do you want?” he asks in Spanish, just a hint slurring.

“I’m very sorry about your wife. I know you’ve already given your statement, but we’re looking further into the circumstances surrounding Nina’s death,” you explain.

He perks up at that, his brown eyes briefly lighting with something other than cold, hard grief.

“The doctors couldn’t explain it, he admits. “They couldn’t do a damn thing. I just don’t understand…”

He glares down at his hands, at the glass of liquor between them. He fights to control himself, but you can see it’s a losing battle. You rest a gentle hand on his arm, and when Hector meets your eyes, you know he’ll find genuine sympathy.

“I want to help you,” you tell him. “At the very least, I can look for a real explanation on what happened to Nina. Can you tell me what you know?”

A moment later, he pats your hand on his arm. And he tells you.

Dean watches from his spot behind you while he and Sam blend in, each drinking a beer. Dean admires how easily you connect with people. How genuine you are in wanting to help them.

He knows you’ve spent years in this job. Maybe not as long as him, but long enough to get jaded. You aren’t, and you care.

Dean thinks it’s part of the reason why you always answer when he calls. You’ve never said no to him, always been there when he and Sam need you. And that, he somehow feels guilty about.

Because what the fuck has he really ever done for you, other than put you in danger?

“Dean,” Sam says, nudging his side.

It brings Dean back to the present when he sees you’re getting up from the bar. Despite his inner conflict, he can’t help but notice the curve of your ample ass in those tight jeans. An enticing ratio of thick thighs to smaller waist, and generous cup size to match.

But when you turn around, it’s your sad smile that grabs his attention. You draw near, and Dean forces himself to stay relaxed when your warm hand rests on his forearm.

It’s a familiar, comfortable thing for you to be touchy. You’re an expressive person, always talking with your hands, full-body animated when you tell stories.

Sometimes you’ll grab his wrist playfully, or brush your hand along his back when you pass by. Or you’ll grab his shoulder to steady yourself, and lean into him when you’ve had too much to drink.

Dean likes it—all of it. In fact, he finds it endearing as hell.

But it’s also a problem. A unique kind of torture to keep himself in check around you…

Frankly, he doesn’t think you know what your touch does to him.

In fact, he knows you don’t, because while you’ve got your smooth, tan hand on his arm, you’re more looking at Sam when you say:

“I think I know what this is.”

“El Sombrerón,” you repeat yourself as you flip through a book on South American lore.

“Shouldn’t you be an expert on this already?” Dean teases as you rifle through the pages. “I thought Latin American legends were right up your alley.”

The three of you are back at their delightfully crap motel of the week. You and Sam sit at the two-seater table while Dean leans against the wall with his arms crossed.

You shoot him a wry glance. “I’m Cuban, not Guatemalan. Though apparently, El Sombrerón appears in Mexican mythology as well.”

Hector said that the night his wife went to the bar with her friends, her friend Jennine saw a man with a black jacket and a hat to match.

She said he flirted with Nina, a sweet but introverted soul. She turned him down, of course, but he tried to cajole her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and touch her cheek. That’s when Jennine stepped in and cursed the guy out, threatening to break his nose if he didn’t back off.

They didn’t see him again that night, but you suspect the damage had been done the moment he touched her…

“All right, so he’s a boogeyman of sorts,” Sam says, gesturing at the vivid illustration in the book he’s holding. You peer over at the page and nod.

“Yeah, I’ve heard the cautionary tale. A man dressed in black, wide-brimmed hat—”

“Like Zorro,” Dean supplies. You give him an amused grin.

“No, not like Zorro,” you reply. “Instead of being a fine-ass caped crusader with a voice deep and gritty as sin, El Sombrerón likes to lure women into the woods.”

Dean raises a brow at your description (Deep and gritty as sin, huh?), but you continue.

“Specifically, he’s got a fetish for long hair,” you recount. “Here it says El Sombrerón’s voice and touch are a curse, rendering his victims unable to eat or sleep. Eventually, they die.”

That falls between you all like hot lead. Until Sam voices the question you’re all thinking.

“So how do we find him?”

“For the record, I’m against this fucking idea,” Dean mutters to his brother. Once again, they’re patrons of La Cantina Libre, each nursing a beer.

“Yeah, you’ve made that known a few times now,” Sam replies in a low whisper. “She’ll be okay, Dean. We’re right here for her.”

They’re just on standby, watching you ignore flirtations from men with a coy smile. You leave a delicate ring of red lipstick on your straw while you nurse a Tequila Sunrise.

Dean subtly (to Sam, not so subtly) watches you. His elbow rests on the counter, chin in hand, hand over mouth, while his eyes roam down your simple black dress. Your ankles are crossed under the bar counter. The toe of your platform heel bouncing against the foot rail is the only thing telling Dean that you’re a bit nervous.

You’ve let your hair down on purpose, trying to entice the “Zorro” monster with the smooth waves running down your back.

On any other night, Dean might’ve enjoyed this place. He has a good beer in hand. There’s some live music tonight, in the form of a man playing a shiny silver guitar, crooning into the mic. You turn your head to watch for a moment, and Dean sees the way your gaze sharpens on the musician.

The man wears a black dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, tucked neatly into his dark wash jeans. His black hair is long and a little wild, almost brushing his shoulders. While he holds out a smooth note, he looks up and finds your gaze. His lips curve on a smile.

Your face heats up at the attention, but you find yourself captivated by those eyes. They’re intense, almost black under the stage lights. And as the musician’s song comes to a close, you feel a trill of something run down your spine when he sets down his silver guitar.

Then he makes his way toward you.

He settles into the free seat next to you and orders two tequila shots.

“I have a drink, thanks,” you say. The man only smiles.

“You’ve been holding onto that Sunrise for two hours,” he says. “I just thought you might like something stronger, before the sun actually comes up.”

Inside, you want to roll your eyes at the cheesy line.

Instead, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and his gaze is drawn to the motion. You notice it with mounting suspicion.

“Maybe I do,” you reply. “What’s your name?”

“Miguel,” he says, offering a charming smile. “And yours, amor?”

You consider him with flirtatious eyes and a tilt of your head. You’re fairly certain you have your target.

You lay a hand on his arm, over his jacket. You lean in close enough to whisper in his ear.

“Do you really need my name?” you ask in Spanish.

Miguel smirks when you lean back. He offers you his hand to help you off of your stool. Wary of actually touching his skin to yours, you try your best to be graceful and sensuous as you slide out of your seat and onto your heels without his help. You then walk out of the bar through the back without waiting for him to follow you (hoping that he does).

Your instincts are right, however. When you make it out of the bar, Miguel is indeed closing in behind you. You glance over your shoulder, offering a coy smile. But when you look ahead, you have to utter a gasp.

Miguel is suddenly there to grab you and pull you in by your waist.

“When will your friends be joining us?” he asks, trailing a finger down your cheek. It makes you shudder, but you pretend to be confused.

“Friends?”

“Dumb and dumber, watching you like a hawk,” he says, raising a brow. “Oh, mi amor. I know a pack of hunters when I see them.”

Sam and Dean watch the musician run back for his guitar, slipping it carefully in its case before he takes off after you.

“Get the guitar. Got a feeling about that thing,” Dean says to Sam. “I’ll follow ‘em.”

The moment Dean walks out the back of the bar, he stops short and draws his gun. His body tenses and his face falls into a glare when he sees Miguel holding you close (and against your will). But Miguel catches sight of Dean.

He forcefully turns you around and wraps an arm across your chest, pulling you back as you struggle.

“Good evening,” Miguel greets with a smirk. He nods at the full moon. “Beautiful night for a lover’s serenade.”

His voice alone is a threat, Dean knows. And by the way your eyes widen, so do you.

“Shut the fuck up, Mike,” Dean snarks. “Mind if I call you Mike?”

He raises his gun, but Miguel tsks at him. You grit your teeth as he pulls your hair back away from your cheek. His breath is hot an unpleasant in your ear, causing you to shudder.

“I do wish we had more time, amor,” he says, trailing a hand down your ass and thigh. “I like to play with my food.”

A hot lance of anger runs through Dean, but it runs even hotter through you, igniting your temper and making your patience run right the fuck out. You snap your head back and catch Miguel in the nose. He wrenches back with a pained cry.

You try to ignore the resulting ache in your head and reach for the silver knife in your thigh holster, beneath your dress. But Miguel grabs you by the hair. Suddenly his face has become grotesque, revealing its true form with a mouth filled with sharp, needle-like teeth.

You gasp as a trill of magic runs through your body from his touch. It paralyzes you as he wrenches your neck back and prepares to bite a chunk right out of your neck.

But Dean shoots a warning shot by the creature’s head, all-too close to yours as he approaches.

“Hey!” Sam calls out. He attracts everyone’s attention, even Miguel’s. Sam holds the silver guitar.

“This is what you use to play Pied Piper, right?” Sam asks. Miguel’s face hardens, but before he can do anything about it, Sam smashes the guitar to smithereens on the gravel road.

Miguel lets out an outraged hiss. While he’s distracted, Dean takes another shot that hits the creature in the shoulder. It gives you the opening you need to grab your knife and stab him in the leg.

Miguel cries out in pain, but before you can scramble away, he grabs your face. His sharpened nails bite into your skin, making you wince. You manage to kick out his knee. It forces him to release you, unless he wants to eat the ground hard.

Sam is there to catch you while Dean closes in. He shoots, the creature evades, grabbing Dean’s wrist and punching him across the face. The hunter goes down to the gravel with hands held out to brace himself. But he has a large knife on his belt that he retrieves next, only to be knocked out of his hand when Miguel bears on him.

He throws off Sam’s attempt to pull him off Dean, throwing him hard against the dumpster in the alley.

While Dean grapples bare-handed with the monster, trying his best to evade gnashing teeth in his face, you find his discarded knife and bury it deep into Miguel’s back.

He howls with pain and tries to throw you off. He manages to backhand you in the face and shove you away. You nearly roll an ankle on the small rocks rolling under your heels, and you end up on your back with the wind knocked out of you.

But Dean’s able to kick Miguel off and finish what you started. Dean pins the man on the ground and twists the knife deeper. And he doesn’t let go until the creature below him stops twitching.

Dean takes in deep breaths to account for the way adrenaline has set his blood pumping. He still sits on the ground with the body next to him. But then, he finds you kneeling next to him in your now dusty dress. Your eyes are worried when you grasp his shoulder and lay another hand lightly on his scuffed knee.

Dean reaches for you on reflex, grabbing your arm. Both of you manage to ask your burning questions at the same time—

“You okay?”

“Are you all right?”

You crack first with a giggle. Dean quirks a grin and thumbs at your cheek.

“Yeah, all good,” he says.

Your relieved smile reaches your eyes, and it warms him. “Good.”

Behind you both, Sam hides his own knowing smile.

Sam and Dean invite you to stay over at the bunker after the hunt, instead of making the even longer drive home. You’re too exhausted to say no.

By the time you get to the bunker, you’re dead on your feet, practically swaying down the stairs.

“I’m so fuckin’ tiiiired…”

“Come on, stop whining,” Dean teases as he helps you down. Sam has dropped your duffel bag on the ground floor and gone on ahead to shower, leaving you and Dean to figure this out.

“Why don’t you just take off the heels?” he wryly suggests.

“Hell no,” you refuse with a stubborn shake of your head.

You don’t want to contemplate how much monster guts have glossed the stairs of this bunker, via the brothers’ boots.

Maybe it’s a silly reason to suffer, but is it really suffering if you have Dean Winchester escorting you with both hands down the stairs?

His hands are warm and you trust the strength of his hold, but when your heel wobbles on the edge of a step, you still go for the railing rather than sink all your weight on Dean. He laughs at you, and you maturely stick out a tongue at him.

“At this point, it’d be faster if I freakin’ carried you,” Dean remarks. He reaches for you, but you stop him with a heel in his sternum.

“Eh-eh! Don’t even try,” you laugh. “I totally got this.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but you lower your heeled foot and manage to climb down the last few steps of the rickety staircase…at least, what your exhausted brain thinks is the last one.

You almost go ass over tea kettle when you miss the final stair with a yelp—but Dean is there to catch you.

His arms are like steel bands around your frame, curving around your lower back and pulling you flush against his chest. You gasp and cling to his arms. When you look up at him with wide eyes, you find his amused face…and maybe something else in his eyes. He tilts his head down at you.

“Well, well. Look who keeps falling for me?” he remarks.

You blush at the flirtatious edge of his tone. The gleam in his green eyes; you take it for amusement only, not realizing that he’s barely resisting the urge to claim your lips.

“Right,” you laugh him off with a pat on his chest. “When was the first time again?”

You make sure your heels are firmly on the ground before you push away from Dean. As you thought, he doesn’t try to keep you. He still looks amused as he lets you go.

He flirts with anything, you remind yourself, when disappointment starts to carve a hole in your heart. Don’t take it so seriously.

You say goodnight before you take up your duffel bag and go to find a free bedroom (and a hot shower). All the while, you bite your lip against a deep-seated feeling of uncertainty.

Dean watches you go, and you don’t see the way his mask of a smile fades into a frown.

After a nice hot shower and changing into your pajamas, that moment with Dean has unsettled you enough that you're not quite ready to go to sleep. Maybe you’re in the mood for a midnight snack.

You take out a couple of supplies from your bag and head over to the kitchen. There you set up your little cafetera coffee press with water, and a generous few tablespoons of Café Bustelo grounds of espresso. While that brews on the stove, you make some popcorn in the microwave.

You don’t realize that the rich smell reaches Dean all the way in his room. He sniffs the air in interest, then in confusion.

She’s making coffee at midnight?

He gets up out of bed and pads down to the kitchen where you’ve taken over. A large bowl of popcorn is ready and waiting for him to snatch a handful, while you’re checking the little metal carafe you have going on the stove.

“What’cha up to, sweetheart?” he asks. You greet him with a smile.

“Café con leche,” you reply.

Coffee with milk, he mentally translates. That much, he can work out.

“You drink coffee at this time of night?” he asks.

“My people invented it. I’ve been inoculated to this stuff since I was eight years old,” you quip. “Want some? Believe me, you’ll love it.”

He shrugs. “Sure. But if I end up too wired to fucking sleep, be prepared to suffer with me.”

You laugh. “I’m sure we’ll figure out something to do.”

Dean’s not sure if you meant that as flirtatious as it sounded. But by your briefly widening eyes and blushing cheeks, maybe you just realized it. He smirks and draws closer while you break out two mugs from the cabinet.

He notices your chosen pajamas with secret appreciation (a large threadbare Journey shirt over spandex shorts). You fill the little shorts out well.

Though Dean spots several small holes in the shirt. He teasingly sticks his finger through one in your short sleeve.

“Lose a fight with a pair of scissors?” he jokes.

You shoot him an amused glance over your shoulder.

“You are the reigning king of dad jokes. I’ll have you know, this is my lucky shirt.”

He snorts in response. “What makes it lucky?”

You just bite your lip and focus back on your task at hand. With the coffee done percolating, you measure out two steaming shots of espresso into each mug.

“Hey, you brought it up,” Dean reminds you.

You sigh, and after you pour in the sugar and the evaporated milk into each mug, you turn around and lean against the counter.

“I’ve never had a bad dream while wearing this shirt to bed,” you confess. His teasing gentles at that.

When you turn back around to put the finishing touches on what you’re doing, Dean’s expression becomes more fond as he watches you.

You then offer him his Batman mug with a brighter smile.

“Buen provecho,” you say.

“What does that mean?” he asks predictably, taking the mug from you.

“Enjoy! Like bon appetite, basically.”

“Ah,” he raises his brows before he takes a sip. Then they raise even higher as he hums in pleasure. “Ooh, it’s sweet…and strong. Shit.”

“Very,” you say with a chuckle, taking your own sip. You make a sound of delight, complete with a little “happy dance” shimmy. “Almost as good as my grandma makes it.”

Dean smiles in amusement at your antics. The two of you sit at the kitchen island, where there are three stools and the bowl of popcorn. The salty snack is just the right balance for the sweet coffee.

“She taught you how to make this?” he asks.

You nod. “Yep! She’s an amazing cook too. Learned everything I know from her.”

“Hmm, might need to sample something of yours sometime,” Dean says, peering at you over his mug. His tone is deceptively light, but you read the double meaning in his eyes.

You hide the way your mouth falls open behind your own mug. Instead of answering, you nod and take a delicate sip. Your gaze veers away from his as you blush.

He’s in a good mood tonight, you think in bemusement.

“So tell me. What are the best curse words in Spanish?” Dean asks.

You have to laugh. Your head ducks as you reach for his arm. His eyes briefly go to your hand, and he smirks.

“Of course that’s the first thing you want to know,” you tease. You take back your hand and think about his question. “Hmm…I mean, there are the basics. Coño, carajo. Like 'damn it,' 'fucking hell,' and so forth.”

“Come on, you can do better than that,” Dean says.

“Well, yeah,” you say with a grin. “Comemierda is a Cuban fan favorite.”

“Which means?”

“Literally? Someone who eats shit,” you laugh. “A stupid asshole, basically.”

Dean’s grin deepens. “Nice.”

“The best one of all time is probably…ugh, my mom would wash my mouth out with soap for even saying it.” You cover your face with both hands, but Dean nudges your elbow.

“Come on, give it to me,” he teases. You peek out at him from between your hands. Then you stage whisper to him.

“Hijo de la gran puta,” you say. It rolls off your tongue in such a way that, even though Dean knows it’s vulgar in some way, the ease in which you say it raises the hairs on his arms.

“I like that,” he says.

You giggle at him. “You don’t even know what the fuck it means.”

“Don’t matter. I just like how it sounds,” he says. “Gimme the Google Translate.”

You shoot him a narrowed look for that one. “It means son of the grand whore. Literally, the chiefest of them all. The grand poohbah of whores.”

Dean splutters with laughter. His hand slaps the table, and you shush him, reminding him that Sam is probably sleeping by now.

“It’s literally one of the worst things you can say to somebody,” you say, though you’re also choking on laughter. By the end of it, you and Dean are chortling like fools and getting high on espresso and sugar.

You teach him how to roll his r’s, and at his request, more slang. You explain how certain Hispanics and Latino cultures use different words for the same thing (at times, very confusing), and how something innocent to an American, like a papaya fruit, means something very different for Cubans.

For Dean’s part, he’s genuinely interested in what you have to teach him. But he also just likes hearing you speak the language. It rolls off your tongue gracefully, effortless and sensuous without you meaning to. He likes it enough that he tells you his honest thoughts.

“It all sounds incredibly hot, I’m not gonna lie,” he says with a chuckle. You blush at that, something he finds endearing.

“You sound like my ex,” you say in amusement. “He only went out with me to help him with his Spanish.”

Dean sobers a bit at that. “What?”

“Yeah.” You chuckle dryly. “He was trying to land some job as a strip club bouncer, but we were in Miami at the time. They needed someone bilingual.”

Dean doesn’t like the resigned tone of your voice.

“Yeah well, the bouncer?” he remarks, trying for a teasing bump of his hand against yours. “Come on. You should at least be aiming for the owner.”

You flash him a brief smile and nod. “Ah, so I set my sights too low. Got it.”

It’s then that Dean starts to wonder about the kinds of guys you’ve gotten with in the past. Not that he has room to judge, but he can see that there was no love lost there for you.

Dean has a thought, deep in his bones, that you deserve someone who sees how special you are. How kind, funny, loyal, caring…

“Seriously,” Dean says. “You can do better.”

“Right,” you laugh. But he’s not laughing. You raise a brow at him.

“What?” you ask.

His lips purse, but he thinks better of what he wants to say.

“Nothing. ‘S none of my business,” he says.

You stare back at him and frown thoughtfully. You think you’re lucky to get a date, the way you constantly move around.

You don’t have stability, and even though you try to keep in shape, try to avoid the shittier fast food, it’s been a challenge to maintain yourself. You worry that you’ve gained five pounds in diner food alone in the past couple of months…

Okay, mostly, you’re happy with your curves. But the way Dean’s looking at you now, you can’t help a flutter of hope that rises in your chest, making your heart beat faster.

Maybe you’re finally ready to know how he really sees you.

“Talk to me, Dean,” you nod, and you reach out a hand to grasp his wrist.

He looks down at your hand. After a moment, he sighs and lays his own over yours. He meets your gaze.

“Look, I think I hear what you’re not saying,” Dean says. “And you’re sellin’ yourself short, sweetheart. That’s all.”

It takes you a moment, but a soft smile spreads across your face. It warms him in a way he doesn’t expect, but maybe he should.

Biting your lip with a bit of embarrassment, you squeeze his hand before you get up to take the two empty mugs with you to the sink.

“Que hombre tan pendejo, hermoso,” you mutter. “Ni siquiera sabes lo que me haces.”

You don’t realize that Dean actually hears you. He perks up, standing from his seat and approaching you from behind.

“What was that?” he asks.

You jump slightly, and a blush burns down your neck as you turn off the sink and spin back around. Dean is there, crossing his arms and staring you down with a raised brow. A hint of a smirk begins to edge around his mouth.

“What?” you ask.

“Oh, no. You said something just now,” he says. Like a dog with a bone, he’s not going to let this one go.

Your lips threaten to smile, but you shake your head stubbornly. “You’ll just have to invest in that Duolingo subscription.”

Dean joins you by the sink. His hand braces on the kitchen counter.

“Well, either you’re insulting me, or you’re flirting with me,” Dean says.

His lips then edge into a smirk. “The first one I could forgive, but the second…might require some retribution.”

Your eyes slowly widen. “What, why?”

Dean has to chuckle, because your expression is all but an admission of guilt. It’s too damn adorable.

“Because you can’t flirt with me without me knowin’ about it,” he says. “That’s just rude.”

His hands brace the counter on either side of you, trapping you in. The only way to get through him is to tell him the truth, or suffer the consequences.

You gaze up at him with wide eyes and a full flush across your tan skin. Is he actually doing this right now?

Your heart beats loud in your ears like conga drums.

“So which is it, sweetheart?” Dean asks. His playful, but singularly focused green-eyed gaze tells you he really does want an answer.

“Well, it was kinda both,” you say with a shy, but mischievous smile. Dean’s smirk deepens.

He tucks a finger beneath your chin and lets his thumb brush your full lower lip…

Then he leans down to kiss you thoroughly. His plush lips move over yours, hot, wet, and sinfully good.

But it’s also short—much too short for your liking when he parts from you to gauge your reaction. He seems to like what he finds in your eyes.

“Was that the punishment?” you tease. “Kinda weak.”

Dean raises a brow. “Consider it a start.”

He pulls you into him by your waist and continues where he left off, with another searing kiss. You hum with pleasure against his lips as your fingers delve into his hair.

His hands move down your back, making a shiver of delight coarse through you. They land on cradling your ass, squeezing and pressing you into him.

You gasp into his mouth. You can feel his length already hard against you. That alone trills anticipation down your spine, and a dizzy feeling, the fact that your touch is turning him on. You nip at his lower lip in response, licking into his mouth. It elicits a sound deep in his throat as his touch becomes more demanding.

He then bends down to reach behind your thighs, and before you know what’s happening, you squeal when he lifts you up on the counter.

You grab his shoulders like a cat clinging to the edge of a bath.

Damn, he’s strong!

“What’s the matter?” he laughs.

“I’m just not used to being manhandled,” you quip. “These hips don’t lie, but they definitely don’t fly.”

Dean snorts. “Says who?”

“My ex, for one thing,” you joke again. Though it isn’t actually a joke.

Dean, again, isn’t laughing.

His hands aren’t large enough to span your thighs, but it’s not for lack of trying. His firm touch burning up your parted thighs is distracting, warm over your skin, and over your thin shorts. His thumbs dip between your inner thighs, making you breathe a bit more shallowly.

“I get the feeling that you’ve been with some ain’t shit guys,” Dean says. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t lump me in with the rest of ‘em.”

Your eyes widen. Dean grins down at you and takes the opportunity to kiss you again. His hand disappears in your hair and he presses kisses down your neck. A pleasant tingle breaks out across your skin as you tilt your head for him, giving him access.

Your fingers begin toying with his collar and glide down his chest. Unlike you, everything about him is firm, you think. But you start to think that he likes your softness, the thickness of your curves.

You didn’t take him for an ass man, but he seems very happy to get a fistful of it. It’s as flattering as it is arousing.

“I’ve wanted to get this perfect ass in my hands since the day we met,” he says. His voice is deep, full of grit and desire, but what he says next surprises you even more.

“Wanted to ask you out that night,” he confesses.

You pause at that. You met Sam and Dean two years ago already. The fact that he’d wanted to ask you out was one thing, but he’d been holding onto this for two years?

“Really?” you ask.

Dean reads your incredulity, huffing a laugh. “You’re really finding that hard to believe right now?”

He rocks against your clothed core so you can feel his reaction to you. You instinctively gasp and hold onto him. You slide your arms around his back to keep him close, even though you’re blushing. He holds you back, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

“Well, why didn’t you then?” you ask. But he hesitates to answer you.

“Dean?” you press.

“It…never seemed the right time,” he says. “And to be honest, you didn’t seem all that interested.”

Until now, goes unspoken. But you frown up at him.

“You don’t really believe that,” you say.

Dean leans back a bit, so you move your hands to his chest, gripping the fabric of his undershirt to he doesn’t go too far. He looks down at you, a bit uncertain for the first time. You can’t believe that he could possibly be insecure about your interest and affections.

“I attract a lot of crap in my life,” he admits. “Shit you want no part of.”

You soften further at that. Someone who was just going to hook up with you once and never call you again didn’t consider things like that. You grab onto the lapels of his plaid shirt and press a soft kiss to his jaw.

“Well, that’s a stupid reason,” you say. Is this the real reason he only calls you when he really needs the help?

Maybe it’s his convoluted way of protecting you…while maybe, still wanting to see you.

“It’s really not,” Dean shakes his head. “Truth be told…I’m no good for you either.”

That disheartens you.

You’re in this job too. And while you know that Sam and Dean are often at the center of a lot of Apocalypse-level shit, you still don’t think it’s an excuse to keep both you and Dean from possibly…being happy.

His gaze is steady, until it starts to lower away from you. You take his face in your hands, picking him back up to meet your eyes. Your thumbs caress the prickly stubble along his cheeks.

“Apparently I get with a lot of ain’t shit guys,” you reply, “but you’re definitely not one of them, Dean.”

He flickers at a smile, but he still isn’t convinced you two should do this after all.

So it’s up to you, you realize.

You bring him down to you for a kiss. It’s slow at first. You ply him with short, sweet presses of your lips to his. But then you both inhale as you deepen the kiss, tilting your head and prying his lips with your tongue. He can’t help but welcome you in, and he takes you back into his arms.

You smile against his lips, letting your hands run down his chest and under the top layer of plaid. He shrugs out of it, then the undershirt as you help him tug it up. It falls in a heap on the floor, followed closely by your hole-ridden Journey shirt, then your little shorts.

Dean takes in the sight of your flushed skin, the rise and fall of your breasts, and even the hesitant downturn of your lips. You’re a bit self-conscious, bared for him for the first time, but he doesn’t give you a reason to have any reservations.

His hands cup your breasts, squeezing and kneading, rolling his thumbs over the hardening buds. You let out a shaky breath against his lips, and you veer away from his mouth to burn a hot, wet trail down his neck. His voice rumbles, and you smile, nipping playfully and touching him wherever you see fit.

“Tell me what you said before,” he rasps into your ear.

You remain playfully tight-lipped as you continue to shower his bare skin with affection. But your breath hitches when a hand leaves your breast to once again slide up the inside of your thigh.

“You’re so fucking sexy, you know that?” he says. “That’s why I need you tell me…”

You lean close to his ear and whisper. “Nope.”

Dean’s chuckle shakes his frame. His other hand cups your cheek, slipping into your hair. You hold him to you, and for the first time it’s skin to skin, with your breasts pressing against his chest.

“All right…you sure I can’t convince you?” he asks. There’s a note of warning that you’re just a bit too slow to detect.

His fingers swiftly bypass your panties, pushing them aside so he can tease the seam of your pussy.

You bite your lip and lean back enough to see his face, to see the mischievous edge of his smirk. You inhale sharply when two of his fingers slip in and probe in your wet heat, but don’t go further than your entrance.

“Dean,” you whine. “Please…”

“Tell me,” he insists, “what you said.”

His lips graze your cheek, down the column of your neck. You feel the rasp of his stubble against your skin. Meanwhile, your pussy is pulsing with need, all but chasing his fingers that do no more than brush and tease. Your nails accidently bite into his shoulders in frustration.

He sucks in a pained breath. You gasp and apologize, soothing over his skin.

Dean just laughs and noses along your throat. He knows exactly what you need, but he wants to win the game.

At this point, you just want him.

So finally, you admit it. You confess into his ear the things you whispered in your mother tongue.

“I said, you dumb, beautiful man,” you say, smiling with your cheek pressed against his. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

Dean grins into your neck. You really don’t realize it. But to him, your voice is rich as black velvet, and sexy as hell. Doesn’t matter what language you’re speaking.

Two of his fingers sink deeply into your pussy. You whimper, squeezing gratefully around his hand.

“Please, Dean…”

“I got you, baby. Just relax,” he says with a grin.

He explores your inner channel and begins to discover what you respond to, what angles make you grip onto him tighter, make your voice keen higher, especially when his thumb circles over your clit.

You cling to him for dear life, gripping his hair, uttering encouragements (not all of them in English), and finally praises when that hot coil within you snaps and releases.

Dean holds you while you come over his hand. You’re squeezing the shit out of him, really, in every way possible. But when that dam breaks, all you can do is lean against him and try to catch your breath.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he chuckles. He rubs your back, pets your hair.

“I’m…” you trail. You lean back and take his smug face in your hands, and you kiss him. You put into that gesture what your voice fails to confess.

And when both of you run out of breath, Dean pulls back just enough to see your eyes.

“We’re not done, by any damn means,” he says. That coffee still has him wired. And at this point, his cock is throbbing with need. “But let’s head over to my room.”

“Yeah, I think I need to help you with this before you implode,” you tease him with a gentle hand along his rock-hard length. He utters a strained sound that makes you sympathetic.

But before anything else, you caress his cheek fondly. Tonight matters to you, and you think it matters to him too. Dean flashes you a rare, boyish grin that has you smiling even harder.

Damn it. You might just love this man.

He helps you down from the counter, though his arms stay wrapped around you because of your jelly legs. His resolution is to pick you up over his shoulder.

“Let’s fly, baby!” With a swift spank of your ass, he carries you the rest of the way to his room. You squeal and try to stifle your giggles all the way there.

One thing’s for sure. Sam is going to hate you both in the morning.

AN: 😂 Well, that was fun! Please let me know what you thought.

**Just to preface, I am in fact a plus-sized Latina (Cuban, Puerto Rican and Dominican)! 🌶️🌶️

And I just want to say, I wrote a specific plus-sized body type here, but we're all different and equally beautiful in our shapes, skin tones, and otherwise outward trappings.

I like to think of us as a box of lovely assorted chocolates (not the cheap factory-made bullshit either. The chocolatier, handmade assortments that cost an arm and a leg, shipping not included).

Each delectable and unique, with something extra special inside. 😘

Keep Reading:

Yes, this has become a series! Next up is Touch Me:

Summary: Dean isn’t used to how “touchy” you can be, but he never said he didn’t like it.

▶️ Next Story: Touch Me

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

@sleepyqueerenergy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @theonlymaninthesky @agalliasi @venicesem @waters-2567 @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @skyesthebomb @mimaria420 @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @emily-winchester @tearsfortheyouth @teehxk @hobby27 @luvs4dria

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kristinamae093 · 4 months ago

Text

Ghosted

Ghosted — Betrayal (Chapter Twelve)

Series Summary - Prince Liam fell for Riley Brooks hard and fast. A marriage filled with love and devotion was within his reach, but everything changed when she vanished just before the end of the social season. As everyone voices their concerns regarding her scandalous departure, a confession from an unlikely source turns Liam's world upside down and makes him question everything around him.

Book/Pairing - TRR - Liam x f!MC (Riley Brooks)

A/N 1 - This AU starts right before the beginning of the engagement tour. There is a two-month lapse between the coronation and where we pick up, but we will stray from canon. Please excuse any errors found. Not beta'd.

Characters belong to Pixelberry.

Tags - @choicesficwriterscreations

It's another long one 😬👉👈🥹. Oops.

Liam and Drake closely followed as the guards led Bastien into the depths of the Portavirian estate. The halls remained eerily quiet as the nobility slept; not a soul to be found other than those involved with Penelope’s homicide investigation. Neither male spoke a word, but both reeled in this blindsiding revelation.

The betrayal Liam felt was like no other. Bastien was like a father to him, always around when he needed someone, but now he wondered if he ever knew him. Bastien saw him at his lowest and protected him at all costs, but somewhere along the way he changed; he couldn’t determine when that shift happened or if his guard was that good of a deceiver from the start, and felt like a fool for not seeing his insubordination sooner. It didn’t matter what he said, nor how much he pleaded; Liam already knew he was guilty, but didn’t know the extent of his involvement.

So many unanswered questions ran rampant through his mind, but ultimately the one he cared about was, where is Riley? The scandal was no longer relevant; all that mattered was finding her and ensuring she was safe. Justice would be served to all who deserved it later but right now, she was the top priority. That wasn’t a new revelation, but the urgency suddenly skyrocketed.

Liam did his best to stay afloat, but couldn’t stop his mind from wandering. If Riley was still in the country, what did that mean? Was she being held hostage somewhere? Would a ransom note appear at some point? Is she even alive? The continuous spiral intensified and formed a vortex of frustration and confusion, enveloping him from the inside out. He wanted to scream and cry to the heavens, anything to relieve some of the never-ending tension slowly constricting his muscles. Every second that passed without knowing she was safe, he grew weaker, feeling control slip right through his fingertips. The never-ending vat of unanswered questions took their physical and mental toll on Liam as a monarch and man alike.

However, every ounce of strength that remained pushed him forward. The adrenaline coursing through his veins mindlessly carried him, as he and Drake walked in deafening silence.

They continued until they entered a dark room with a table and two chairs. The guards sat Bastien down on one side and secured shackles in place over his wrists, much to his displeasure. Liam took the seat that mirrored his, shooing the bystanders out as he did. Drake lingered close by, reeling in his feelings of hurt, betrayal, and anger. Bastien quieted, but his entire body went rigid after his former subordinates exited the room. Liam placed his hands on the table and stared at them for a long while, trying to slow the wild rush inside his mind.

He finally raised his head and spoke to Bastien in the flattest, calmest tone he could muster. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“I don’t, sir.”

“First, let’s talk about Penelope. You and I both know she did not take her own life, so I’m curious to know how you came to that conclusion.”

Bastien furrowed his brow. “Not to be forward, but she was literally hanging from the ceiling… We found a note in her room, and she had every reason to want to do it — considering she was about to be arrested.”

“Right… Speaking of that… I want to see that report again.”

“Pardon?”

“The report — the one that says Penelope’s DNA was all over the murder weapon because honestly, I think you’re full of shit.” Liam hissed.

“I most certainly am not, sir. The documents are in the security office. If you remove these cuffs, I will gladly retrieve them.” Bastien confidently responded.

“That won’t be necessary.” Liam knew if he told the truth, Olivia would find them and if she didn’t, Bastien just caught himself in another lie. “Now, the next order of business — where were you the night of the jamboree? I don’t remember seeing you at all.”

Bastien stiffened. “I was doing security checks around the estate—”

“If you were doing security checks, how’d a rogue photographer make it in?” Drake interjected.

Bastien swallowed thickly, his gulp echoing in the silence. “... What?”

“You heard what he said — answer the damn question.” Liam snapped.

“She must have—”

“She?” Liam interrupted with a chortle. “That’s funny — because I never mentioned gender. Do you know something that I don’t?”

“I only took a guess — there was a fifty percent chance I would be correct.” Bastien calmly, yet firmly, answered with a dismissive shrug. “I’m not precisely sure how they breached the perimeter, but we’ve been working to strengthen our units ever since.”

“Right…” Liam nodded and forcefully clenched his jaw. It took every ounce of his restraint not to reach across the table and wrap his hands around Bastien’s throat because he couldn’t trust a single word coming out of his mouth.

Drake spoke again before Liam could act on his intrusive thoughts. “What about the Apple Banquet? Where were you then?”

“I was with His Majesty while he spoke to the Beaumonts. Someone alerted me to the body, and I immediately sprung into the proper protocol.”

“No, not when the maid was found — earlier. Where were you before that?” Liam demanded.

Bastien hesitated, but quickly fixed his features. “I was addressing an issue regarding Countess Madeleine’s security arrangements. Her old guard needed to take personal leave, so I had to find a suitable replacement.”

“... And she will vouch for you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Liam’s frustration skyrocketed, as he didn’t know how to take that statement. The number of people he could trust seemed to only shorten by the day, yet Madeleine was never present, nor even an honorable mention on that list; the time to trust her word was not amid this chaos.

“Okay, then—” Liam started again, his agitation noticeably rising. “Do you know where Riley is?”

“I don’t, sir. All I know is she returned to New York, and—”

“How did you come to that conclusion, exactly? Because I’ve done some digging and found nothing to point to that. There are no traces of her after she left the jamboree whatsoever, Bastien; not flights, not vehicles — nothing.”

Bastien shifted in his seat. “My information led me to that conclusion, Your Majesty.”

“Well, your information was wrong, and I can’t help but feel you knew that all along, didn’t you?”

“I’m not sure what you’re insinuating, but—”

“You knew she didn’t return to New York because you took her away, right? Is that how she made it out undetected? Or are you the one who assaulted her?” Liam thought back to his out-of-body experience and remembered the shadow lingering in front of her door. “Or did you stand guard while it happened? Is that it?”

“I did no such thing.” Bastien hastily replied, but cleared his throat and added, “What would I gain from any of this? Why would I give a damn who you choose?”

“That’s kind of what I’m wondering.” Drake inserted with a skeptical eye. “Look, Bas — I don’t want to believe you had a hand in all this, but it’s not looking good, man.”

“What doesn’t look good?” Bastien returned. “All I’ve done is look for her! I’ve been trying to help you!”

“Bullshit,” Liam seethed. “You know something and I demand you tell me — right now.”

“I know nothing, sir. I’ve kept you updated on every piece of information uncovered.”

“You need to understand something —” Liam's breaths turned heavy and his face flushed every shade of crimson. “I am not fucking around. This is your final opportunity — if you know something and do not tell me, I will serve your head on a silver fucking platter at the next state function. Is that clear enough for you?” He rumbled through clenched teeth. The hand he raised to point at Bastien visibly trembled, as the dam broke and rage flowed freely through his body.

Bastien’s eyes widened, and he visibly swallowed. He quickly composed himself and softly answered, “I understand the circumstances have been — tense — for everyone involved. You’ve had a rough couple of weeks, and —”

Liam slammed his fist onto the table and shot up from his seat. “Do NOT fucking patronize me!” He bellowed.

The door suddenly swung open and Olivia marched inside. In her hands, she carried a folder along with a few smaller items, but her facial expression was the picture-perfect image of unrestrained fury. “You have a lot of explaining to do.” She rumbled as she bore her eyes into Bastien.

Never could she have imagined the man sitting before her would betray them in such a way, but now they had proof; undeniable, unavoidable, but yet — incredibly unsettling evidence.

Bastien audibly gulped as he recognized the documents and all traces of pigment in his complexion vanished. With so much going on, he didn’t have the chance to dispose of everything properly. Liam and his group of friends moved faster than anticipated, and with their unexpected changes to the tour, he fell behind. The important information was extracted long ago, but what remained was still very incriminating — for Bastien.

Powerful forces expected him to pull off the impossible, but he was only one person — how was he supposed to fend off four people, plus a hired professional? Multiple ends that should’ve received immediate attention didn’t. Penelope ranked fairly high on that list, but his concerns got cast aside. His instructions were to deflect, deter, and stay silent regarding the madness; trust the process and your reward will be bountiful, they would say. Regardless, he didn’t want to aid in this crazy scheme, but had no choice — they knew information about his past nobody should have uncovered, so he found himself backed into a corner.

But as Bastien stared at the evidence of his transgressions, he realized silence would no longer be an option. He knew one way or another at that moment he was as good as dead; the question was would it be at the hands of his seething monarch, the man he practically raised, or the people who made his life a living hell to begin with?

Olivia rifled through the things on the table until she found what she searched for. “Remember when Bastien told you he disposed of Riley’s phone and her note?” She held both items up to show everyone along with her letter, noting how the guard immediately tucked his chin into his chest. “The penmanship matches mine, meaning it’s the same as Penelope’s.”

Liam forcefully clenched his jaw. “You lied to me?”

“That’s not all,” Olivia continued. “Bastien told us Penelope is the one who killed the maid, but that’s not true. Sure, the gum was hers — hair too — but the funny thing is that as it turns out, there are two sets of results on that knife.”

“There’s not—”

Olivia cackled, cutting Bastien off. “Don’t even try to lie. I’m holding what appears to be the real results in my hands. What kind of moron keeps the original if he’s planning on cloning it to frame someone else? Fucking nitwit.” She shook her head, distaste lacing her words. “Of course, we’ll have these confirmed for legitimacy, but considering who this one lists as the culprit, I can see why you’d want to cover this up.”

Liam snatched the documents from her and scanned them. His eyes widened as he went through the text, his jaw falling further and further the longer he read. Penelope's fingerprints were on the murder weapon, but unlike the last report he saw, this one went more in-depth. Her DNA might've been on the knife, but only one or two barely distinguishable smears on the blade itself belonged to her. However, the lab noted prominent traces from someone else located everywhere, but mostly on the handle, indicating that their person of interest should be whoever the second set of prints belonged to.

But Liam never received this report, and when he read who the database found as the owner of that second set of prints, he realized why he wasn’t shown.

“It was you…” Liam gasped, finally tearing his attention off the file to center his glare on Bastien. “Why?”

Bastien remained silent. He kept his gaze locked on the table, but the sweat forming on his brow wasn’t unnoticed.

“We know why, Liam. He was trying to shut her up because she spoke with us. And that’s why he offed Penelope too — right, Bastien?” Olivia answered. “Dispose of the loose ends before they can out you?”

“I did not harm Lady Penelope in any way,” Bastien stated with utmost determination, looking directly into Olivia’s steely eyes as he did.

“But you know who did, and you were working to bury that too, correct?” She quickly retorted, arching her brow.

Bastien clenched his jaw and looked away, refusing to speak, but he didn’t need to — Olivia knew she was right.

“You can deny those accusations all you want, but the next ones will be fairly difficult to talk yourself out of,” Olivia snapped as she produced another file and showed it to everyone.

“Operation Ghost?” That title caught Liam’s attention, and his mouth fell agape when he read it. He flipped through the papers inside and realized this was a meticulously planned mission, not a coincidence. While he spiraled deeper into the abyss, further away from reality, intentional carnage ran rampant within his court, and it was all a part of the elaborate plan from the beginning.

Someone plotted to hurt Riley and take her away from him, and that thought momentarily left him breathless.

“Apparently so,” Olivia answered, remorse cracking through her stony features upon seeing Liam’s broken shock. She’d already searched the file and knew what lay ahead, but didn’t know how he would react; it wouldn’t be good regardless. “Someone altered or destroyed most of this —” She paused to throw a death glare at Bastien. “But… There’s something else…”

“What is it?” Drake inquired as he and Liam took in her hesitancy, causing the hair on the nape of their necks to stand at attention.

With a heavy sigh, Olivia opened an envelope and produced a few smaller documents. She slammed them down on the table one at a time, directly in Bastien’s downward cast line of vision. “Here’s Riley’s ID, her passport, and even her goddamn credit cards. Now tell me, Bastien — how did you think she got to New York without those?”

Liam snapped his head over to her. “What?!” He snatched the items off the table and stared at the photo on Riley’s passport in his trembling hands, his heart rate taking flight.

His worst fears suddenly became reality, because he knew it would’ve been impossible for her to get out of the country without identification. This confirmed that Ray was right; she never left Cordonia. Of everything he suspected of Bastien, the things he knew and worked to cover up completely blindsided Liam. It hurt him in a way he didn’t know was possible, to be betrayed by someone he put every single ounce of his trust in.

Plus, had it not been for Olivia and Ray, he probably would have gotten away with it, too. The thought alone created a forceful swarm of guilt as Liam realized once again — this was what he ignored for so long. His breaths turned shallow as his mind took this new information and ran with it, automatically assuming the worst and with no signs to point in a different direction, he couldn’t find any strings of hope no matter which way he looked.

The waves came crashing down, sending him into an instant spiral of equal parts devastation and fear. He swayed on his feet, but eventually lowered himself back into his chair, willing the wild rush to slow.

“What the fuck is this?!” Drake exclaimed, smoke nearly barreling out of his ears. “Where is she?!”

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit! She couldn’t leave without this! You’ve been lying to us all along!”

“I did what I had to,” Bastien returned, his voice devoid of all emotion. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“What did you do to her, Bastien?!” Olivia reiterated. “You can’t deny you know something — if she’s in danger, you need to tell us so we can find her!”

“I did nothing to her! All I did was escort her from the premises to the airport — that’s it.” Bastien huffed, immediately regretting the slip-up, which earned him a unanimous gasp.

“What did you just say?” Liam rumbled with clenched fists, his daze of self-hatred shattering on the spot.

Bastien hesitated but realized it was useless to redact. “I said I escorted her from the premises—”

Liam lunged for him without a second thought. He slammed his face into the table and held him there with all his might by the back of his skull. “So you not only knew, but you fucking helped too?!”

“I did what I had—”

“You son of a bitch!” Liam yelled as he lifted Bastien’s head, only to bounce his cheek against the table with increased force. “I trusted you!”

Bastien tried to respond, but Liam swiftly continued. “You have manipulated and made a fool of me for the LAST fucking time! I told you what I’d do, yet you still lied to me? YOUR MONARCH?!”

Again, Bastien attempted to speak, but Liam wasn’t quite finished. “This WHOLE TIME… You’ve known — you fucking helped — but you continuously led me astray.”

“Sir—”

“YOU DO NOT SPEAK OVER ME!” Liam bellowed, slamming Bastien’s head a third time.

A long silence passed as Liam securely held Bastien by the back of his neck, using more force with every passing second. He saw nothing but blood — everything that would’ve gotten covered up ran through his mind; the murders, Riley, and what seemed to be a never-ending list of other possibilities.

Finally, Bastien timidly sliced through the tension. “Sir, I’m willing to tell you what I know and what I’ve done in exchange for safety. If you do not ensure my life, I will be dead within hours.” He pleaded, preparing to meet the table again. “You have no reason to trust me now, but I will tell you what I can…” He emphasized.

Liam met eyes with Olivia and Drake, a silent conversation taking place. In all honesty, nobody cared what happened to him after the fact; all that mattered right now was getting Bastien to talk by any means necessary. Whoever wanted him dead was more than welcome to finish the job, but not until after he confessed.

Liam released him with a shove but never said a word. Instead, he strode back to the chair across from Bastien and slowly retook his seat. When Liam lifted his head, the pure fury staring back at him slightly took Bastien aback. The patient presence he’d grown accustomed to was long gone, replaced by a man driven to the brink of insanity. Those typically bright baby blues were now dark, vicious, and wild — nearly animalistic as his stare tore through Bastien. It sent a shiver of dread down his spine and made him momentarily fearful of his usually calm and composed king. His head throbbed, but he knew that would not be the worst of what he received — regardless of whose hands he suffered from.

Liam intently held his gaze for a long moment, clenching and unclenching his jaw, but finally spoke in an eerily calm voice. “... Tell us.”

Bastien strode through the country jamboree with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach as he recalled what would happen tonight. A suitor would be removed from the competition, with or without her cooperation. The trap was loaded and ready to go; all they needed was the prey — Riley.

Bastien located Penelope in the crowd and watched her approach Riley. She was deep into a conversation with Maxwell, but Penelope slipped in and played the part surprisingly well. He recognized her shaky hands even from afar, but she discreetly slipped at least half of the pharmaceuticals into Riley’s drink, unbeknownst to her or Maxwell. He didn’t think that part was necessary, but the force beyond insisted it was essential so they would force her to her room before everyone else.

After a time, Bastien observed as Riley hugged Maxwell and headed toward the estate. He quietly followed behind in the shadows as she walked through the deserted halls to her room, cursing the creaky floorboards underneath his feet, but the woman he trailed didn’t notice a thing. Riley skipped, hummed a tune, and even did a little twirl; she had no cares in the world and had no clue that her perception of a fairy tale was about to be shattered.

As her door shut, Bastien took position outside, crossed his arms, and waited for the job to be completed. Everyone else remained at the party outside; it was his assignment to ensure the vicinity stayed clear. He knew who occupied the room neighboring hers, which only fueled the need to get this done and over with as quickly and smoothly as possible.

People spoke behind the door — the voices escalating by the second — but Bastien made it a point to drown them out. The situation could go one of two ways, depending on Riley's cooperation, and it didn't take long for him to realize she chose the hard way. Although he found it difficult to ignore her pleas for help, his allegiance aligned elsewhere.

After a time, a few gentlemen approached but Bastien allowed them access, as he expected them. He didn’t know who they were, just that they would deal with ‘relocating’ Tariq; his task was Riley. One had jet-black hair, while the other donned a baseball cap. They wore a matching dark ensemble, aside from the hat and one having thick, circular lens glasses. A holster of weapons surrounded their belts, making the hair on his arms stiffen. The pair went inside without a word, but Bastien felt their eyes on him as they entered.

The deafening silence hung for what felt like centuries, but eventually, they re-emerged with their cargo in tow.

“Unhand me this instant!” Tariq demanded as the muscles dragged him away.

“Not a chance, fancy boy.” The man with glasses snickered. “Got a special place for you.”

“I did what I was supposed to do!” Tariq pleaded, his tone changing once he realized the seriousness of his situation. “Please — have some compassion!”

“No can do. Boss’s orders were strict — toss you in a hole and throw those God-awful loafers into the ocean.” The dark-haired male snapped his fingers before adding, “I can leave the shoes on if you’d prefer — put some cement in them and send you both on a journey to the bottom of the Mediterranean.” His delight showed brightly, causing Bastien’s pulse rate to skyrocket.

Tariq suddenly planted his feet firmly on the ground. “DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?! OR WHO MY FATHER IS?” He bellowed. “You won’t get away with this — I WILL ENSURE THAT YOU—”

Out of nowhere, the male with the ball cap hit him with the butt of his pistol, silencing his tirade. Tariq slumped to the floor with his eyes rolled back, blood gushing from his nose in an instant.

“Thank you, Claudius. I couldn’t stomach another second of his useless ranting.”

“You and I both.”

“Get him loaded up — we’re on a schedule and need to move.” Claudius hefted Tariq on his shoulder with ease and quickly left out the servants’ exit. As he disappeared, the remaining man shifted his attention to Bastien. “So… You’re prepared to handle the fallout?”

“Of course.” He confidently responded.

“Are you sure? Because I don't think you understand how messy this situation could get in the future… And honestly? If the boss hadn’t enlisted little Miss Penny, this entire operation would’ve crashed and burned before it even took off.” He rolled his eyes. “You thought she would agree to this just for a spot beside the queen?”

“It might surprise you what people will do to get ahead around here.”

“Yes, but they’re willing to execute better with a little — added motivation.” He flashed a wide, sinister smile. “You should know better than anyone…”

Bastien swallowed thickly, his entire body going rigid. “I’m not sure what you’re referencing.”

“Of course not.” He snickered. “I don’t blame you — I wouldn’t want anyone to know you’re the one who mur—”

Bastien held a hand up. “That’s enough.” He spat out.

The male’s smile widened. “As I said, people execute better with added motivation.” He patted Bastien’s shoulder with a little too much force.

“Was there a point to this?” Bastien rumbled through clenched teeth, shaking off the man’s palm.

“I just wanted to make sure it’s one hundred percent clear — you need to ensure anything regarding this stays buried. If too many people ask the right questions before we reach the finish line and the boss has to get involved again… Well —” He grinned, baring his teeth. “That’d just be a shame, wouldn’t it?”

A chill shot down the length of Bastien’s spine. “What is that supposed to mean? Are you threatening me?”

“You may not be the brightest crayon in the box, but you’re not that stupid — you know what will happen.” He responded, amusement written on his cold features. His almond eyes deepened to black, leaving Bastien momentarily speechless.

“I’m certain that won’t be necessary.” Bastien confidently answered after he regained his composure. His companion nodded with an eerie smirk but casually lingered around the door. “Is there something else I can do for you?”

“I was just wondering about Lady Riley… Where you’re planning on sending her since you received the — opportunity to handle her?” He nonchalantly inquired, acting as disinterested as possible. “Such a great honor you have… One I practically begged for.”

“The States, where she came from.” Bastien’s direction was to ship her back to New York as discreetly as possible. Even though the plan took a drastic turn, that was the one constant that couldn't change because otherwise, they would out themselves for taking the reins and disobeying a direct order. She would land on her feet, start a new life, and forget all about Cordonia. Liam would surely want to search for her, but all Bastien had to do was stall until the coronation, when their cover for removing Riley would come to light.

“I see, I see… Well, hopefully, that works out for her.” He smiled, the sight raising goosebumps on Bastien’s arms.

Before Bastien could respond, the door creaked open, and a hooded presence strode out. He paid Bastien no mind, instead focusing on the dark-haired male. “Let us vacate. The party is nearly over, and we have tremendous amounts of work ahead of us if we want to pull this off.”

“What about the court? We can’t go back to —”

“Do not fret, Anton… We have a plan… Trust the process; this is only the beginning. Everything will work out as it should in due time, but we must move — now.”

The pair quickly walked away, but not before Bastien heard Anton loudly whisper, “About that — pit-stop…” to his companion.

Bastien momentarily pondered that statement, but shook off the queasiness inside his stomach, concluding they must be referring to Tariq. As he stared at Riley’s door, a brief flicker of guilt traveled through him. Riley did nothing wrong, and he knew that, but this is the task he regretfully accepted. It was not a personal vendetta, by any means, but this clueless woman aimlessly landed herself in the middle of the nobility; she didn’t understand the untold, dark side of the court and its inhabitants, but would learn on this day.

Bastien cautiously opened the door and entered to find Riley on the edge of her bed, cradling her side. She snapped her head over to him as she heard his footsteps, and her eyes filled to the brim with tears when she met his gaze. He once again fought a wave of remorse at seeing her hopeful expression, knowing he was not the knight in shining armor she assumed he was.

“Bastien, you—you have to help me… Please…” Riley croaked. Her words came out slightly slurred, although it surprised him that the earlier sedatives hadn’t taken a harder effect.

“I’m going to, Lady Riley. First, I need to ensure you’re not carrying anything on you.”

Bastien assisted Riley to a standing position, which she slowly did without question. He didn’t know exactly what transpired, but she had a gash on her side, blood soaking through the thin hoodie she wore. With her permission, he checked the wounds, none of which were bad enough to seek immediate medical attention. Her face was littered with cuts, surely bruises to follow with time, as one of her cheeks was already tinted with a light purple. He started at her shoulders and patted down to her abdomen, but stopped when he felt something in her pocket and pulled out her phone. He nonchalantly slipped the device into his jacket, but despite his best efforts, Riley watched him do it.

“That is my property! You can’t take that!” She protested.

“I’m afraid I can… You are to leave completely empty-handed. Now, we have to get going — you have a flight to catch.” Bastien placed a hand on Riley’s arm to lead her away.

Riley firmly planted her feet in place, shaking away his grip. “Don’t do this, Bastien!”

“You have no choice in this matter and we’re on a time limit,” Bastien replied as he checked his watch.

“What about all my stuff?”

“As I said, empty-handed.” He didn’t understand that part either, but concluded it was easier to shove her on a plane with no items to accompany her.

“On whose authority?!” Riley exclaimed. When he didn’t answer, she reiterated, “Who told you to do this to me, Bastien?!”

“That is confidential information.”

Riley snorted, her frustration written all over her face. “Bullshit! At least be man enough to tell me!”

“Fine. You want to know who did it?” He held her glare, letting the tension linger, but finally answered, “It was Liam.”

Riley stepped away as if she took a blow to the gut, but her devastation quickly morphed into the polar opposite.

Riley laughed; hard enough that tears spilled down her cheeks. “You expect me to believe that? Liam? Of all people?” She shook her head, slightly bouncing from her chuckles. “You think I’m that naïve and stupid?”

“Believe what you will, that matters not to me but my instructions were simple, so we must get moving.” He stated, very matter-of-factly.

“Bastien,” Riley pleaded, any signs of amusement suddenly disappearing. “Don’t do this. I’ll just — I don’t know!” She cried, anxiety prominent in her features. “I won’t say anything to anyone — I swear on my grandmother’s life! Or–or we can tell Liam! Whatever got you wrapped up in this, he will understand.” She reasoned. “Please — you don’t have to conform. We can find a way out of this together.”

Bastien considered it for a second, but ultimately gave Riley a sad smile and nudged her toward the door. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, but he remained firm. He quickly dropped her phone and the pre-written note he received inside her bedside table and went to the threshold, stepping over shards of glass from a broken planter and a bloodied garment.

Leaving her phone there meant it would be an immediate dead end for Liam and her sponsors. He would want to call her — possibly track her — but this ensured that door was closed before it could even be opened. It was a distraction tactic to keep the prince occupied until his reason for her departure would present itself to him, where hopefully, he would drop the matter for good.

Bastien held her stare for a moment before he cleared his throat, emphasizing the need to move. Riley hung her head and eventually slowly walked out the door, quietly sobbing as she did.

Bastien led her down the long hallway toward the servants’ exit, as their SUV waited close by. Riley was incredibly unsteady on her feet, whether it was from the earlier medication or her injuries, he wasn’t sure, but he held his hand out to steady her wobbly steps on multiple occasions. He glanced back and locked eyes with the maid he summoned to clean the area, and even with his dark sunglasses, he still spotted her apprehension. The interaction was brief as he and Riley reached the end of the hallway, but something in his gut said he would have to deal with that later.

Assisting Riley down the stairs turned out to be tricky, as she was in an incredible amount of pain. By the end, he hoisted her over his shoulder and carried her the rest of the way down. She didn’t yell or scream, not that it would have mattered if she tried; the party still ‘raged’ in the opposite direction, leaving the vicinity barren of wandering ears. If she got combative he had a plan for that as well, but was glad she opted to cooperate, instead of throwing a tantrum and meeting a fate similar to Tariq.

He sat her on her feet when they emerged outside and escorted her to the vehicle, quickly securing her inside. He used no restraints, but she didn’t resist one bit; almost as if she’d accepted her fate, or her body just didn’t have the strength to fight back. There were no remnants of Tariq or anyone else, but Bastien moved with fire under his feet as if someone lurked right around the corner.

Within the blink of an eye, they were at the airport, where Bastien unloaded her from the back of the car. The entire ride he heard Riley’s sniffles from the backseat, but he drove faster — to unload this package and hopefully, this would be a straightforward operation. Once she was out of the vehicle his job should be done, unless too many questions arose.

Bastien parked toward the back of the abandoned parking lot so the only thing on security footage would be Riley entering the airport. With his connections, he knew exactly where the cameras were and discreetly slipped into a blind spot. Riley could hardly stand as he pulled her from the vehicle, but that was not his concern.

He did his part — all she had to do was walk inside and leave Cordonia forever.

He shoved a small envelope into her hands and said, “Here is your ID, passport, credit cards, and a ticket to New York. It’s been a pleasure, Lady Riley.” And with that, Bastien turned on his heel and returned to his vehicle, speeding away before he could second guess his decision.

He glanced back in the rearview mirror and saw the silhouette of a woman standing there disoriented, wounded, alone, terrified, and defenseless, but quickly averted his gaze, centering on the road. He nearly pushed his foot through the floorboard to get away faster, but bile rose into the back of his throat as a chilling realization sat in; he didn’t know how, but this was far from over, and the chances of him making it to see his next birthday just substantially dwindled.

“I assumed she boarded the plane, but I later received her identification and credit cards in a sealed envelope from an unidentifiable source. I tried to help her… I really did…” Bastien finished with his head bowed.

“No, you sure as shit did not!” Drake bellowed, a mix of fury and shock written on his features. “I can’t believe you!”

Bastien flinched. “I did what I had to do—”

“Where is she, then? Because she never got on that fucking plane, Bastien!” Olivia hollered.

“I don’t know! I told you everything I know about it! I tried to find out, but I can’t!”

“This is fucking unreal.” Drake shook his head and scoffed. “You expect me to believe you really don’t know? You have her ID! Her goddamn passport!”

Bastien forcefully clenched his jaw. “I received them before the tour in a sealed envelope. I don’t know where it came from and I can't trace its origin.”

Drake scowled. “We’re supposed to believe that?” He looked away and rubbed a hand down his face, his frustration steadily rising. “Let’s say I do — you chose to keep that to yourself? You didn’t think that was worth mentioning when we opened an investigation into her goddamned disappearance?!” He over-enunciated, sarcasm dripping off every syllable.

“What was I supposed to do, Drake?!” Bastien responded, but couldn’t fathom meeting his eyes for even a brief second.

“Not be a spineless piece of shit, for one,” Olivia answered. “For two, you could’ve refused to cooperate from the beginning. Or, told the truth, regardless of what would’ve happened to you then… Or, made sure she got on the plane, at least. You drugged her and left her for dead, Bastien! Who knows where she’s at by now?! Do you realize how much time we’ve wasted because of you?!”

“I did not drug her or leave her for dead—”

“But you didn’t fucking stop it either, and that’s just as damning in my eyes,” Drake spoke in a bland, empty voice as he tried to comprehend this betrayal. “I don’t know what happened to you, but you’re not the man I used to look up to, not anymore… I can’t believe you did this and continuously lied to us about it!”

Bastien slouched. “I never lied—”

“Bullshit! You’ve done nothing but lie! You’ve gotta stop and tell us the truth for once!”

“I told you everything I know, everything I’ve done. I killed the maid and had every intention of Lady Penelope taking the fall — I’ve led you astray and tampered with evidence — I admit it.”

“I don’t care about any of that shit right now!” Drake shouted. “We wanna know what you did with Brooks, Bastien.”

Bastien sighed. “Drake, I told you, I don’t know where she’s at! She was supposed to go inside and board the plane!”

“But you didn’t wait and ensure she did, at least?” Olivia asked with an arched brow.

“I didn’t think I needed to! After what I heard coming out of that room, I assumed she would run inside to get away… If anyone knows, it’s probably that Anton character!”

“Anton…” Olivia repeated, her curiosity peaking. “What do you know about him? And the other guy? Claudius?”

“Absolutely nothing. I’d never seen them before and haven’t since. All I know is they were in charge of relocating Tariq.”

“And you don’t know where that is, either?”

“No, I don’t. I didn’t ask questions, and I wasn’t told. I ran their names in the system to see if I could figure anything out, but they’re ghosts — there aren’t even medical records with either name on it.”

Olivia scoffed. “So, why do it, then?”

“I have my reasons…” He finally gathered the courage to take a peek in Drake's direction, but when he spotted the wild blaze of fire in his eyes, swiftly glanced away.

“Yeah… Okay…” Olivia indignantly laughed. “So was this your idea, or were you working under someone else’s watch?” He didn’t reply, but she and Drake noticed his shoulders tense. “That’s all the answer I need. So who is it? Who’s pulling the strings here?”

Bastien shook his head. “That I can’t tell you.”

“You’re already a dead man no matter which way you look at it, so you may as well just tell us. If you do, there is the tiniest chance that you may receive mercy,” Olivia growled as her hand instinctively reached for the dagger hidden in her waistband.

“I’m aware of that, but I cannot tell you.”

“Bas, you need to fucking—”

“Damn it, Drake, I can’t!” Bastien shouted. He knew the pain Drake felt was nothing compared to what he’d feel if he knew the truth, but he refused to open that can of worms.

Liam remained eerily quiet as he listened to Bastien retell the events of that night. To say he was fuming would be the understatement of the millennium. Bastien’s continuous misleading and knowledge of Riley being drugged, assaulted, and potentially still in Cordonia sent Liam overboard. Not to mention, he basically left her for dead in a parking lot. Bastien did all of that; he may not have physically harmed her himself, but he stood guard, let it happen, and actively worked to cover it up, making Liam physically sick to his stomach.

The all-consuming rage he tried to control reached its boiling point. He was no longer asking nicely — he was demanding.

Liam slowly stood from his chair, the loud screech halting the surrounding bickering. He leaned over the table on his knuckles and positioned himself at eye level with his former guard. “You told her that I did it?”

Bastien’s eyes spread eagle. “I just needed to get her out of the door… I assumed that would get her to leave willingly, but she didn’t believe a word I said.”

Liam indignantly laughed, the sound sending waves of uncertainty through everyone in the room. “So it wasn’t enough to physically break her — you had to pile emotional pain on top, too?”

“Sir, she did not believe me,” Bastien reasoned. “She knew you would never do such a thing. It was only a last-ditch attempt on my part to get her out.”

Liam mindlessly nodded, ignoring the new wave of dread filling his veins. He’d convinced himself even through all this madness, when they reached the bottom of this intricate web, there was still a slight chance Riley could love him back, but that hope burst into flames instantaneously. Regardless of whether she believed the lie, he was more determined than ever to find her, ensure her safety, and make sure she knew he played no part in this. He had no intentions of hiding his prolonged negligence of the situation from her, but wasn’t willing to let her hate him over something he had no part of.

Liam took a deep, steadying breath and spoke in a low, timbre rumble. “I’m ordering you to tell me who orchestrated all this, Bastien — you owe me that much.”

Bastien remained silent for a long moment as he held his monarch’s intent gaze. Eventually, he sat back in his chair and broke eye contact while pursing his lips together. “Damn it, tell me!” Liam shouted, his voice echoing against the concrete walls.

Bastien hesitated, as he quickly planned his path from here. The potential to get caught was always there, and he thought extensively about what he would do and who to say in this situation. His secrets fueled a small portion of his decision, but the majority centered around fear. He wouldn’t be safe either way but would take his punishment from the crown. Aside from keeping his skeletons inside the closet, to defy the — others — would essentially put nails in his coffin, just waiting to be hammered in. He’d seen firsthand the carnage they were capable of; a couple of treason charges were nothing in comparison.

But if he pointed them in the right direction, it wouldn't be him outing the culprit.

The tension lingered but right when Olivia opened her mouth to push, Bastien quietly answered, “It was your father…”

The room went silent; not a single breath to be heard. Olivia took in the steadfast determination in Bastien’s features and knew for once — he wasn’t lying. And it made some sense; Bastien was purely manpower, not an active brain contributing, and Constantine had the power to force him into anything. However, she instantly knew the former monarch was not the person behind that door with Riley.

Constantine was in high demand and there was no way he could’ve slipped away from the jamboree that early unnoticed. Olivia recalled that night, and to her knowledge, Constantine retired at the same time as Liam. Plus, if they believed Liam’s out-of-body experience to be reality, Constantine was right beside him while the attack took place.

She believed him but also realized while he told the truth, he didn’t tell all of it. There was more to the story, and she intended to get any and every ounce of information out of him, no matter what it took.

Olivia opened her mouth to address Bastien, but Liam beat her to it. “My father?” He repeated, confusion showcased brightly on his face.

“Yes, sir,” Bastien softly spoke. “I know that may be hard for you to hear, but—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Liam suddenly bellowed as his shock quickly morphed into dangerous fury. “You’re still trying to lie?!”

Bastien’s eyes widened. “I swear to you — he’s the one who told me to send her back to New York.”

Liam shook his head, his face reddening with every sullen breath. “No… You’re just trying to cover your own ass, that’s it!”

Bastien sighed. “I don’t expect you to believe me, but that is the truth. Your father is the one who—”

Liam paced the small area, his racing thoughts spiraling out of control. “My father would not do this, regardless of how strongly he felt about it. This is fucking evil and deranged — he is a lot of things, but he would never do something like this to me.” He seethed. “So I will ask you one final time — who was it?”

Silence commenced once more, but Bastien eventually answered. “I told you who it was. If you choose not to believe me, that’s your prerogative. I did what he ordered me to do.”

Fast as lightning, Liam brought his fist up and connected with Bastien’s jaw. He went around the table and hit him again, and again, until Bastien was on his knees with his head dangling in between his still cuffed hands. Liam didn’t care if he killed him or not at that moment; all that mattered was exacting revenge on behalf of his beloved, even if she wasn’t there to witness it. The monarch checked out, replaced by a vicious beast — a starved one, at that.

Liam saw nothing except Riley’s face, the sound of her cries from his out-of-body experience echoing in his mind. His hand throbbed as he relentlessly took his frustrations out on Bastien, but he barely felt it because of the pure hatred and adrenaline pumping through his veins.

Olivia and Drake watched, exchanging worried glances as Liam continued his assault. Both felt incredible amounts of anger toward Bastien, but they saw the bits of truth. Liam might not want to believe it, but Constantine made the most sense.

However, Olivia wholeheartedly believed Constantine was not the one in that room. He may have ordered Bastien to engage, but deep down she knew he was not the one calling the shots that night. As Liam continued to pummel him, she had half a mind to stop him, but the person taking out his anger on his crumpled guard was not her childhood friend, and even she was hesitant to interfere.

It was Drake who finally intervened, laying a firm hand on his shoulder. “Li…” When Liam shook him off, he tried again with more force. “Liam!”

“Get your fucking hands off of me!” Liam shouted, quickly returning to his mission. Every bone that snapped underneath his fist soothed a portion of his soul, but he wasn’t willing to stop until Bastien felt even a small portion of the pain enveloping his entire being.

The door crept open and Leo went to step inside, Maxwell close behind, but halted when he spotted a bloodied and battered Bastien dangling from the side of the table. Liam continued his attack, completely oblivious to the additional presences in the room. Leo noticed the mixed expressions from Olivia and Drake and quickly pieced a vague conclusion together. Never in his life did he think Bastien could be capable of such atrocities, but clearly they found something to tie him to it.

Leo stepped toward Liam and timidly tapped his shoulder to gather his attention. “Li, we found Penelope. She was headed to the palace with orders for incineration upon arrival, but we stopped it and she should be back soon. I talked with Landon and Emmaline and they’ve agreed to send her wherever you see fit for autopsy. Ray recommended a specialist, but I wanted your input before I started the process.”

Liam finally stopped his assault and stared down at Bastien’s crumpled body with labored breaths. “The amount of which you’re willing to go to bury this is ridiculous! WHO could be that important that you would do all this — risk EVERYTHING for?!” He bellowed, his voice booming against the walls.

Bastien never answered, whether by choice or from his injuries, but a silence took over as Liam really pondered that question for a moment. This wasn’t just some measly scandal anymore; this was an extensive operation concocted to remove the top competitors and ensure he married Madeleine. At first assumption, it would be easy to point a finger at Madeleine herself, but Bastien held no allegiance to her, and the two hardly spoke before the start of the engagement tour. She held no power over him and had no way to get him to bend to her will.

And that was simply too easy — right?

Bastien’s involvement suddenly narrowed down the potential list of suspects, as Liam knew there was a very short number of people he would have no choice but to obey. Despite everything, he didn’t want to believe Bastien willingly did all of this. He expressed feeling some kind of remorse while it was happening, but he still aided and lied about it afterward, making his guilt irrelevant.

He had no reason to trust Bastien, but the more he thought about it, the more his heart accepted the tale.

The betrayal from his former guard was a lot to process, but knowing who could have ultimately constructed the whole thing shredded him into a million tiny pieces. Half of him was ready to unleash a wrath like no other, while the other half wanted to crumple into a ball and cry. His already fragile heart couldn't take the strain; right when he thought this situation couldn't get worse, it did. Someone so close forcefully took something so precious, knowing how much Riley meant to him, and it completely blindsided him.

His back hit the wall and he slid down it, clutching his chest. Leo and Drake quickly moved to catch him, thinking he was having another episode, but Liam shook them off. As everyone took in his dejection, they realized he accepted who their next subject of questioning would be.

“Leo…” Liam swallowed thickly, his breaths rapid and labored. “Tell me — tell me our father wouldn’t do this… He’s not evil, just hard-headed — right?”

Leo winced. “I… I wish I could, Li, but…” He didn’t want to believe it but with Constantine’s infatuation with the throne, he couldn’t put it past him. Their father was never malicious, but he had a control problem regarding the crown; Leo knew firsthand.

But would he go this far?

Liam let out a forceful huff of air and ran his hands down his face, trying and failing to keep his tears at bay. “I — I thought it was bad that Bastien betrayed me, but — him? Why would he do this?”

“I want to answer that, Liam, but I’m not the person to ask… One way or another, you know we have to confront him…”

Liam grimly nodded. “I know… I just — what if he is the one who did all of this? What am I supposed to do then, Leo?”

Leo remained silent for a long moment, gathering his thoughts, but was to no avail, as he genuinely didn’t have an answer. “I don’t know, Liam… I really don’t…”

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caerbannogmochi · 4 months ago

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Limbus Company: Canto 7 Theorycrafting

FIRSTLY: I will be assuming you (the reader) have completed Murder on the Warp Express (MotWE), as well as Time Killing Time (TKT), and are at least vaguely capable of remembering the events of each. This post will discuss spoilers for these intervellos.

Still here? Good. Note that I will refer to the version of Don that we meet at the end of MotWE as "Cervantes"; Even though Project Moon is fairly likely to have a separate character named Cervantes show up at some point, I feel that clarity in the present should take priority (so any time travelers, please try your best to divorce that character from the ideas mentioned in this discussion).

Now, even though this is not the first time there have been two intervello events between Cantos, I believe there is a critical difference between Christmas in District 20/Yield my flesh to claim their bones and TKT/MotWE. With the former two, the first focused on Heathcliff and Don (the former of whom was central to Canto 6) with the second focused on T-corp and how it shaped its associated sinners (Yi-Sang and Heathcliff). However, TKT spends more of its time focused on Rodion, with Don being used almost as a side character (who, granted, gives the main investigative trio supplies for their investigation, which does provide some characterization). MotWE continues this focus on Rodion and how she's doing, even as it establishes Bloodfiend lore, introduces us to Cervantes, and gives Don Quixote fans several smoking guns to be fired at some point.

It is for this reason that I believe this canto will use Rodion as a foil for Don Quixote, in order to characterize both.

Even though this is fundamentally Don Quixote's Canto, Project moon has been putting too much focus on Rodion's personal struggle for the latter to be thrown out into the cold. Besides: using a formerly self-righteous sinner whose literary counterpart grew to regret it as contrast for a currently self-righteous sinner who is downright delusional? Why, it's like adding espresso powder to a chocolate cake. I will even go so far as to theorize that it won't be Don who distorts during this Canto, but Rodion.

Cervantes will almost certainly be forced to reveal herself to the sinners at some point during this Canto, but how this internal reveal will interact with Rodion's mental state is obviously unknown at this time -- but I do believe they will be connected. Don Quixote and Rodion are very likely to fight if this theory is true, and it will likely be a bloody one, although the why and when are also unknown at current. I do suspect that Ryoshu ('artist' as she is) will be the one to comfort Cervantes when this happens, at least in part due to Hong Lu being preoccupied with the impossible task of trying to keep Rodion from distorting. Sinclair's reaction at this point will be indicative of exactly what direction Project Moon wants to take his character (psychic powers, hiding in the closet, or both).

Another thing I'm going to take note of is the contrast between Hubert and Cassetti: although both are placed in positions of power, Hubert starts TKT in a state of apathy (which is eventually dimmed as he travels with Dante before he is revealed to have power) and Cassetti starts MotWE as an overconfident bastard (whose last words are spent begging Cervantes for his life, immediately before she killed him). I seriously doubt that Project Moon threw these two in willy nilly, especially since Hong Lu mentioned Hubert during the intro to MotWE. Rather, I believe that this theme of power and how it is used will continue into Canto 7 proper, although what exactly Project Moon will do with it, once again, remains unknown. All I have are two examples of leaders: one of whom seeks good for others, burned out, and chose to hide his position of power from us; and the other who flaunted his power, reveled in its abuse, and had it taken away.

#limbus company #Canto vii #canto vii theory #limbus company theory #don quixote #rodion lcb #limbus company spoilers

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theladyofbloodshed · 1 month ago

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Featuring Nesta Archeron as the beautiful, but witchy leading lady and Eris Vanserra as the tall, quirky investigator.

Chapter 1 of 6

In the bosom of a spacious cove, which indented the eastern shore of the Hudson, lay a small market-town or rural port, which by some is called Greensburgh, but it is more generally and properly known by the name of Tarry Town. Not far from this village, perhaps about two miles, there was a little valley, or rather lap of land, amongst high hills. It was one of the quietest places in the whole world. A small brook glided through it, with just a murmur enough to lull one to repose; and the occasional whistle of a quail, or tapping of a woodpecker, was almost the only sounds that ever broke in upon the uniform tranquillity.

Along one side of the valley was a grove of tall walnut-trees. If one ever wished for a retreat, to steal from the world and its distractions or to dream quietly away the remnant of a troubled life, no land was more promising than the little value. From its listless repose and the peculiar nature of its inhabitants, the sequestered glen was long known by the name of Sleepy Hollow.

A drowsy, dreamy influence seemed to hang over the land and to pervade the very atmosphere. Some say the land was bewitched by an ancient settler. The place held a spell over the minds of the good people, causing them to walk in a continual reverie.

Others held the view that the land was cursed.

It was on the first Monday of the tenth month that Eris Crane was called upon to attend matters in Sleepy Hollow from the constabulary department of New York City. Three murders, most vile, had occurred. A father, a son, and a widow, all murdered. Such crimes occurred regularly, as was the state of the world, but three murders within a week in the small glen of Sleepy Hollow was unheard of.

Eris turned the missive over in his hands as the carriage rattled over uneven stones.

Three bodies. Decapitation. No blood loss. Heads not recovered.

The decapitation did not move him, however the missing heads did. A lack of blood loss did not marry together with arterial bleeding either.

Eris Crane would solve this mystery, for all unexplained situations were merely waiting to be unravelled.

When his carriage stopped, the dark had settled into the peaceful village. A chill was in the air of Sleepy Hollow. Tendrils of mist stroked the hard earth as he pressed a coin into the hand of the driver then proceeded towards the home of the town’s lord and lady – Rhysand and Feyre Van Tassel.

A party was being had. Lights lit up all of the downstairs windows and music seeped towards him. Eris was not a man who revelled. The arts were a waste of an education. He would make his greetings then depart to his room using the excuse of a long day of travel to escape.

A circle had formed where a young woman was blindfolded. A tall, strapping male with an arrogant gloat about him held her by the shoulders to spin her five times before releasing her into the centre with a low laugh.

‘The pickety witch,’ she said. ‘The pickety witch. Who’s got a kiss for the pickety witch?’

As she spoke, she made lunges for people who dodged her with a giggle. Eris, whom the game was unknown to, remained rooted to the floor as she grasped his waistcoat.

‘Aha. Who do I have?’

Her cold, delicate hands roved over his face while the circle fell silent. Even with the blindfold on, Eris could make out the scrunch of her forehead.

A child cried, ‘A kiss! A kiss!’

‘She has to guess first,’ replies a woman, with pleated curls and dark eyes.

Reverently, the woman caresses his face one more time. It was most unusual for Eris who had not been touched with any sort of warmth since the day he entered an orphanage in the heart of the city.

‘Is it Azriel?’

Laughter ripples about the circle.

‘Pardon, ma’am. I am only a stranger,’ replied Eris.

‘Then have a kiss on account.’

She cupped his face again then tipped up onto her toes to press a chaste kiss to his lips. When the woman released him, she peeled away the blindfold. She was the most beautiful woman Eris had ever seen. Her eyes swirled with a silver glow. Her fair hair reminded him of the luminescence of the moon. It was braided neatly into a coronet to highlight the elegant angles of her face. His eyes traced her skin, followed the downward curve of her neck towards-

Eris swallowed and tore his eyes away from the pale blue gown and ample chest.

She did not smile or laugh as the others did, but regarded Eris as one might an opponent.

‘I am searching for Rhysand Van Tassel.’

‘I am his wife’s sister, Nesta Van Tassel. Upon their marriage, he took our family name.’

‘Most unusual,’ Eris concluded.

‘Quite,’ she agreed.

The male who had spun Nesta stepped forwards. A hand settled on her waist. ‘And who are you, friend? We have not heard your name yet.’

‘I have not said it.’

‘You need some manners.’

Nesta removed the hand from her waist. ‘Enough, Cassian.’

She escorted him through the party-goers to her brother. Where Eris had been expecting a man of stout figure who had indulged himself through many years of gluttony, he found a slim – remarkably young – Lord of Sleepy Hollow. Dark hair was slicked back and matched the sable clothing he wore. Beside him, drinking a glass of wine and speaking to others was his wife, Eris could deduce due to the exceptional resemblance to her sister.

‘Lord and Lady Van Tassel.’

‘Even if you are selling something, you are most welcome here.’

Eris straightened his tie and stood a little taller. ‘I am constable Eris Crane sent to you from New York with the authority to investigate murder in Sleepy Hollow.’

A silence fell across the room.

‘Thank God you’re here to arrest the culprit,’ Cassian called which was met with a smattering of laughter.

‘What good will a constable do?’ Another voice asked.

‘I am quite certain this case will be unravelled,’ he replied, directing his attention to the Lord and Lady of Sleepy Hollow. ‘I daresay the day of travel has been ill and I should prefer to retire rather than enjoy the festivities.’

‘I shall see Constable Crane to his rooms,’ Nesta swiftly said, cutting in before the others.

The house had a second floor followed by a conversion of the attic into a living quarter for receiving guests. Nesta swept through the room to ensure all was up to standards whilst her lips remained pursed together. She stared from the window towards the mist-covered forests that encompassed the village, bar the single road, then promptly drew the curtains closed.

‘Miss Van Tassel,’ Eris said, halting her before her departure. ‘If I may confirm details with you: Three persons murdered. Atwell Van Garrett and his son, Tamlin Van Garrett, both of them strong, capable men. They were found together. Decapitated. A week later, the Widow Briar. Their heads were unable to be located.’

Nesta’s grey eyes sought the closed curtains again then flitted back to his, a wariness settling in. ‘Their heads were not found because their heads were taken, Mister Crane.’

‘Taken?’

‘Taken by the Headless Horseman. Taken back to Hell.’

Surely a woman of sound mind and education would not be taken in by ghost stories.

‘There is a scientific explanation for everything, Miss Van Tassel.’

Nesta squared her shoulders. ‘I assure you that in any other regard I would agree with your sentiments. But not in this. The Headless Horseman is real.’

There had been laughter when Eris had spoken of apprehending the suspect.

‘Indulge me,’ he said.

‘The Horseman was a mercenary, sent to our shores during the war. But unlike his compatriots who came for money, the Horseman came... for love of carnage... and he was not like the others...’ She shook her head. ‘His name was Jurian. He rode a giant black steed. He was infamous for taking his horse hard into battle... chopping off heads at full gallop. To look upon him made your blood run cold, for he had filed down his teeth to sharp points to add to the ferocity of his appearance.’

She told the story in such a way that Eris could not stop himself from being lured in by her voice. It was a siren’s call. He forced his hands into his pocket to keep from reaching for her.

‘This butcher would not finally meet his end till the winter of seventy-nine not far from here in our Western Woods. He had lured a general, Clythia, into his tent and tore her to pieces. He paraded her head through an enemy encampment then they captured him. They cut off Jurian’s head with his own sword, Clythia’s sister among them. To this day, the Western Woods is still a haunted place where none will dare venture for what was planted there was a seed of evil.’ Nesta spread out her hands. ‘And so it has been for twenty years. But now Jurian wakes -- he is on the rampage, cutting off heads where he finds them.’

If it were not for the austerity in her voice, Eris might have scoffed at the tale.

‘Miss Van Tassel, you cannot believe in such stories.’

‘It is no story,’ she vowed.

Eris shook his head. ‘We have murders in New York without the benefit of ghouls and goblins.’

‘You are a long way from New York, sir,’ she said, sweeping her head into a bow.

‘I shall discover the motive of the murders, Miss Van Tassel. This mystery will not resist investigation by a rational man.’

Eris moved to lean against the table, in a display of casualness, but the table wobbled on its uneven legs. The empty glass she had placed there for him juddered onto its side and rolled off the table. He winced as it fell, but – mercifully – it did not shatter.

‘You may be as rational as you like. The Reverend Helion will even press a Bible into your hands so that God may be the salvation in this horror. I speak of what I have heard from the lips of those who have seen. Those whose word I trust.’

‘Then, pray, tell me what others have seen.’

‘Rhysand has set a watch since the first murders. Cassian circles the village night after night on duty. He saw the Horseman galloping away on the night the Widow Briar was found murdered.’

‘I had believed you to be a rational woman rather than one in league with the brute from downstairs.’

Nesta stepped back, appraising him with a scowl. ‘You cast a judgement on the first night of our meeting.’

Bashfully, Eris dipped his head. ‘Please excuse my manners. I am not used to-’

‘Female company?’

Blood burned in his cheeks. ‘Society.’

‘How can you avoid society in New York? How I should love the opera - and theatres - to go dancing... Is it wonderful?’

‘I have never been.’

‘But there is an art museum? A concert hall?’

‘I don’t know.’

She gave a disappointed sigh. ‘Then you have nothing to teach me.’

At once, Eris wanted to take back his words. Or to offer Nesta the opportunity to visit museums and concert halls where they could dance. He would learn for her.

‘Nesta, you cannot truly believe it is the Horseman.’

‘Not everyone does believe.’

‘Good,’ he replied, relief flooding him.

‘Some say it is the witch of the woods who made a pact with Lucifer.’

Eris closed his eyes as he sucked in a breath. ‘There are no witches or galloping ghosts. Is everyone in this village in thrall with superstition?’

‘Why are you so frightened of magic, Eris? Not all of it is wicked. There are ancient truths in these woods which have been forgotten in your city parks.’

‘If they are truths, they are not magic – and if magic, not truth.’

She threw up her hands, anger brimming in her gaze. ‘You are foolish. When there is fever in the house, it is well known that willow-herb roots and a crow's foot must be boiled in the milk of a pure white goat with special charms uttered over the fire then the fever abates.’

‘Next time, try the herb without the rest. And now I must ask you to leave.’

‘Gladly,’ Nesta replied. ‘I should not have interrupted our town’s saviour from his contemplation. Goodnight. And as for the brute you mentioned, he has proposed to me.’

How could it be? Although Eris did not know the pair, they were already at odds in his mind. She was fair and lovely to look upon. He was big and burly with a rough tongue and rougher hands.

‘I, I, I,’ he stuttered. ‘I am happy that…’

‘He proposed to me several times.’

She gave a faint smile after her ambiguous words then departed with a slam of the door.

#neris #nesta archeron #eris vanserra #acotar fic #did i re-write the entire 133 page script of sleepy hollow #you bet your ass i did #imagine an incredibly stressful moment like moving into a brand new house and trying to finish it #whilst working full time #and thinking yeah i can re-write a script AND write 2 more scripts and book #normal behaviour from me when

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lavenderchqn · 3 months ago

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𝐶𝛨𝛢𝑃𝑇𝛦𝑅 𝟎𝟏𝟎 — SNAPSHOT (1,9K WORDS) 𝑅𝐸𝐷 𝐿𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑆 — lyney x f!reader smau

𝑆𝑌𝑁𝑂𝑃𝑆𝐼𝑆 —

Second year of university should've been everything you thought of it - more studying with human interaction sprinkled throught... What it definitely wasn't supposed to be was an investigation saga where one of your friends goes missing out of nowhere

𝑃𝑅𝐸𝑉𝐼𝑂𝑈𝑆 — 𝑀𝐴𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅𝐿𝐼𝑆𝑇 — 𝑁𝐸𝑋𝑇 𝐸𝑃𝐼𝑆𝑂𝐷𝐸

It wasn't long before Lyney messaged again, stating he was ready to drive to campus and pick the girl up whenever she was ready. Luckily for him, [Y/N] had gotten almost all her equipment ready, leaving some last lens cleaning. They agreed to meet near the main campus twenty minutes from those texts.

In her getting ready, it seems that [Y/N] was making far too much noise for the comfort of Charlotte, who just opened the bedroom door… looking less than awake.

Her roommate had been napping until now, sleeping off an all-nighter she had the day prior. She had been gathering information for the investigation board. From [Y/N]’s perspective, all she’s been doing was stalking social media in hopes of getting new links. At least there hadn’t been any information about another person going missing.

“Do you know no god, [Y/N]?” Charlotte asks, barely awake at the door of their bedroom. “What on earth is happening for you to be up at such an hour… on a bloody Saturday.”

“It’s almost 11 AM.” She answers, cleaning the camera’s lens. “I get that you’re passionate about the investigation, but camping your phone till 6 AM isn’t a good idea long-term.”

Charlotte sighs, trying to gather her thoughts and ground herself.

“That doesn’t answer my question, [Y/N]” She gets shushed, with a mug of coffee made minutes prior. Almost as if [Y/N] was fully aware her preparations would wake her roommate up.

With a cup in hand, the pink-haired journalism major is more aware and ready to tackle her friend’s unusual behaviour.

“So…” She looks at [Y/N] with expectance in her eyes. “What's happening for you to be getting your equipment ready on a Saturday of all days?”

“Lyney asked me to help him with some pictures.” [Y/N] is now back to gathering her things and checking out her outfit. Although she’s simply going out with a friend, making sure she’s comfortable is quite important.

“Oh, cool!” Charlotte looks a little more awake now. “Just, make sure to be safe alright?”

Ever since the revelation of people going missing, alongside the Troupe connection, it was obvious that they have both been on edge. Although not directly connected to the organisation, being journalism majors had put a target on their backs as potential victims. After all, nobody would like to have a wannabe detective with social media skills on the trail of figuring shit out.

“I’ll make sure to text you occasionally. How about that?”

“Fine by me, hope you have fun!”

By the time you get to the main entrance, Lyney is already there. He’s sitting on a bench nearby, earphones in and glasses on.

[Y/N] quickly jogs over, checking the time to try and gauge how late she is. She’s actually right on time, meaning he had to get here much earlier.

“Hii!” She waves, getting his attention. “Hope you didn’t wait long.”

“Just got here, no need to worry.” He mutes the music and gathers his bag, before going in the direction of his car.

Now that Lyney is walking in front of her, she gets a good look at what he’s wearing. Compared to his twitter selfies, he’s dressed a lot more casually. Now that she thinks about it, during their board game night last month, his outfit was quite elegant.

Soon enough they make it to the vehicle, Lyney opening the trunk.

“Do you need any means of protecting the camera stuff?” He asks, holding out his hand to take your bag.

“Made sure to secure them on the inside, thanks a bunch though.” You give it to him, noticing the delicacy he places it with. Not to mention, that he secures it anyway.

“Oh please, I should be the one thanking you.” He opens the door to the passenger’s seat, before getting to his own. “Don’t know a singular person who would willingly give up their Saturday like that.”

“You call it giving up my Saturday, I call it spending time with a friend.” You laugh, getting comfortable in your seat.

Looking back, the car ride definitely takes more than 20 minutes. Luckily, Lyney’s doing everything in his power to make sure the time isn’t getting to [Y/N].

After graciously getting your agreement to pick the music, the ride was spent in the accompaniment of Stardew Valley’s soundtrack. Say what you wanna say, but the Dance of Moonlight Jellies never gets old.

They spend the ride talking about random stuff, from video game content to university assignments.

“Like, I’m telling you.” Lyney rolls his eyes mentally. “The second we finish that play, I do not want to hear the term practical project.”

“Honestly, so fucking same.” She replies. “You’d think it’s just a little course to get your grade up but naaaah… has to hit you with the most obnoxious shit ever.”

“I’m counting on passing that next week, at least I’ll be able to celebrate without a care in the world until finals’ results are out.”

“Might as well make it a group celebration. At least someone will be able to hold your hair when you drink too much again.”

“I have a high fucking alcohol tolerance, I’ll have you know!”

Soon enough you find yourself at the entry point to Mary-Ann National Park. [Y/N] heard of its existence before, and yet never had the chance to go here.

“So, what makes this national park a place you want to get a photo of?” She asks, gathering her bag from the trunk of the car.

Lyney sighs, before getting his own equipment.

“It’s a good place to think,” He locks the doors and starts leading up the hills. “I like coming here whenever I’m getting overwhelmed with them.

It’s weird to even picture Lyney as an overthinker. From his social media presence and people’s statements, it would be hard to predict that. Given a longer thought, it makes sense. [Y/N] might not be a psychology expert, but she’s gotten to know that some people put on masks.

The silence falls in between them.

“Did I make it uncomfortable?” Lyney stops abruptly, turning to face his companion. “I’m sorry— forget what I just said…”

“Oh shush, you didn’t.” She playfully rolls her eyes at him. “It’s good to have a place just to focus on your brain. Good for mental health.”

Her answer seems to bring Lyney some solace. Even though they could be considered simple acquaintances, it’s good to get validation from other people.

“Let’s get moving then, we’re almost there.”

The sight at the top of the hill is breathtaking. Overlooking you can see some ruins of the abandoned buildings of Fontaine’s Research Institute… the mountains and the water surrounding add a calming aura. No wonder this is Lyney’s place of choice.

“Holy shit.” [Y/N] stands, looking at their surroundings in awe. “This place is beautiful.”

“What can I say,” Lyney’s tone signals he’s feeling less melancholic. “I have the eye for it.” He says, flipping his hair dramatically.

Behind her back, he’s getting stuff out for a picnic. A blanket is already laid on the grass, and soon some drinks follow. By the time she’s ready to turn around everything is set.

“Oh wow…” [Y/N] laughs, taking a plastic cup that he’s holding out to her. “Whoever becomes your partner will be the luckiest one on this planet.”

He lets out a tiny laugh, tilting his head slightly. “I guess they’d have to get through Furu and Wriothesley first, don’t know many people who’d survive that.”

“Please… Furina is one of the nicer people I know.” She frowns. “How would she feel knowing you’re talking about her like that.”

He starts to ponder. “She’s so nice that she’d let it go immediately. Would probably stay up all night overthinking and trying to gauge if what I’m saying is true.”

He gets a flick on the forehead for a comment like that. “That’s exactly why you shouldn’t talk about her like that.”

All of a sudden, [Y/N] remembers the promise she’d made to Charlotte earlier today. She sends a quick message, followed by a pic of the landscape. All that’s left is for it to go through.

Multiple hours pass, Lyney and [Y/N] spending them reminiscing as well as some random blabbering. The sun is starting to set slowly, a yellowish hue overtaking the sky.

“Thanks so much, [Y/N]” He says, laying on the blanket. He gets answered with a confused hum.

“What for?” She takes a look at him, trying to guess based on his expression. “I haven’t taken your pictures yet.”

“Existing, I guess?”

Now she’s confused. This entire trip feels like a date, despite not a single mention of it being that from Lyney.

Speaking of Lyney, he picks up on the silence his friend is giving him.

“For being Lynette’s friend.” He sits up, his eyes turned to the sky. “This entire thing was orchestrated to thank you.”

“That’s a lot of planning to just say thanks.” She chuckles.

He now has put himself into a position, where explanations are in order.

“When we both got into uni, I was worried that Lynnette would eventually be left alone,” Lyney starts speaking out loud. “Ever since birth, we’ve been attached at the hip… I was worried how this change would make her feel.”

[Y/N] hums, letting him know that she’s listening.

“I— I just feel so relieved, that she has other people that enjoy her company.” His voice trembles a little, if you pay attention, he’s doing his best not to start sobbing right this second.

“Holy, don’t cry!” She wants to put her arm around him to offer some comfort. That, however, requires his verbal confirmation. [Y/N] settles for a gentle push, so that his body is leaning against her’s.

“I’m so glad, that Lynette showed up that day at the club. Hell, I’m happy that I got convinced by Charlotte to go”

“I don’t even know why I’m crying…!” His emotions are all over the place. “I think those are happy tears?”

Soon enough, with some deep breaths, Lyney manages to settle down. His eyes are as red, as his sleeves are wet. Whatever [Y/N] babbled about worked well enough to calm him down.

“By the way… Do you still want the picture?” She asks, looking at her bag with camera equipment. “Since we’re already here, might as well take one?”

“You’re so right!”

The sunset’s pinky hue is perfect. No matter how many times Lyney had come here to just chill out, this place still retained its beauty. With immaculate placement, the photo comes out even better than imaginable.

“What do you think?” She shows Lyney her creation. When he hears a gasp, she knows, she did a damn good job.

“Couldn’t have taken a better one myself!”

“By the way Lyney… Why settle for this method of saying thanks.” [Y/N] asks on the way back.

“Well, Wriothesley was no help… and Neuvillette didn’t even understand what the whole ordeal was for. Don’t worry, if we’re gonna hold a party to celebrate once finals are over you’re gonna meet both of their insufferable selves.”

“So… That leaves Furina?” It's the only possible choice, via a process of elimination. “Explains the dramatics.”

“The only soldier that was willing to help me out…” Lyney sulks, getting into the car. “Truly my ride or die in this mess.”

𝑇𝐴𝐺𝐿𝐼𝑆𝑇 — OPEN

@state-of-grac3 @santaluna @meigalaxy @romyoia

@meurtreofcrows @charles-braindump @floweringanna @moonjellyfishie @vavrin

date of posting — august 17th 2024

#lavv.writes #lavv.redlines #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smau #genshin smau #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin fanfiction #lyney x reader #lyney smau

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hylaarborealove · 5 months ago

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My personal christian hot take on LGBTQ+

This is a realisation I had today, when I found 100% proof of a beloved actor of mine that he was in fact gay. I was suspecting it for a while now, since some shady information on the matter was given and it always seemed like people were dancing around this for far too long. What I noticed is that learning this information made me a little angry. Upon further investigation in my mind I asked myself ok, but why is this making me so angry? I don'd even know this guy, it's not my business at all, why am I beeing so dramatic over this random fact I've just read about a random person I have not even met yet?. For obvious reasons I am not gonna mention his name, I do not wish to call him specifically out or create drama over some teological thoughts that I have had. The post is not about him, it's pure theology, and personal mind rant, please do not come for me for giving context to my thoughts.

That beeing said. I knew it was making me angry for 1 reason, this stated cannot mean, the person is Christian. Now to understand my stance, you need to understand, learning that someone is not a christian always makes my heart ache, hurt and worried. - If you were a christian, I trust you understand - Now, still I was not sure why this was affecting me so. And then it hit me. A crazy revelation. - Praise be to God for that - it's the identity. As christians, our identity is found in Christ and Christ alone. He does not share identitywise. It's Him or not. That simple. And what I came to realise, is that the moment someone identifies as a certain sexuality, it takes away the chance or the ability to fully place their identity in Christ. Which is mindblowing. The reason it is so powerful, is because in our oversexualised world, people desperately want to fit into one of these groups. And they think their identity is solemnly in their sexual oriantation. IT IS NOT. But they believe it. They find comfort in it. - Like people find comfort in other sins - and do not want to give it up, because they feel it would take their identity away. - Grasping so closely and so stubbornly to that and saying "that's me" takes away the opportunity to say, "I am a child of God". I hope it makes sense to at least some of you. I tried to explain it to the best of my ability.

Now. I do not say, once stated it cannot be undone. There are many powerful testimonies of people repenting of different kinds of sexual sins. I myself have overcoming sexual sin testimony. - Glory to God! - I obviously do not mean to limit the Lord or put Him in a box saying there is no going back. That would be a big fat lie. All I'm trying to say is that maybe the reason christians are so much against this community, it is because it's not a fight against a sin that has become a habit or a sin that was a one time commited thing - not trying to belittle anything, just trying to make it make sense - but it is because it's fully against self. Against one's "identity". That's what makes it look like we are going against the people and not the sin. Because they internalise it, they bath in it, they label their sin as themselves, they put it on (the sin) like a second skin, every day. Identifiying with it so much so, it looks like we are rebuking them, and not their sin.

If by any chance you have made it this far, congratulations. :) Thank you for reading and thank you for the time you spent meditating on it. If you had any thoughts good or bad, things you would like to share or maybe even want to correct me in any way, please do, you are very welcome to start a conversation in the comments or reblog or anything. - With all love and understanding towards one another obviusly -. Thank you again.

love,

hyla

#god #jesus #christian blog #jesus christ #christianity #faith #love #jesusislord #christian #bible #lgbtq

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monstersdownthepath · 7 months ago

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Monster Spotlight: Katroome

CR 1

Chaotic Neutral Small Magical Beast

Module: Gallows of Madness, pg. 62

These massive, colorful caterpillars spend their entire lives as such, seemingly never pupating into anything no matter how much (or what) they eat. They don't seem to particularly mind, though, and in fact revel in their adorably pudgy form with alarmingly human eyes, seeing it as a perfect state of being for their life's mission: Being the imperious guards of the forest.

Katroome, for whatever reason, ALL believe themselves to be powerful authorities in the natural world. They are not kings or monarchs (since they never pupate into butterflies, you see), but they have the same opinion of themselves an influential captain of the guard or perhaps a particularly combative mayor would hold: they are a figure worth listening to and obeying, one which protects and defends its small slice of a greater kingdom ruled by powerful nature spirits and Fey. Such beings are the only creatures a Katroome bows to, all others are expected to bow to the pudgy bug instead. The book doesn't really explain how actual, powerful forest guardians see these pompous and confident creatures, but their noted extreme rarity has some unfortunate implications.

Do not view their confidence as fully suicidal, though; Katroome aren't particularly wise (11 Wis), but they ARE smarter than the average human (14 Int) and thus smart enough to know they're squishy-squishy and delicious to a good 90% of life on the planet. Much like a guard captain in a town that hasn't seen real conflict or danger for several years, Katroome investigate any potential malfeasance in their territory with the utmost of caution, and if there IS danger present, they take pains to remain hidden from it and hinder it from afar... all while rallying other guards or getting into contact with higher authorities as needed. They have no DR, no resistances or immunities, and no special defensive abilities, relying entirely on their 20ft climb speed, Small size, and +14 to Stealth to keep out of sight of anything that might be particularly hostile, their 1/day Invisibility acting as an emergency escape option if they're under threat of physical harm.

Katroome being pursued by a hostile force will typically lead that force into areas where it's strung up its web traps and its sticky sheets, slowing attackers down if not neutralizing them entirely and leaving them helpless to other forest guardians. They can also spit their webs from afar up to eight times a day, and though their webbing isn't particularly strong (with a whopping 2 hitpoints), it can at least stick many creatures in place for a round or two. These webs also allow the Katroome to glue weapons or items to the ground or snatch them away, and cocoon troublesome invaders inside their tents or sleeping bags as they rest, both pranks the caterpillars are noted to do.

When webs are too overt, Katroome can use Command 3/day or Suggestion 1/day to sow chaos among a party of invaders, disarming them or causing them to split up... but they're just as likely to use these spells for casual mischief and greed. It is only fitting, of course, that a noble guardian like the Katroome be gifted that expensive-looking hat your Wizard is wearing, you see. Katroome lairs are often decorated with minor magic items they've managed to pilfer from passers-by, either as 'payment' for 'allowing' the creatures passage, or because the Katroome simply stole it with its webbing or its convincing magic.

A caster which particularly impresses or befriends a Katroome may earn the questionable blessing of the creature's trust and a vow of assistance, the big bugs allowing themselves to leave their forested environs to join the quest of a party as Familiars... of course, in this particular relationship, the caterpillars tend to believe it's the casters which are their Familiars, a delusion their new bond is encouraged not to challenge if they wish to keep the bugs on their side. Who knows, perhaps the bond of a Katroome is worth something when going to speak to powerful Fey...?

You can read more about them here.

#Monster Spotlight #familiar spotlight #CR 1 to 5 #pathfinder #dungeons and dragons

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poisonlove · 1 year ago

Text

Miss ortega | j.o

part 15

User: Who are you?

Unknown

Both of us know that I won't reveal who I am.

Unknown

Save the detective nonsense, just stay alert.

Unknown:

Ah, perhaps later I'll give you another gift, who knows 😜"

I don't respond to the messages and continue staring at the phone with concern. I bite my lower lip and think about how to confront this unpleasant situation.

—Are you okay, honey?— I lift my head and look towards the voice. My girlfriend appears in pajamas, hair damp from the recent shower. I smile timidly as I see Jenna approaching.

The side of the bed sinks, and a hand gently takes mine. I sigh and look at the phone in my hands.

—I... — I take a breath. —I received a very strange message from an unknown person.– I confess and glance at Jenna.

Jenna is surprised by this revelation and shivers down her spine. Her eyes widen in surprise and concern as she looks at me.

—What do you mean by a message from an unknown person? What did it say?—She looks at me with shining and worried eyes.

I take a deep breath and try to control the agitation before responding.

—The message said that this person knows about our relationship. I don't know how it's possible, Jenna. I'm really scared.– I admit quickly, and Jenna's face turns completely white with fear.

Jenna wraps herself even tighter around me, trying to comfort me.

—We have to face this situation together. Do you have any idea who could be the person who sent the message? We can try to gather more information and take necessary steps to protect ourselves.—Jenna bites her lower lip, resting her chin on my head as she tries to stay close to me.

I shake my head, still filled with worry in my eyes.

—I have no idea who it could be. I checked the sender's number, but it seems to be anonymous. I also don't have any suspicions about who else might know about our relationship.— I place a hand on hers and hold onto her embrace.

Jenna tries to stay calm despite the fear settling in her.

—We need to be cautious and find ways to protect ourselves. We could contact the authorities and report what happened. Additionally, we should be even more careful with our devices and personal information. Maybe we could also consult a cybersecurity expert for more advice.—Jenna suggests, and I raise an eyebrow at her proposal.

I discreetly move away from her embrace and look at her with confusion.

—Love, that would be a good idea... but have you considered that we should inform the authorities about the reason for this investigation?— I look at Jenna as she pushes a strand of hair away from her face. —You know... I'm of legal age... but you're still my teacher—I affirm, and Jenna absentmindedly nods, blushing under my gaze.

Jenna understands her partner's concerns and the importance of protecting their relationship by approaching the situation discreetly. Both decide to explore other options to uncover the identity of the unknown person.

—You're right. We need to be cautious and find a way to discover this person's identity without jeopardizing our relationship. There are other avenues we can pursue.— She smiles genuinely and looks at me with admiration.

I nod, showing signs of relief as Jenna understands my worry.

—Yes, exactly. We can try to gather more information about this person independently. I can do online searches or check social media activities to see if we find any clues. Maybe we could also try to trace the origin of the message.— My eyes shine with enthusiasm at the idea, almost getting excited about playing the role of a detective.

Jenna agrees with my words and thinks about possible actions that could help us in our investigation.

—These are excellent ideas. We could also try to contact a cybersecurity expert or a private investigator to help us uncover the person's identity. We need to make sure we protect ourselves and uncover the truth.—Jenna hugs me gently, and I respond with enthusiasm.

—Shall we go to sleep now?— I yawn and close my eyes, enjoying her soothing caress through my hair.

—We could also... have a meeting with the only people who know about us at school.— I timidly affirm, and Jenna murmurs her agreement in my ear. Her nails in my hair relax me immensely.

—Alright, love. Let's get some rest.—She whispers, and I relax in her arms. I rest my head in the curve of her neck and sigh lovingly.

—Goodnight, Jen.—I murmur softly, my voice slightly muffled as my lips are against her skin.

—Goodnight, t/n.— My girlfriend whispers in response.

(...)

— Well, girls... why have you contacted us? — Enid asked timidly, looking at us with concern.

During the meeting in the science classroom, Jenna is determined to find out if Olivia could be involved in the unpleasant threatening message. Despite their close friendship, Jenna knows that it's important to explore all possibilities to ensure the safety of her relationship with t/n.

— Thank you for being here, Olivia and Enid. We know how important it is to keep our relationship private and secure. We've received a threatening message from an unknown person who seems to know our secret. We wanted to talk to you to see if you've noticed anything strange or if you have any information that could help us uncover who might be involved — I asked, looking at the girls with a smile on my lips.

Jenna huffs and looks at Olivia with narrowed eyes. The Asian girl shifts uncomfortably in her seat and looks at her teacher with confusion.

— It's true, isn't it, Olivia? — Jenna says with venom.

Enid and Olivia exchange a surprised and worried look. Olivia seems troubled by the implied accusation.

— I don't know what to say, Jenna. Yes, I admit I had feelings for t/n in the past, but I accepted our friendship and tried to put those feelings aside. There's absolutely nothing that would lead me to threaten your relationship — Olivia looks at us with a mix of curiosity and annoyance.

— I trust her, Jen — I quickly admit.

Jenna feels a bit confused and insecure when t/n confidently states that Olivia isn't involved in the threatening message. However, t/n's words about her trust in Olivia make Jenna feel even more jealous and unsure about the situation.

— I just want you to know that Olivia has always been a trustworthy person to me. We've shared many intimate and personal moments, and she's always been respectful of our relationship. I understand that the situation is delicate, but I don't believe she's involved in this way — I confess and look at Olivia with a faint smile.

Olivia returns the smile.

Jenna makes an effort to calm her jealousy and show trust in t/n's word. She knows it's important for them to work together and overcome the challenges they're facing. Enid intervenes, trying to ease the situation.

— Jenna, I understand that we're here to support each other, but we must be cautious about accusing someone without concrete evidence. Olivia has been a good friend to both of us, and we should consider all possibilities before jumping to conclusions — Enid looks at Olivia with a smile, and the girl returns it shyly.

Jenna realizes she might have been carried away by her suspicions and decides to step back.

— You're right, Enid. I'm sorry, Olivia. I didn't mean to accuse you without concrete proof. We should continue exploring other leads and try to uncover the identity of the unknown person in a proper manner. — Jenna spontaneously takes my hand and interlaces our fingers.

Olivia accepts Jenna's apology, but it's evident that the accusations have hurt her.

— I appreciate your apology, Jenna. I hope we can continue working together to uncover who's behind all of this. Your safety is important to me. — Olivia crosses her arms over her chest and looks at us with determination in her bright eyes.

The meeting continues with a more general discussion about security measures they can take to protect their relationship. Jenna and t/n understand the importance of being cautious and not jumping to conclusions. They decide to expand the circle of people involved only to those they fully trust.

Together, they continue to collaborate in uncovering the identity of the unknown person, seeking further clues, and considering additional security measures. Jenna commits to strengthening the trust between them and maintaining calm throughout the process, with the goal of protecting their relationship and uncovering the truth.

— I've got it! — Enid smiles and looks at us with excited, shining eyes. — How about Asher? — the blonde girl says.

Enid's sudden interest in the suspect's identity grabs everyone's attention in the room. Jenna and I exchange surprised and worried looks as Enid mentions the name Asher Spenser, her former teacher and Jenna's past romantic interest.

— Enid, how can you think that Asher could be involved in all of this? It's been months since we had a brief fling. I can't imagine he'd be involved in something like this. — Jenna lightly bites her lower lip, lost in thought.

Enid seems agitated and tries to explain herself.

— But I noticed Asher seemed particularly interested in you during that time. He might have harbored unrequited feelings — Enid refers to the abrupt ending of their involvement.

I watch Jenna closely, trying to understand how she's processing this new information.

— Jenna, is it possible that Asher might have a reason to want to threaten our relationship? Have you noticed any suspicious behavior from him lately? — I ask tentatively.

Jenna reflects, trying to recall if there's been any strange situation involving Asher recently.

— I haven't noticed anything in particular lately, but maybe we should investigate a bit more. We can't jump to conclusions, but it's important to examine all possibilities. — Jenna rests her head on my chest, causing uncomfortable glances from Enid and Olivia.

— How did your relationship with Asher end? — Olivia asks cautiously.

Now that I think about it, Jenna never told me how her contact with our teacher ended. I look at Jenna as I hug her around the waist.

— Oh... I just told him it couldn't work between us because there was someone else. — Jenna confesses, glancing at me.

In a swift move, Jenna grabs the back of my neck and makes me lean in to connect our lips in a sweet kiss. I open my eyes and observe the reactions of the two girls before succumbing to my girlfriend's touch.

— Sorry, but it's been too long since I kissed you. — Jenna whispers near my lips, in a way that only I can hear her.

— Well... that was odd — Enid clears her throat and looks at us with flushed cheeks — but thinking about Jenna's words... — the blonde bites her lower lip nervously.

— I guess I would seek a way for revenge too — Olivia chimes in, likely thinking along the same lines as my best friend.

They decide to investigate the suspect, Asher Spenser, more thoroughly to uncover if there's any connection between him and the threatening message they received. They choose to keep the information private and take precautions not to jeopardize their reputation or safety.

The discussion shifts to security measures they can take while continuing to investigate Asher. Jenna and I support each other and commit to uncovering the truth, no matter the outcome of the investigations.

The search for answers continues, but with a new possibility that has raised suspicions about Asher, Jenna and I brace themselves to face a situation even more complex than they had imagined.

***

Enid and I hide behind a corner near the lunch area, intending to observe Asher without being noticed. As Asher approaches his table, we carefully examine his movements and behavior.

— Let's see if we can find anything unusual in his behavior today — Enid says, placing her hands on my shoulders to get a better view.

— Yes, Enid, let's pay attention to every detail. Maybe he'll give us some clues if he's hiding something — I murmur softly.

We notice that Asher sits at the table and starts eating his lunch, apparently without showing any obvious signs of nervousness or concern.

— At first glance, everything seems normal. I don't see any strange behavior so far — Enid leans even more, and I grit my teeth due to the pain in my shoulders.

— Let's wait a bit longer and see if we notice anything unusual. He might behave differently when he thinks he's being watched — I affirm, huffing and trying to push a strand of Enid's hair away from my face.

After a while, we notice that Asher begins to look around, as if searching for something or someone. My eyes also catch him taking out his phone and quickly glancing at it before putting it back in his pocket.

— Did you see that? Asher seemed a bit nervous and looked suspiciously around — Enid seems excited.

— You're right, he seemed uneasy. It could be that he's trying to hide something on his phone — I quickly admit.

We decide to keep observing Asher to see if we notice any other unusual behaviors. After a while, we see Asher getting up from the table and approaching a group of colleagues for a conversation. His expression seems tense, and his gestures slightly nervous.

— Watch his expression and gestures, it looks like something's bothering him — Enid tightens her grip on my shoulder, and I almost lose my balance.

— Yes, he seems restless. He might be hiding something or feeling under pressure for some reason — I gently remove Enid's hand from my shoulder.

We continue to observe Asher throughout the rest of lunch, but we don't notice any more particularly strange behaviors. We decide to interrupt our "spy mission" and discuss our observations together.

— We didn't find concrete evidence of suspicious behavior, but it seemed like Asher was a bit agitated and tense — Enid nervously bites her lower lip.

— Yeah... we need more — I acknowledge, and Enid smiles like the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland when she sees Olivia Rodrigo walking towards the cafeteria exit.

— Oh, damn... what do you have in mind? — I look at Enid with concern, and my best friend gives me a mischievous smile. —I've got an idea — she says excitedly.

(...)

— It's a terrible idea — Olivia confesses after listening to Enid's explanation.

— That's not true! — Enid pouts and kicks the ground like a two-year-old.

The plan involved Olivia approaching Asher during physical education class, distracting him from his seat, and trying to talk to him as much as possible, while I took care of looking at his computer.

— Actually... it might work — I acknowledge, and Enid gives me a genuine smile.

— Oh, my God, go for it! — Enid takes Olivia by the shoulders and pushes her towards Asher.

The teacher had left his office door slightly ajar when he heard his name. From behind a corner, I saw Olivia call the teacher, slightly limping.

I furrow my brow in confusion and timidly observe their interaction. Olivia touches her ankle, and the teacher looks at her puzzled and concerned, given that Olivia was the cheerleading team captain. I sigh in relief as Olivia grabs the teacher's hand, probably preventing him from turning towards my direction. I enter his office timidly.

There wasn't much there, just a desk and a calendar with girls' pictures.

I sit at the desk and timidly observe Olivia and the teacher's interaction from a distance as I type on the computer.

The idiot didn't even have a password.

I nervously bite my lower lip and search for something that might be interesting, but there's only one folder: "school." Apparently, he's not that dumb.

Feeling uneasy, I get up from the desk and quickly leave the room. I let out a sigh I didn't know I was holding and head back to Enid.

Meanwhile, Olivia had finished distracting Asher.

— So, is there anything? — Enid asks, and I shake my head.

— Damn it! — Enid huffs in frustration and shoots me a fleeting glance.

Apparently, things were getting more complicated.

(...)

— Are you sure? — I glance at Jenna from the corner of my eye as she adjusts my tie.

— Of course, darling... everything will be fine. — Jenna licks her lower lip, her expression focused as she continues working on my outfit.

— I'm really nervous... Lately, we've had other issues, and the Calculus competition is the last thing we should be thinking about. — I sigh resignedly and smile as I see Jenna's eyes drift to my lips, pausing there.

— I think this competition will help you distract yourself. — Professor Ortega slides her hands along my hips, stopping at my waist.

— So... am I ready? — I ask, nervously biting my lower lip, and Jenna genuinely smiles.

— I'm sure. — She whispers near my lips.

We were in the famous science classroom, mentally preparing ourselves to face the dreaded competition we had talked about and studied for months. The Calculus competition would take place in the gym, under the watchful eyes of demanding external administrators. Teachers could only observe from a distance and personally announce the results to those involved.

— God... there's an incredible sexual tension. — Out of the corner of my eye, I see Enid, my best friend who came to see me outside of school hours, looking at us with disgust and embarrassment.

Jenna sighs loudly and steps away from my body, knowing perfectly well that the moment was ruined by her student Enid.

— Enid... when you're supposed to stay quiet... you talk. — The other person who knew about the relationship I had with Jenna, Olivia, looks at her new friend with reproach and amusement.

— Olivia... just look at them. At any moment, they'll strip naked and do it right in front of our eyes. — Enid opens her arms and looks at Olivia in confusion, emphasizing that she was right.

— Miss Sinclair... we're capable of self-control. — Jenna responds nervously, looking at her student through her long lashes.

— Well... let's just say we've done it everywhere... even where you are right now. — I quickly admit with a mischievous tone and receive a light tap on the back of my head from Jenna. — T/n! You shouldn't say... well... — Jenna blushes, and I laugh because she looks adorable.

— Eww! Eww! — Enid exclaims as she stands up from the desk, wiping her clothes with her hand in an attempt to remove or at least forget what I confessed. — Stay still! God, you could have spilled everything! — Olivia catches a small water bottle in mid-air and sighs in relief, seeing that she prevented it from spilling.

— We'll talk about that later. — Jenna whispers in my ear, taking advantage of Enid and Olivia's distraction. I gulp audibly and nod slightly, slightly frightened by her words.Her lips softly land on my cheek, and she kisses me gently, wishing me good luck without drawing attention in front of my friends.

— Let's go. — Jenna says to the air, taking my hand gently and intertwining our fingers. — Move, idiot. — Olivia looks at Enid with playful eyes, and Enid walks quickly to keep up with us.Let's hope the competition goes well.

(...)

I yawn and squint as I search for my phone that's ringing. "Who's calling at this hour?" I sit on the bed and answer the phone with a relaxed tone.

— Hello? — I ask without even looking at who's calling.

— T/n... we have a big problem. — Olivia's muffled voice sounds concerned through the phone, and I try to pay more attention to what she has to say with concern.

— What happened? — I ask, and Olivia sighs without saying a word, as if she's in shock.

— I think the whole school knows your secret. — Olivia murmurs, and I feel my heart stop, unable to believe her words.

— How...? — I whisper rhetorically, not exactly asking a question, just wondering what we did to be discovered.

— I went to school early... and... as much as I wanted to avoid it... there are thousands of flyers with your kiss with Jenna everywhere. — Olivia exclaims in panic, worried about the possible consequences.

— I'm on my way there. — I hang up the call and dress as quickly as possible, running to Nevermore Academy.

After running for 10 minutes, I enter the doors of our academy, immediately catching the attention of everyone present.

Thousands of eyes look at me with surprise and disgust as they hold the infamous flyer Olivia warned me about. "How embarrassing," a student I don't know exclaims with disgust.

— T/n, you're here! — I see Enid, accompanied by Olivia, quickly approach me, looking at me with eyes full of concern. — I don't know how this happened... — The blonde hands me the flyer, and I sigh as I see the picture of Jenna and me in a passionate kiss. My eyes carefully examine the bottom of the flyer, noticing an inscription that makes me understand immediately who was responsible: "The long-awaited gift has arrived." I clench my jaw tightly and furiously wonder who the hell could be responsible for this mess.

— It wasn't me... you know I adore you. — Enid looks at me with trembling lips and blue eyes filled with tears.

— I know... I trust you. — I sigh and look at both girls with conviction, knowing that despite everything, they couldn't be responsible for this revelation.

— Jenna? — I nervously swallow, asking my friends where Jenna is. — She's here. — Olivia responds, glancing towards the main hallway.

Professor Ortega walks nervously, her eyes filled with tears, not daring to meet the students' gazes, knowing she'd find unusual reactions. Jenna looks at me, and I feel a deep sorrow for her, knowing that her job and career were practically over.

"The Miss T/n and Professor Ortega are required in the principal's office, the Miss T/n and Professor Ortega are required in the principal's office." The metallic voice sounds like a stab through the school's speakers, officially announcing that we're in trouble.

— Good luck... if you need it, my mom's a lawyer. — Olivia hugs me and whispers those words in my ear, fearing that things might escalate legally. I timidly return the hug and nod disheartened, still not believing what we're going through.

— We'll be here for you. — Enid adds, joining the hug, resting her head on my chest.

— Thanks, guys... but now I have to go. — I break the hug and walk determinedly towards Jenna, looking her in the eyes.

My heart tightens as I see how emotionally devastated my girlfriend is. — Don't worry... we'll get through this. — I murmur when I reach her, opening my arms to receive her embrace.

— I don't want to lose you... I don't want to go to jail. — She whispers against my chest, stroking her hair as a gesture of comfort.

— You won't lose me, and you won't go to jail... — I whisper, and she breaks the hug, looking confused at the crowd of students curiously watching us.

— Shall we? — I ask, taking her hand, and she nods slowly, accepting my request. We walk with our heads held high down the hallway, receiving disdainful looks and some homophobic insults. With our hearts racing, we see the door that leads to Principal Weems' office, and with fear, we take the final steps together that would lead us to ruin.

— Jenna... — I murmur her name as I continue to gaze at the office door that I've visited several times — either way... I will always love you. — Whitney Houston's famous words flow easily from my lips, wanting to express what I feel and at the same time fearing that the lyrics of that song might become our reality.

— I will too, T/n. — Jenna looks at me with bright eyes and a trembling lip due to her spasms, looking at me as if I were the most beautiful and valuable girl in this world — even if it lands me in jail... you'll always be the most important to me. — She confesses, and a tear falls down her cheek, smiling at me with happiness and pain simultaneously.

I observe her with admiration, lost in her coffee-colored irises, absorbing every detail of her face, trying to etch it into my mind forever, not knowing if I'd see her again. As the students enter their respective classrooms to face their classes, I take the opportunity to lean shyly towards Jenna, pressing our lips together.

The kiss is full of love, despite being salted by our shed tears, but even so, it's perfect just as it is. Once oxygen becomes scarce, we part and look at each other tenderly, feeling the echo of her lips that I probably would never feel again in my life.

— I love you... — I murmur again, and Jenna genuinely smiles, highlighting her dimple — but now it's time to go in — I continue, and Jenna's grip on my hand becomes firm, aware of our future.

Everything was falling apart.

#wednesday addams x reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x you #miércoles addams #jenna ortega x y/n #wednesday x you #jenna ortega x fem!reader #wednesday addams x you #professor

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not-so-superheroine · 11 days ago

Note

how did you come to join rlds/coc?

Sorry it took me so long to get to this question. I just knew it was a long answer.

I think my testimony gives a good idea, and i'll include . Because I felt the presence of God calling me to go join them is the overarching answer, but I can also give points that drew me in.

But in a few some points:

I fell in love with the modern RLDS version of zion (and some of the old one too. nothing to do with israel.)

I saw they strived to be an inclusive place.

The Community of Christ's Enduring Principles are things I want to strive to live my life by.

The community made me feel very welcome and I saw people conduct themselves in a Christ-like manner

The community is very tight knit. society needs more of that.

Like, there is a certain behavioral affect (? cultural distinction?) that many members have that i thought was strange at first but it’s lovely. It’s kind, loving, and welcoming, and you adjust to it very quickly imo. Even to the lingo, which was a fun process.

Continuing Revelation. Saw evidence of fulfilled prophecy in the Doctrine and Covenants and the spiritual growth in the church over the years

Continuing Revelation in general. I like that my faith is alive like that. We have prophets, God could reveal new truths for new scripture tomorrow. We are encouraged to be prophetic ourselves and discern the future together, i like that.

Also, no new scripture allowed in the mainstream? why not? does God still not talk in this way? great points in my head.

The communal aspect to everything is good. Just like how any sect of mormonism should imo The people i reached out to while seeking (investigating) were very kind to me and open to my questions. They were also there for me spiritually, and became friends.

I could email leadership with questions and get responses. At one point, one of the church Presidents reached out to me.

It’s academically welcoming. I was able to accept the book of Mormon as scripture when taught from a 19th century point of view. This, in turn, made me much more comfortable with the Bible. Community of Christ has an official statement on how to read scripture and there is scripture on how to think about and use scripture too.

I can even acknowledge when the history and the religious text don’t match. Because scripture doesn’t need to be historically correct to be sacred and hold an important message from the Lord.

Not really a reason but it is there: Joseph Smith III rocked and was intended to be next. It shouldn’t matter. But what does matter is that he set the church on a good path imo. Emma too. Out of all the early schisms of mormonism I would have to go RLDS belief wise, because Nauvoo era theology isn’t something I believe in. I think Smith got caught up in his own head and desires for much of it. No offense meant to post Nauvoo mormon sects.

This does not mean I haven’t picked some things up from Brighamites. For example, Trinity doesn’t work for me. And I pray to Heavenly Mother. I believe in one Divine source with many expressions. But that doesn’t mean “anything goes” and I accept it, just knowing that God speaks to people of many cultures all over, as the good book (of mormon) says.

But yes. This is why Community of Christ. Not that there are all common Community of Christ beliefs, but I thrive here spiritually and am encouraged to grow all the same. Older testimony under cut that gives detail

I encourage y'all to watch this on video rather than just the text edited version i put here. not to be like "watch my talk on it" but please, watch my talk on the subject. I also talk about unity of the saints and what i have learned from other christians including other groups of latter day saints. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N8w2M6PEKfg

I start giving my testimony and talk at 26:36

____________

I am Wednesday. Here I share a portion of myself and my testimony. At the time of this writing, I have lived 26 years. I am a Black woman of Gullah/Geechee ethnicity. I was raised in the African Methodist Episcopal church, which I am extremely grateful for. My nascent spirituality was nurtured here. I learned the meaning of community and was immersed in my culture. I was taught to love and respect my Black self, in a society that would not be inclined to show me the respect and love any human deserves. I may have converted, but I was meant to be nurtured here. I am a Lesbian, and have experienced discrimination in faith communities due attitudes towards LGBTQ+ persons. I despaired over thoughts that God didn’t love me, and wondered if I would be condemned to Hell. In part because of this and being scolded for my questioning nature regarding God and church doctrines, I fell away from faith. I grew a lot in this away time, but didn’t really deconstruct my faith until 2021. My isolation in the pandemic gave me time for introspection. I would watch content from mainly atheist ex-christians who discussed their deconstruction journey. They were usually ex-evangelical or ex-mormon, and were really helpful to me for unpacking the mess that was my faith. Then something peculiar happened that changed the path of my life. Through the ex-mormons, I encountered the Restoration. There was something intriguing about it, and I wanted to learn more, so I did. I learned history, and the doctrine of different Latter Day Saint sects. I loved how innovative and “of the people” the early church was and how alive the faith seemed to be. I listened to members and ex-members, past and present, talk about their experiences within their faith communities and how they experienced the Divine. These were some of the worst years of my life, but there was something here that gave me hope.

I came across an interview featuring John Hamer, in which he talked about Community of Christ as a home for those in faith transition. Many of the concerns I had about Christian faith communities were addressed. I craved such a spiritual home and became a seeker.

I asked many questions of missionaries, and my inquisitiveness was welcomed. I got myself an Inspired Version of the Bible, Doctrine and Covenants, and Book of Mormon. I was very impressed by the Doctrine and Covenants and found the contents to be Inspired and even prophetic, so I started attending Beyond the Walls services online.

One Sunday, the service was centered on the Worth of all Persons, Christian acceptance of LGBTQ+ persons, and the church in Tahiti. I listened to the members talk about their acceptance, their being guided by faith in Christ in the process, and how those things were compatible and complementary. The speakers affirmed God’s love and mercy for all. Their faith was strong, and they spoke with authority. Their Christ-like compassion was palpable. I felt what I now recognize as the Holy Spirit, come over me. After the message, the choir sang “Spirit of God like a fire is Burning” and I felt that fire burning in my chest and cried and praised the Lord for hours after.

My faith in God is stronger than ever. And my passion and belief in the Restoration bloomed.

#community of christ #tumbstake #afrostake #latter day saints #queerstake #answers #mormon #which no one seems to want to be called so by personal choice i am “mormon”#converted to (a sect of) mormonism in part by ex-mormons is wild #tho the pastor that played a large role in my theological understanding is and ex-mormon (L-dS) and is now a Seventy (CofChrist)#i have no idea what a Seventy is for mountain mormons. General Authorities - i think #quite of few sect to sect converts #in my experience - queer people / families with queer kids #where i am it's baptist converts that seem to be most common #which - mood. i still go to my other church but my membership tithe and main attendance goes to CofC.#i do give money to my other church tho. they have given me money for college. every kid going to college in that church. def donate there #religion

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teddypoi-qd · 1 year ago

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TMAGP ARG, Days 1 & 2

Here's a quick writeup of what the Discord's discovered so far!

Day 1 - Quick Beginnings!

Through an ad on the MAG podcast feed, we got an email that sent to OIAR's HR! Sending an email here gave us an autoreply with a link the OIAR website.

On the website we found a youtube channel and a bunch of alchemy symbols and suspicious typos scattered around the place, some more emails, and an identification form.

Investigating the form and the youtube channel, led us to a usenet newsgroup for DDR (East German) diaspora.

Much of our effort on the first day focused on translating and archiving this usenet group in a gDoc for easy reference.

Day 2 - Revelations & Whoopsies

Bit of a slower day today! We managed to translate and archive the entire newsgroup over the night. Some of the team has been working on making a database of the messages on Google Sheets, whilst others have settled on exploring other leads. In the newsgroup, specifically in the very important Cats thread, we found an image with another alchemy symbol! More on that one later.

Back on the site, I personally thought to look again at the images, and noticed their names all had a string of numbers in them. Twelve numbers, to be precise -- enough for a phone number if the country code was two numbers. A little solving later, we had a phone number! After a false start, we gave it a ring and, lo and behold, we were through to the OIAR! A robovoice informed us of system maintenance and asked us to call back on September 22nd!

Later on that day, a crack team of nerds ran the image from the Cats thread through some Steganography software and found the date time combo of: Saturday, 30th September 11:00 to 19:00.

A suspicion that a few members were holding was brought to light at this time, and they got to investigating! The castle at the end of the OIAR's recruitment video has a walking tour on Sept 30th! Though this might not be relevant, a more local member has decided to pop by and see if anything comes to light! (Note: please don't flood this poor walking tour with random MAG fans -- we're not certain it's relevant)

TL;DR:

called a number, got told to call back on Sept.22

found a date in a photo, Sept.30 (11:00-19:00)

booked a walking tour for the above time!

A * Digression…

During the excitement of solving the phone number puzzle… We got a little too nosey for our own good. During the call, we found that pressing * would let you into a series of settings. Neat, thought we, Some more data to sort through! So our intrepid group of explorers started sorting through the voicemails this revealed to us, and called the number of one of them, still believing it to be a trail of ARG clues.

"Hello?" Said Martyn RustyQuill.

Yes, dear readers, this was not an ARG clue. Through our dogged determination, we ploughed our dumb, smart asses into the backrooms of the ARG. The voicemails we discovered were, in fact, test calls that RQ did to ensure the number was up and running. The number that was called was Martyn RQ's real ass phone number. RQ panicked. The mods panicked. Slowmode went up.

Luckily, thanks to quick work from everyone involved, we cleared up any chance of other people calling Martyn's number, and we're now out of the backrooms and back on track!

Don't press * !

#senseless ramblings #tmagp #tmagp arg #magpod

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hausofmamadas · 17 days ago

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Until The Day You Don't Come Back

⁂

Pairing: Andrea Nuñez & David Barrón (+ some implied Dinarrón)

Prompt: "All we have are our choices" and Crossroads - for @narcosfandomdiscord Narcovember - #14 Book of Decisions Decisions Decisions

Word count: ≈ 4.2K

Note: shoutout to the homie @rerorero-my-cherry whose discord tonteria, talking about skipping off to Mexico to escape fascism somehow sparked the idea for this fic and I can't even explain how or why😂

TWs: Canon-consistent violence, descriptions of violent acts, smoking

There was no possible universe in which he was brought here by conscience. So naturally, she was dying to know the real reason they were meeting now under this bridge... Andrea gets a mysterious call from a potential new informant one day with information on notoriously corrupt politician and money launderer, Carlos Hank Gonzalez. She agrees to a late-night meeting on the US side of the border, so she can get all the tea, and boy is that tea scalding. (This ended up entirely too long but here you go world.)

⁂

Andrea checks her watch. Almost midnight. The road is quiet, cars passing by every fifteen minutes. The thinnest nail clipping of the moon is out and her informant is over a half an hour late. The lone street light flickering on the overpass above feels like a doomsday clock urging her to cut her losses and go home.

Really, loitering at this fork in the road under a highway bridge isn’t the most sensible idea, not when people were being gunned down in the streets in broad daylight and the cartels were using the bodies of their victims to send telegrams to each other. At least she had enough sense to insist the meeting take place on the US side of the border where her death would at least be investigated should things end badly. Just a few miles from Tecate, she’d found an unmonitored stretch of border the gringos hadn’t fenced off yet a few months ago and had been using it to touch base with informants.

It’s for this reason Salgado is always telling her she’s a clever girl with no sense. And also that if she’s senseless enough not to listen to him, as La Voz’s editor and her boss, he makes no bones about using it to his advantage. And he had - a series of groundbreaking stories about the hipódromo, Carlos Hank Gonzalez, and the AFO were enough to prove her senselessness enough of an asset, no matter how much of a danger it posed. Until the day you don’t come back, he’d note ominously.

But if not her, then who? The job was easier to do if you knew you were already dead. She did. She also didn’t think about it too much. Plus, this lead was too big to pass up. The call with the tip-off had come directly to her desk, an anonymous insider allegedly high enough in the AFO to know all about Gonzalez’s dealings not just with the Arellano family but with Amado Carrillo Fuentes in Juarez; news she wasn’t yet privy to but that made enough sense to catch her attention. And that’s how she ends up on these back-country, dirt roads in the middle of the night.

Of course, she knows it could be a trap too - she’s senseless, not stupid. She knows full well this little rendezvous could be no more than someone making good on a bounty for the head of any journalist from La Voz. She couldn’t even bring herself to revel in the I told you so, when the street edict came down from the AFO after Salgado enacted the policy of removing writers’ names from the bylines, even if she did tell him it was a short-term solution to a long term problem. It was even shorter than they bargained for because within a week of implementing the policy, the AFO had branded anyone who came in and out of that office fair game. Normally she wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to retroactively gloat, but this time it didn’t seem fair. Salgado did his best to protect them and it earned the whole staff a scarlet letter. But who’s fault was that really? So she left well enough alone, like she never had an opinion on the matter to begin with.

So yeah, the prospect of this being a trap had occurred to her. More than once. And the longer she sits here, leaning against the hood of her station wagon, checking her watch, the more the possibility keeps rearing its ugly head. Right on cue, the sound of footsteps crunching on gravel has her going for the handgun in her waistband and spinning around to greet the void of what she hoped would be empty space under the bridge.

“Hello? Who’s there?” She does her best to breathe, keep calm, as she anchors the gun in both hands, aiming for the shadows.“Dejate ver. Muestrate si no quieres tomarte una bala en el culo.”

A pair of raised hands are the first things to emerge followed by a modestly dressed man with a clean-cut crop of dark hair, dark eyes, and a sharply drawn mustache that gives him the look of a French nobleman caught in the wrong timeline. Her stomach drops several floors and liquifies into a puddle on the ground as it sinks in, just who he is. She’d give anything not to but there’s no eradicating the sense of recognition.

So this is it then. The end of the line.

She’d pictured it just like this. In fact the scene is so familiar, she feels the distinct impulse to laugh at just how much of a cliche she’s about to be. Because as much as she can acknowledge the possibility - meeting a grisly, undignified end, painted somewhere on the streets of a city she’s fought for and loved, just another macabre telegram - she’s also struck by the kind of shame that accompanies shattered hubris. That, somewhere along the way, she mistakenly bought into a brand of exceptionalism she always hoped to avoid, one might call it downright American. Rationally, she’s known the odds, even accepted them. And yet somehow it was still something that only happened to other people.

What a fool. She’d kick herself if she wasn’t about to die. Or maybe … How fast could this guy move? How quick could his hands be? Maybe she’d turn her gun on herself, get a shot off before he could get his out. Take things on her own terms. Not that she can even see a gun. But she doesn’t need to, to know it’s there, tucked in his waistband right at the base of his back.

After all, he is the AFO’s top sicario, David Barrón Corona. One of the most lethal men in Tijuana. Maybe all of Mexico. She’s only ever seen him at a distance, through a telephoto lens or in grainy photographs developed thereafter, but she could recite a list of his exploits from memory like a kid in some perverse spelling bee: the shootout at Christine’s, the airport massacre, the assassination of Ocampo, the shootout at the Belmont cafe. The man’s resume is a mile long and filled with nothing but death.

In her experience, meeting monsters like this tended to be unsettling for how boring and anticlimactic they always seemed to be. He appears no different. Just a man walking on two legs, with two eyes to see, and those eyes aren’t even crazed or rage-filled or brimming with hate. Whenever she came face to face with someone like him, it tended to incite within her a twinge of irritation that they couldn’t do everyone the courtesy of coming with some kind of warning label.

One of her hands drops and she walks toward him, gun drawn as she cocks the hammer and fires a warning shot into the ground next to him with an ease that surprises even her. He barely flinches. It’s obviously not his first rodeo. Which, yes, is to be expected but the stillness of him is still downright chilling.

His posture is relaxed, hands up in an effort to suspend hostilities. She’s decidedly unmoved in her hostility.

“Y’know,” he attempts to reassure her, “if I wanted to kill you, ya estarías en el piso, desangrándote en la tierra,” but it looms more like a threat.

It catches her off guard though, how much softer, gentler his voice is than she expected. It’s almost enough to disarm her entirely until she remembers all the coroner’s reports and crime scene photos she’d come across in her research. His handiwork. Well-executed executions, meted out with such quiet indifference he could’ve been telling them a bedtime story. This is who she’s dealing with.

“O sí? Pues soy yo ya quien tiene la pistola. So start talking, cabrón antes que te dé por el culo,” she flicks her wrist, pointing the gun barrel at the gravel disturbed by the first shot, “with another one of those.”

He chuckles, “Usually when people, civvies especially, say that,” making sure to keep his hands up, careful not to make any sudden movements, “no les creo. Pero a ti? A ti te creo.”

“Arre. So, if you’re really not here to kill me, fuiste tu con quien hablé por el telefono?”

He gives a stiff nod.

Andrea cocks her head to one side, examining him in the flickering street lamp light. He’d be handsome were it not for the vacuum in his eyes, no warmth, no life, yet here he was, breathing and blinking and talking all the same. There was no possible universe in which he was brought here by conscience. With what she knew, he was likely immune to that particular plague. So naturally, she was dying to know the real reason they were meeting now under this bridge, at this dirt crossroads, near the dirt town of Tecate.

“Do I, uh, have to keep these,” he looks right, then left, at each of his arms, “up the whole time?”

She considers the risk for a moment, ultimately deciding to let him but refuses to drop her gun. His hands come swinging down by his sides apparently unbothered by the fact that he remains caught in her crosshairs. Yeah, clearly not his first rodeo. Not even his second. Or third.

He meets her eyes but says nothing and the silence starts to feel like a third party in the conversation that just won’t shut up. Andrea taps her foot impatiently but he doesn’t seem to get the memo that this is the part where he’s supposed to do the talking.

“Alright.” She exhales crossly, rolling her eyes. “What did you want to talk about? On the phone you said something about Hank and Juarez?”

“That’s right.” Barrón takes a few steps closer, hands now clasped together at his waist, no more troubled by the gun than when he was further away. “He’s been working with Amado since he took over. Cleaning his money.”

“I don’t understand. Wasn’t he already doing that for the Arellanos?”

He nods.

“Wait, but that doesn’t make any sense. Why would he align himself with warring plazas?”

Looking down, Barrón shrugs, “That’s above my pay grade,” kicking a rock across the dirt, dust trailing behind it like a tiny, terrestrial shooting star. “I’m not that high on the food chain.”

She regards him skeptically, brows crinkling.

His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth, “I can only guess,” seeming to take the cue this time. “He’s probably too high-profile for either plaza to fuck with, so big homie can afford to do business with both. But I doubt Sr. Kingpin Accountant accounted for the heat it’d bring back on him with all the, uh– y’know, scrutiny.”

Grinding her teeth, Andrea snorts. Scrutiny was both a succinct and delightfully vanilla way of saying, ‘global attention thanks to all the bodies of the streets.’ But the implications of Hank laundering money for Juarez were big. He might be playing the plazas off each other, biding his time until a victor emerges, one he’ll be all too happy to chuck right under the bus the minute the political machine decides it needs to offer up its next sacrificial lamb to the gringos. Standing there, trying to put all these new pieces together, Andrea suddenly remembers the pack of cigarettes in the pocket of her flannel and wishes she’d thought to smoke one before they’d started talking. She can’t afford the distraction of lighting one up now, what with having to keep the gun in place.

“Alright, so he’s doing business with both plazas. How the hell do you know this? You said it yourself, you’re not that high up on the food chain.”

He seems to bristle at this, throwing her a sideways glance through half-lidded eyes, face overtaken by a dangerous, far-away look that spooks her even more than the gun at his back. “Why would you need to know that to write your little story.”

Interesting. Something personal, perhaps. She’d get it out of him one way or another. But later.

“Well,” she grips the gun even tighter, knuckles going white and she hopes that by keeping her voice level, he can’t sense how scared she is, “it’s not going in an article per se. But for reasons that I hope would be obvious? I can’t identify you as a source. You’ll have to remain anonymous.”

“You don’t gotta do that on my account.”

Practically gagging on disbelief, she manages to sputter out, “For you? What are you kidding?” before regaining her composure. “I mean– well frankly, you’re a criminal, a killer at that, putting a rival cartel in the headlines, so it’s more an issue of self-interest. Now, I know doing something like this does nothing but put you at risk but my readers won’t know that. So, telling me how exactly you found out about all this would lend you more credibility as a source. O sea significa que podemos confiar más en lo que me has dicho.”

This seems to wound him privately somehow like he’s taken it worse than the bullet she’d fired. But whatever it stirs in him is gone before she gets a chance to interrogate it further.

No less relentless, it is enough for her to ease up on her delivery. “So do you have proof? Something concrete that I can take back to my editor?”

His hand goes in his pocket and he begins digging around for something. Andrea’s whole body stiffens and she takes a step back, arm straightening to retrain the gun on him more decisively. If he notices, he doesn’t show it as he continues fishing around in his pocket until he finally brings out a few folded documents along with a bag of rolling papers. He takes a pre-rolled cigarette out of the bag, popping it between his lips while reaching out to pass her the documents. A few hesitant steps forward, she lowers the gun slowly snatching the papers from his hands quickly before scurrying back again. Her head bobs up and down between watching him and trying to read what’s on the page in front of her.

“What are these,” she flips through a few pages, “business licenses?”

“Among other things.”

She skims the first document and for the first time she feels like this whole thing might not be a trap. Fixing him with the coldest, most I-will-kill-you stare she can manage, “I’m taking a big risk, doing this. No me hagas arrepentirme o te arrepentiras, lo prometo,” she flicks the safety on and puts the gun in her waistband, in front so he knows she still has easy access.

Bowing his head, Barrón agrees, "Noted," cracking a small smile, something akin to respect or maybe admiration and it’s the first time his face displays any emotion. It puts her a little more at ease.

Both hands now free, Andrea combs through the documents, a few loose, the rest stapled together, some with carbon copy backings, and skims for the highlights - important phrases, dates, places, signatures - until she finds a signature at the bottom of a business license for an aeronautic manufacturing company.

“A shell company,” Barrón confirms her suspicions before they’re even fully formed. “Makes specialty parts for small planes. Like Cessnas.”

She flips to the next page, documents showing ownership stakes in the casino at the hipódromo along with two of the Arellanos’ discotheques. Flipping through the rest, it’s more of the same, SEC and CNBV registrations for shell corporations, licenses for legitimate businesses, and share certificates, none of them bearing Carlos Hank’s name but nonetheless tying him to both Tijuana and Juarez by a signature almost as important: Carolina Vera. His lawyer. She was all over these documents.

Speechless, Andrea’s head rises slowly to look at Barrón. When she said proof, she wasn’t expecting it to be this monumental. The cynic in her kicks up, wondering if it isn’t just a more elaborate trap designed to lull her in a state of submission before the jaws snap shut for good.

“It gets better," he says, examining his zip-o lighter before flicking the top back and forth a few times with his thumb.

Which reminds her, in desperate need of a cigarette, Andrea folds the papers up and sticks them in the back pocket of her jeans and then feverishly digs around the pocket of her shirt for her pack. Once retrieved, she flicks her lighter several times, sparks flying at the end of the cigarette in her mouth, until finally a little bloom of flame appears out of the corner of her eye to light it for her. He's a smooth motherfucker, she'll give him that, although strangely, there was nothing smug about it. He brings it back, cradling the flame with his other hand to light his own. After a first drag, Andrea dips her head back, a cyclone of smoke pouring from her lips while she exhales in relief.

“How,” snapping forward again, she takes another drag before asking, voice thick, each word encased in smoke, “does this get any better?”

“I have another source.”

“What? Who?”

“Cristina Palacios Hodoyan.”

“No me digas." The shock has her nearly wheezing the words and her eyes are wide, almost feral with curiosity. “You know where she is?”

He smirks. “Who do you think hid her?”

“What? So– but wait, so you didn’t—y’know. Her sons?”

Suddenly he can’t meet her eyes and she can’t wipe the image of the bridge from her mind - the row of lifeless bodies strung up, punishment para los soplones, whose biggest crime was usually no more than bearing witness to things she never agreed to see in the first place. That Alex and Alfredo were more involved in the extracurricular activities didn’t change the fact that they were just boys.

Perhaps trying to get a read on Andrea or maybe just hoping to fill the silence, Barrón offers, “Everyone assumed- and for good reason. But that time wasn’t me. I was in San Diego, trying t–”

“Save it.” With one look, she skewers him, eyes narrowed, mouth tight, not here for his bullshit. “Vete alaverga con esa ‘that time.’ How many other times was it you, huh?”

Meeting her eyes again like he recognizes his mistake, he responds matter-of-factly, “Plenty,” head held high, no attempt at contrition, false or otherwise.

Still, she’s expecting him to plead his case, so she waits for the explanation, the mental gymnastics, the cognitive dissonance, the rationalization for every single horrific act of violence wrapped up in that plenty. After standing there, watching each other in silence for who knows how long, she realizes there won’t be any of that. And up sprouts the tiniest kernel of respect that she already hates for being there. But she can’t help it. David Barrón could be called a lot of things but a hypocrite wasn’t one of them. She rolls her eyes because christ, who needs heroes when the bar is this high.

She mumbles to herself, “There’s a fire sale and everything must go,” but before he can voice the look of pure confusion on his face, she’s onto the next question, something tugging at the back of her mind since he first stepped out of the shadows of the overpass. “So, what’s in this for you? Why are you telling me all of this?”

Gaze shifting off to the light polluted horizon, he goes quiet. Eventually he just says, “That’s a big question.”

If this was a television interview, the broadcast would’ve been cut for all the dead air between them but she just waits, hoping he might give her just a little more, something to put this whole bizarre night into perspective.

“It’s just—” he shakes his head, “the way I come up—” putting his smoke to his lips and taking a pull so long, she wonders if maybe the question hasn’t short-circuited him a bit.

“Gettin’ into all this,” he waves his hand around at nothing in particular, a party streamer of smoke left behind its path, “wasn’t really a choice for me. Not like how it is here. Now in this new– whatever. Era. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. We were supposed to legitimize. Climb outta this ditch, not dig it deeper.

“This? What do you mean?”

“The game,” he huffs in a moment of frustration, the only emotion he’s let escape so far. “Used to be no civvies, no bystanders, no regular folk. If you was in the game, you get popped on the street, well okay, you knew what you signed up for. But all this other– truth is, man, I’m just tired. Tired of the game, the life, tired of doing all this shit just to be someone’s second choice.”

It was the most he’d spoken the entire time and she didn’t want to interrupt for fear he’d clam up again and go back to nods and one-word answers, but she’d have to start asking some follow-up questions if he didn’t start putting some names to these pronouns.

“I tried to save him, y’know, for her.” He keeps going, face fixed with a thousand yard stare so vacant and icy, he might’ve had the surface of the moon in his eyes. “But I couldn’t. Maybe I didn’t want to. She knows I tried but maybe she knows that too.”

“Hm.” Crossing her arms, one hip cocked out to the side, Andrea examines the end of her cigarette before holding it off to the side and tapping it with her finger. “So the rumors were true. You and Enedina.”

“I thought it’d be different.” Barrón turns back to her, flashing a nihilistic smirk that reveals how broken he is. “But the things she’s asked me to do,” he shakes his head, “I don’t know. The game ain’t in me no more. And this last one, well—”

“This last one?”

“Your editor. He was greenlit.”

It takes a moment to register. When it finally does, Andrea feels like someone’s pressed pause on reality only to start playing it again in slow motion.

“Y— you mean, my—? uh, Salgado? Ramon?

“Pues, sí.”

“You’re certain?”

“Mhm. My next mark.”

“Hijoueputa,” she mutters. “No es posible.”

Stamping his cigarette out in the dirt with the heel of his wingtip, he nods. “Best believe it.”

“Well— so what? Are you still gonna go after him?” Andrea’s getting more panicked by the second, her fingers finding the grip of her gun.

Chuckling, Barrón puts a hand up in gentle protest, “Nah, chill.”

For some inexplicable reason, she listens to him.“Fine. So, what’re you gonna do then?”

”Something I’ve never done in my whole life.”

“What’s that?”

“Miss.”

Andrea appears to take some comfort in this as her shoulders drop, a breath escaping that she didn’t even know she was holding. Remembering her cigarette, she takes a last drag while noting dryly, “You know, you can never go back.”

A blank look from him is the only response she gets.

“If you do that— y’know, miss. The minute I talk to Cristina, the minute I write this, they’ll probably figure out it’s you. You can never go back.”

Barrón just shakes his head, resigned. “No, ma’am.”

“No? What, no? If they find out you’re my source, they’ll kill you.”

“Of course. I know how they’ll do it too.” He says it with a twinge of pride that reminds Andrea exactly who she’s talking to. “It’ll be someone I know. I’ll see it coming. They’ll want me to see it coming. Cause they know I know.”

Despite this reminder of who he is, what he’s done, she can’t quash that kernel of respect that’s been planted. Even if he wanted to atone, he had enough respect not to insult her by trying to. Nor did he feel sorry for himself that he probably didn’t deserve to. It was a display of accountability she rarely saw from someone as morally bankrupt as he’d had to be. Until now anyway. And this makes her feel, in spite of herself, almost sorry for him. “You’re not scared?”

“Sure. Wouldn’t you be?”

“Well, of course,” she shrugs, twisting the filter of her cigarette until the cherry and remaining tobacco fall out before tossing it behind her. “But I w–“

“But you wouldn’t deserve it. And it’s true, I got it coming. Made my own bed as they say. But I can still be scared. Even if I know, at the end of the day, all we have are our choices.”

Andrea smirks, crossing her arms, looking down at the ground to push some dust around with the toe of her boot, unsure what to say next. When she looks back up, he’s already walking away, hands in his pockets, leisurely like he’s got nowhere to be, back to the shadowy spot under the bridge he came from. She wondered if his car was parked there or somewhere else. Or maybe he’s just some visiting ghost of Christmas past and she’ll wake up from this dream.

”Hey,” she calls out.

Just before he reaches the edge of the void, he spins around on his heels, hands still in his pockets, eyebrows raised, and waits.

“For what it’s worth– well, you do have it coming. But … I hope you find your way to some peace somehow.”

The unexpected happens then. He smiles. But this time it travels up his face all the way to his eyes, lighting them up. It might be as rare as a passing comet. So there are signs of life, after all.

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#narcovember #narcovember prompt roulette #narcos mexico #andrea nuñez #david barrón #andrea nuñez & david barrón #narcos mx #day 13 #book of decisions decisions decisions

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