#we just have to report it so the coroner can take the

[aalt-ctrl-del]

i hope everyone is ready for dumpster babies!

oh boy oh boy do I love dumpster babies. I have the police department on speed dial. WEEEEE!

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

hello and welcome to the uk is a fucking hell country, part 284829494

[alt text:]

Anti-monarchists receive ‘intimidatory’ Home Office letter on new protest laws

Home Office claims timing of new powers, taking effect days before king’s coronation, is coincidental

Ben Quinn, Rajeev Syal and Vikram Dodd

Official warning letters have been sent to anti-monarchists planning peaceful protests at King Charles III’s coronation saying that new criminal offences to prevent disruption have been rushed into law.

Using tactics described by lawyers as “intimidatory”, the Home Office’s Police Powers Unit wrote to the campaign group Republic saying new powers had been brought forward to prevent “disruption at major sporting and cultural events”.

The new law, given royal assent by Charles on Tuesday, means that from Wednesday:

Protesters who block roads, airports and railways could face 12 months behind bars.

Anyone locking on to others, objects or buildings could go to prison for six months and face an unlimited fine.

Police will be able to head off disruption by stopping and searching protesters if they suspect they are setting out to cause chaos.

Jun Pang, a policy and campaigns officer at Liberty, said: “Key measures in the bill will come into force just days before the coronation of King Charles – a significant event in our country’s history that is bound to inspire a wider national conversation and public protests. At the same time, the government are using a statutory instrument to bring draconian measures that the House of Lords threw out of the bill back from the dead, once again evading scrutiny and accountability.

“It’s worrying to see the police handed so many new powers to restrict protest, especially before a major national event. When the Police, Crime, Sentencing and Courts Act came into force, the police repeatedly misused them – in part because they simply did not understand them. Similarly, when Queen Elizabeth died, we saw police acting in inappropriate and heavy-handed ways towards protesters that violated their rights.”

Shami Chakrabarti, the former shadow attorney general, said: “During the passage of this illiberal and headline-grabbing legislation, ministers admitted that the new offence of ‘locking on’ is so broad as to catch peaceful protesters who link arms in public.

“Suspicionless stop and search is notorious for racial disparity and it is staggering that more of these provisions have brought into force so soon after Louise Casey’s devastating report [on the Met police]. The home secretary can blast ‘ecowarriors’ but this legislation may be used against anti-poverty and Ukraine solidarity protesters too.”

A statement from the home secretary, Suella Braverman, said: “This legislation is the latest step the government has taken against protesters who use highly disruptive tactics to deliberately delay members of the public, often preventing them from getting to work and hospital, as well as missing loved ones’ funerals.

“The range of new offences and penalties match the seriousness of the threat guerrilla tactics pose to our infrastructure, taxpayers’ money and police time.”

full article here

so just to sum this up, peaceful protesting can now land you in prison for a year and you might face an unlimited fine which i believe is up to £5000, and police can now stop and search you if they believe youre "setting out to cause chaos"

its specifically being put in place right before charles' coronation, but these are now considered criminal offenses so theyre not exclusive to it.

you know, a country where you can be put in prison for a year for peaceful protesting really doesnt sound like a fucking democracy to me.

[frostdayz]

Kings expectations

Aegon x reader (f! reader)

Genre: fluff once again LOL!!

summary: Aegon has recently become king and with the overwhelmingly large shoes he has to fill he tries to find comfort in his loving wife.

wrds: 804

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The grandeur of the Red Keep had always been imposing, but now, with Aegon on the throne, it felt even more overwhelming. The days since his coronation had been a whirlwind of responsibilities, decisions, and the weight of expectations pressing heavily upon him. As I wandered through the echoing halls, I thought of the man I married, not the king he had to become.

I found Aegon in his chambers, slumped over his desk, a sea of parchments spread out before him. His shoulders were tense, his brow furrowed in concentration as he pored over the endless reports and decrees that demanded his attention. My heart ached at the sight. This was not the carefree man I had fallen in love with; this was someone burdened by the crown he wore.

"Aegon," I called softly, stepping into the room. He glanced up, and the exhaustion in his eyes was evident. "You've been at this for hours. You need rest."

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I can't afford to rest, Y/N. There's too much to do, too much expected of me."

I walked over to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You can't pour from an empty cup, my love. You need to take care of yourself too."

He reached up, covering my hand with his. "I know , but... I'm trying to be the king my mother wants, the king the realm needs. It's just... ever since I was a kid this cloud has been over my head and now its finally covered me whole." He sighed and looked at me with his sunken eyes.

I moved around to face him, kneeling so that our eyes were level. "Aegon, you're doing your best, and that's all anyone can ask of you. There is no need for you to be perfect. You just have to be you."

He looked at me, a mixture of gratitude and despair in his gaze" Y/N. I feel like I'm drowning."

I cupped his face in my hands, forcing him to meet my eyes. "You are not alone in this. You have me, and together, we can face anything. You are stronger than you think, my love. And I believe in you."

He closed his eyes, leaning into my touch. "Thank you," he whispered. "I don't know what I'd do without..." He takes a deep breath and smiles at me.

"I thank the gods for making you for me every waking hour."

I smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. "And I thank them for you."

He pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly as if I were his anchor in a storm. I could feel the tension slowly leave his body as he took comfort in my presence. For a while, we simply stayed like that, wrapped in each other's embrace, finding solace in the quiet moments away from the demands of the crown.

Eventually, I pulled back slightly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "Why don't we take a walk in the gardens? The fresh air will do you good."

He nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. "That sounds wonderful."

We left the burdens of the throne behind as we wandered through the gardens, the evening air cool and refreshing. The flowers were in full bloom, their fragrance a soothing balm to the soul. Aegon laced his fingers with mine, and for the first time in days, I saw a hint of the man I had married.

"Do you remember our wedding day?" he asked suddenly, his eyes sparkling with the memory.

I laughed softly. "How could I forget? You were so nervous, you nearly tripped over your own feet while standing still"

He chuckled, a genuine sound that warmed my heart. "And you looked so beautiful, I forgot how to speak."

I blushed, nudging him playfully. "It was a perfect day. And despite everything, we still have each other." I chuckled and gave him a playful push.

As we continued our walk, the pressures of the throne seemed to fade away, replaced by the simple joy of being together. We talked about everything and nothing, finding comfort in each other's presence. The stars began to twinkle in the night sky, casting a gentle glow over the gardens, and I felt a sense of peace settle over us.

Not knowing what would come tomorrow, next month, or year I knew I'd want to be by his side no matter what. To others, he is King Aegon but to me, he is so much more.

[holylulusworld]

Forbidden Love (3) - Kinktober 1

Summary: It’s time for payback. Dot must pay for her crimes.

Pairing: CEO!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Kink: Homewrecker kink

Warnings: light smut, unprotected sex, homewrecker kink, past cheating, mentions of amateur sex tapes, collars, mentions of character’s death, mentions of a panic attack/mental breakdown, possessive Bucky

Catch up here: Forbidden Lust (2) sequel to Forbidden Lust

Kinktober vs Flufftober 2024

The thrill is the best you ever experienced. It’s forbidden and dangerous, but I couldn’t care less. Not with Bucky taking you apart like the hungry beast he can turn into. He barely keeps his hands to himself, and when you told him you wanted to get back at Dot, Bucky lost all control.

He bought a collar with his name on it. You first laughed about his eagerness but allowed him to put it around your neck. He called you his pretty doll before he had you on hands and knees.

“Baby, you look so good like that,” Bucky purrs in your ear. He grips the collar to look at the ‘B’ dangling from the expensive leather band. “You’re mine now. Say it.” His jealous streak is a turn-on. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” You press your hands against his abs to slow him down. “Fuck me slow, baby. Make me feel your huge cock with every thrust.”

His hips still the moment you rake your nails over his chest to leave your mark on him. He smirks, eyes dropping to the color again.

“Don’t stop,” you whine, and wiggle your hips. “Bucky! Don’t stop moving. You’re ruining the video. I wanted her to see that you’re my man now.”

“You’re naughty,” he leans over you to steal a kiss. It’s a sweet kiss, slow and sensual. Bucky moves his hips again, slowly. “Did you think I’d send her the video? No one can see you naked but me.”

You wind your legs tighter around his thighs, holding him deep inside of your body as you start meeting his thrusts. The thought alone that you stole your lover from the person you hate the most has you tethering on the edge.

He silences your moans with his mouth, swallowing every sinful noise with his soft lips. Bucky rocks faster into you, close to his high. “You’re mine. Only mine.” He chants with every deep thrust.

“Yours,” you whimper against his lips when you fall apart. “Only yours.”

He hides his face in your neck and sighs. That’s what he wanted to hear. Bucky doesn’t share your attention well; you already figured that out.

“I love it when you wear my name.” He murmurs against your skin. “I hope you’ll wear it soon for real.”

Now, …

It feels like drowning. Your head is underwater, and your ears are not catching a sound. Breathing gets harder, and you struggle to keep the tears at bay.

The private investigator tried to explain the details of your father’s accident to you and Bucky, but you couldn’t listen to him.

All you heard was that your father’s accident wasn’t an accident. Now you’re close to having a panic attack or a mental breakdown. Your mind hasn’t decided yet.

You clutch your hands to your chest and try to remember a rhyme your dad taught you when you were a kid. It always calmed you, but not today.

“Doll, are you alright?” Bucky worriedly looks at you. You’re unusually silent, and your lips quiver. “Baby, tell me if it’s too much.”

“Shit, Ari,” Jake mutters as he looks up from his laptop. “You had to bring all this up again. We already knew Dot had something to do with Y/N’s dad’s death. Can you be a little more sensitive from now on?”

“I had to explain every detail,” Ari bites back. “That’s what I get paid for, Jensen. I did my job; now do yours and find out who helped her.”

“An insider,” you murmur. “Right?” You look up at Ari, who wrinkles his forehead. “If my dad’s death wasn’t an accident, they should’ve found out during the investigation following his death. But they told us it was an accident.”

“Lots of evidence just disappeared,” Jake explains. “I tried to dig a little deeper. It seems that the coroner changed their autopsy report. I found the original one. They believed deleting the file was enough. Not for Jakie the finder!”

“Jake, calm down,” Ari grunts. “Do you have the autopsy report, or not? I need proof, not assumptions.”

“I found the original autopsy report and messages between Dot and that bastard. Juicy ones. It seems the coroner changed the autopsy report after Dot promised him not only money but something more exciting.”

You make a retching noise. “I’m gonna get sick.”

“Baby doll,” Bucky gently runs his hand up and down your back. “Maybe you should lay down. I can do this alone. Let me do this for you.”

“No,” you pant. “I want to hear everything. I must know what she did to get away with murdering my father. I was holding a grudge against my deceased father because of her. She made me believe Dad forgot about me and my uncle.”

“I got the messages and the missing autopsy report. What else will we need, Ari?” Jake asks. “Do you have the accident report? What does it say?”

Ari shrugs. “Nothing we didn’t already know. I talked to everyone.” He explains that one of the investigators finds it suspicious that your father didn’t try to slow the car down. There were no skid marks.”

“Why did no one investigate his death further? I don’t understand.” You sniffle. “Did she pay them all, or are they just lazy?”

“A combination of both,” Jake gives you a sad smile. “If they declare his death an accident, their job is done. With the coroner handing the investigators a false autopsy report and the cops not wanting to investigate further, we have a shitty combination.”

“What can we do now?” Bucky looks at Ari. “Or what can we do? Is there a way to bring Dot down?”

“We must prove that the first autopsy report was correct. Therefore, we need an exhumation and a second autopsy. I talked to the investigator. He’s willing to reopen your father’s case. His boss told him to close the file back then. He never believed in an accident.”

“Good…that’s good,” Bucky says. He watches you stare at Ari with wide, wet eyes. “Doll, I know this is much. Maybe you should have a break now.”

“I can’t let her get away with this. She killed my father and got away with it. Please don’t shut me out. I’m no damsel in distress.”

The men nod.

You are hiding in your bedroom the day of the exhumation. It feels like a betrayal that you disturb your father’s rest. It’s stupid. You know it is. But you can’t shake the feeling that you ruined his peace.

“Hey, everything is going to be alright. Ari said they were on their way to the coroner. The district attorney is on the case. We are going to prove Dot is behind your father’s death.” Bucky tries to keep you up to date. “They got this.”

“You promise?” You sniffle and throw yourself at Bucky.

“I promise, baby doll. She won’t get away with this. Ari, Andy, and Jensen are on the case. I swear, they won’t stop until they can bring her down.”

It takes them four months and many sleepless nights to convict Dot of her crimes. You fall into Bucky’s arms, sobbing until there is no strength left in you.

For such a long time, you hated your father because he left everything to Dot. Now that you know she killed him to get his money, the house, and the company, you feel like the worst person ever.

“We got her, doll,” Bucky whispers. “You and your uncle will get the company back. And you’ll get the house and everything else.”

You cling to Bucky, feeling too weak to let go of him. “I hated him, Bucky. How could I hate him? She killed my father, and I hated him.”

“You didn’t know,” he softly whispers. “How about we get out of town for a while? The reporters are still outside of my house and won’t give up anytime soon.”

“Together?” You sniff and look up at Bucky.

“Together, baby doll,” he hums. “I told you, you’re mine, and I’ll never let you go again.”

[halamet-chalamet]

Hear me out! Spencer Reid x Coroner!Reader. Spencer and Rossi talk with the reader after they made the authopsy. Reader is impressed by Spencer's knowledge, but Spencer is even more impressed because Reader made an important deduction about the corpse that helps with the profile! In the meantime Rossi looks at the two of them talking excitedly about some kinds of bruises while feeling the third wheel

Spencer Reid x Coroner!reader

A/N: thank you for everyone’s patience guys! I’m so happy to be writing again. Feel free to send requests 🩷🪩

The case was chaos to say the least. I could tell just from the bodies received. I found it fascinating but couldn’t help but wonder what sicko did this. I handle my work with much sobriety and respect given I work with dead bodies. Most people are terribly uncomfortable around, I’m constantly told how odd it is by others.

Knowing the FBI has been called in today I gather all the reports they’ll need so that they can get the most accurate information possible.

I see the clock, 3pm, they’ll be here any minute.

An older Italian looking man comes in with another guy… he looks about my age, tall, lanky, cute, awkward looking. I quickly snap myself out of it.

“Hello, I’m agent Rossi and this is Doctor Reid.” The older man, Rossi I suppose motions to the young man and holds his hand out to me. I shake it and with a polite smile say.

“Oh- uhm- just Spencer..” The terribly cute agent smiles.

“It’s a pleasure. I’m y/n l/n. I’m here for whatever you need to know!” I say casually, I’ve never been in this type of situation but it’s my work, I don’t mind it at all.

The two men look over the bodies and their own files.

“We were told there were no defense wounds on any of the women but what would explain the bruises on the arm?” Spencer asks, looking up at me observing them.

“Oh those? My theory was that she fell on them. If you see the coloring here-” I use my finger to circle around the inside of a bruise. “This suggests sudden force like if you just dropped to your knees. There were hand marks on the thighs that suggest this also.”

Spencer takes a moment to analyze the information, “So you’re suggesting that the unsub grabbed her by her legs and she fell there on the arm?”

“Exactly! Yes, but there were no defensive wounds, and I found Rohypnol in each woman’s system, which a popular date rape drug.”

“Figures.” Agent Rossi pipes up but I can’t help but ignore him as I’m busy watching Spencer continue to analyze.

“Are these… rope marks?” He asks, pointing at the ankles.

I smile a bit dopily before I remember I’m being professional. “Zip ties actually..”

“Zip ties??” Spencer asks in surprise and almost a.. fond looking smile.

“Uh- yes…” I smile as I fumble through the papers in my hand. “I wasn’t sure what you guys would- would need so I put… these together..” I hand him a detailed file of all the information he could possibly need. I feel myself looking at him almost eagerly?

“These are wonderful thank you- thanks I’ll review these with the rest of the team I suppose-” He replies with a huge grin as he flips quickly through the files.

I nod in response, not sure if I should say anything, I’m just overly excited someone understands my line of work.

I feel a pair of eyes. I turn my head to look to the side where to my surprise the older agent stands there. His eyes are amused, his arms crossed as he leans back against the cold wall. I wonder what it’s about. I don’t care much about that though.. I decide that while I’m still high on this excitement I’d use whatever boldness I could muster up.

“Spencer..? Right?” I ask awkwardly, I know I’m right but didn’t know what else to say to grab his attention.

Looking up from the reports his eyebrows raise. “Yes that’s right…” he says expectantly.

“I know this is awfully unprofessional but do you think I could have your number..?” I ask with a flint of hope. My stomach flutters at your blushing cheeks.

“Y-yes, yeah of course…” he blushes and scrambles to his pocket for a pen, writing in the corner of a page in the file and tearing it out.

“Th-that’s me.. haha” he hands it to me, looking back at his grinning coworker.

“Thanks..” I smile wide as he checks his watch. I figured it wouldn’t be a long stay for them but I wish I got to speak with him longer.

“See ya..” he says as he’s rushed out the door.

[sitp-recs]

hi! how are you?

so I read a fic some time ago that destroyed me…… like literally. I enjoyed it but at the same time I didn’t. but now I can’t stop thinking about it bc everything on it was so revolting and fucked. how to make a fic get out of our system? is it possible 😅 not to be dramatic but this fic almost made me lose interest in the whole ship lmao I just wanted to read something I enjoy again, you know? and nothing hits :( and when it does I’m almost finishing the fic and something horrible happens (that wasn’t really tagged) and I endure it until the end 💀 anyway if you have any fic that you read recently that is very romantic and monogamous or even if they are exes but they don’t date anyone else because they just can’t move on, pls share with us!! and it doesn’t have to be drarry, it can be anything. Im going through your lists and whole blog tbh looking for something that will save me lmaoooo I’ve read almost everything that interests me and you recced. (btw your break up make up list is amazing!) still I think the spark left me 🫠 ugh sorry for yapping

I’m sorry to hear that, anon :,( I think we’ve all been there at some point, god knows how many times I felt blocked, uninspired or just unable to connect to any fic. Personally, I find it helpful to take short breaks from fandom and focus on other hobbies for a while. Those fics will always be there when and if you’re ready to return! Also, imho you shouldn’t have to “endure” any fics that you find upsetting. I don’t typically have any triggers but I certainly have tropes/topics that don’t interest me much (or at all), and I have no qualms abandoning a fic when they show up unannounced 🤣

Now, it’s a bit hard to rec something randomly without knowing more about your fic tastes, but since you’re interested in romantic/monogamous stories, I thought I’d share some recs along those lines. This is a personal selection that might not work for you, but if it does I’ll be pleased to know that you’ve found that spark again :) Take care xo

Short fic:

Take the Moon by tackytiger (M, 15k)

Harry Potter has always wanted a family of his own, and when a deadly blood curse forces him into a marriage bond with his best friend Draco Malfoy, it looks like he might just have found one. It's just a shame they’d always planned to break up after a year…

Two Zinnias and the Scent of Lemon by @the-starryknight (M, 16k)

The Ministry didn’t turn bad overnight. Harry didn’t suddenly turn rogue either. Between covert Legilimency links and Polyjuice disguises and running and running and running, Draco has forgotten what it is like to have a safe harbor that isn’t a person. If there’s an art to fighting back, then they’ll find it hand in hand.

Us, in Lieu by Tepre (E, 29k)

Teddy needs help and Harry needs funding. Draco sits in the other room and plays the piano.

Long fic:

Little Deaths and How to Avoid Them by nerakrose, dustmouth (T, 96k)

Malfoy is way too interested in coroner reports for somebody who's definitely not looking for ways to die, Harry wants to be friends with him, and Ginny wants to break up with Harry.

Who we are in the shadows by Quicksilvermaid (E, 100k)

What happens when you’re forced to become the very thing you despise? Ex-Auror Harry Potter, tossed out of the Ministry for something he had no control over, has been looking for a way back to his former life.

Far From The Tree by aideomai (E, 112k)

The arrival of Harry Potter’s children—snapped back in time, the children themselves guessed, twenty or so years—was the most interesting thing to happen at Hogwarts for years.

[ino-takumas-baggy-sweater]

A Second Chance, A Father's Curse -Part 5 (Ryomen Sukuna x Reader)

Thank you all for the support on this series, the first part has become one of my top posts and it's only been out for about a month or so, I'm really glad there's people enjoying my writing!! ❤💞

Part 4 here

Warnings: Blood, beheading, satoru gojo is a little shit

Word count: 3.3k

“Repeat yourself, and pray that I heard you wrong lest your head falls from your shoulders,” Jin Itadori’s voice rings out in the throne room. It has gone deathly silent, the gathering of lords and his remaining four sons all now listening indiscreetly to the messenger who speaks.

“Y-your highness,” The messenger stutters, “Your son bears no traces of Itadori tattoos upon his body,” There is barely a sound as the king stands, but the messenger is quick to fall to his knees and beg for his life. Jin Itadori is not a merciful king, but he gives it this once, gives the messenger a second chance, “Go, watch over him, report back the instant anything of note happens,”

He does not have to wait long. The messenger is dead before he can finish his sentence. The only words Yuji Itadori heard, “The Crown Prince of Iqoria has perished, the King and Queen retire, your son is set to be-” Before two thumps, one after the other, and his head is rolling back down the stairs he climbed to bow directly at the throne.

The king is breathing heavily, Yuji steps instinctively between his father and his younger brothers, “OUT!” His face is red with rage, “EVERYBODY OUT!” Choso and Yuji exchange a glance, grab a brother each and sprint out the back entrance to the throne room. Their mother is not far behind, her knuckles white with stress.

“Oh mother,” Yuji murmurs once they’re a safe distance away, letting go of Kechizu and taking her hands, rubbing the backs of her knuckles until she stops clenching them. “My sons,” She whispers, tears dripping down her face, “Oh my boys, it will not be safe here for much longer,”

“We can go to Iqoria, Ryomen will take us in,” Yuji insists. “He might take you three, he won’t take me,” Choso murmurs. “What makes you so sure?” “He knows you, he protects you three, just go without me, I will be fine,” “No, if you won’t leave then neither will we,” Eso speaks up, “Either we all go or none of us do,” Kechizu nods, his hands finding Yuji again and pressing his body to his brothers, “I don’t know what’s happening, but I don’t want to go anywhere without big brother Choso,” He murmurs softly.

Their mother sobs quietly, “You must all go, I refuse to lose you in his darkness,” “We cannot go yet, we must wait a few days,” Choso murmurs, pacing the hall as he thinks. “He is sure to punish us though, he is sure to come for us if we do not leave soon,” Yuji pleads. Kaori grabs her eldest son and pulls him in for a tight hug, “I will keep him away from you, do what you must to prepare but you must leave before the coronation, things will only escalate from there,”

The two eldest exchange a glance over her shoulder, fearing their father’s wrath and what they know can come from it. Slaughter, destruction, meaningless suffering, war, and of course what comes hand-in-hand with all of that. Curses manifested in their millions.

~

“What a punishment for the Captain of the Guards!” “Leave it Satoru,” “Oh no, seriously, I can’t believe she’s making you hang out with me, you must’ve really pissed her off with that stunt for her to make you do this, I mean guarding the royal sorcerer? When the royal sorcerer is me?” He smirks. It annoys Geto. The guard looks for solace in scanning the nearby treeline, deliberate in his choice to omit a reply.

“Come now, not talking to me? And here I was thinking we were friends,” Gojo continues his rituals, shooting his reluctant companion a glance as he renews the veil around the city. “Oh, so we’re friends now are we?” Geto mutters. “You wound me Captain!” Gojo groans as he steps back from the veil to admire his handiwork, the air shimmering with a lovely blue colour for a moment before fading into the air.

“Tell me about him then, if you’re so eager to talk, tell me about Prince Ryomen,” Geto folds his arms as they begin to walk back to the city, “How dangerous is he?” “You worry too much Suguru, he may be strong but if the Princess needed it, I promise you I’d win,” Geto raises an eyebrow, one hand resting now on the hilt of his sword, “Forgive my lack of faith, Satoru, but the Princess’ wellbeing is my highest priority, if I have to kill him to save her I need to know if I will be able to,”

“You really don’t like him, do you?” Gojo’s voice has softened, his face more relaxed than before as he eases into the conversation. It irks Geto. “He lashed out at her on the journey here, what am I supposed to think?” Gojo sighs, “And she forgave him, she said it was because she pushed for information he wasn’t willing to provide anyway, so what is your problem?”

They pass through the castle walls and veil as Geto falls quiet, unwilling to reply. “Is it because of those girls?” Gojo asks again. Geto turns to the royal sorcerer, gripping his arm tightly to stop him walking ahead, “I cannot lose her, if I lose her then all I have left is the failure,” Gojo’s eyes fill with pity as he looks back. It infuriates Geto. He doesn’t need the sorcerer’s pity.

“I can exorcise them if you need me to, Suguru, you don’t have to live like this,” He murmurs. “If you do that, then they’ll be gone forever,” He mutters, letting his hand drop, “This is my punishment, this is what I deserve,”

“Nobody deserves punishment for failing to protect what they love, the grief is enough, you don’t have to do this to yourself,” Geto starts walking again, heading for the sorcerer’s tower within the castle grounds.

“Think about it!” Gojo calls as he jaunts along behind the storm cloud of a man, “It might be good for you!”

~

“The news will have reached Khoccadia by now,” Ryomen whispers, his fingertips trailing up and down your spine as you lay in his arms in your shared bed, “We must prepare for the worst my father is capable of,” His other arm tightens around you slightly and you feel his muscles tense with fear. Your hands trail up his chest to his cheeks, gently rubbing with your thumbs, “And your brothers? What of them? Will they follow him?”

He shudders at the thought, curling himself down around you, “They’re better men than that, they will not,” He insists, “If…” He trails off, but you look up into his eyes, prompting him to continue the thought, “If they come here seeking refuge will you allow me to care for them?” His eyes plead silently as he looks into yours. You cannot say you’re thrilled with the idea, especially considering the implications it may have with regards to Jin Itadori, but you nod, “As long as you can trust them without a single drop of doubt, then yes,”

A flash of determination crosses his gaze, “I will make sure of it,” He mutters, shifting down and nudging his head under your chin. He’s been oddly protective the last few days, as if he expects his father to jump out of the nearest shadow and snap your neck where you stand. With the veil still lowered you know this to be impossible, as it directly alerts Gojo of anyone entering the city and the castle who was not born in Iqoria.

“Worry not of matters concerning your father right this second, please, just close your eyes and dream of elsewhere,” You murmur, your fingers trailing over his shoulders and upper back. “Why would I dream of elsewhere, when right here is where I want to be,” He breathes as his body relaxes against you, his breath fanning your collarbones as the candlelight splashes his cheeks.

Your bodies are cradled amongst swathes of blankets and an excess of pillows, your hands content to just lull him to sleep while your book remains bookmarked on the bedside table behind you. A gentle knock on the door makes you look up, “Come in,” You call softly. The knocker, a maid who slips in the room and bows quickly, smiles when she notices Ryomen’s slumbering form.

“Has he accustomed to Iqoria my lady?” She murmurs. You nod, “I believe so, what did you come for?” You ask, gently brushing your fingers through his hair. “Oh yes, Ieiri Shoko would like to see you, may I let her in?” She asks, to which you nod. The royal physician enters a moment later, her face dull as usual, only slightly warming after she’s showed her respects.

“Princess,” She starts, “Do you want the good news or the bad news?” She asks. You shift until you’re sat a bit more upright, Ryomen’s face now buried against your stomach, “Might as well start with the bad,” You frown. “It’s your mother, Princess, she retires because she’s fallen ill, and I fear it is not the kind of illness my touch can heal,” Her words are soft, softer than you’re used to hearing from her, and you appreciate it despite the blow it deals.

You feel your chest tighten, tears threatening to fall, “Her heart strains with the loss of her son, it’s alright, you don’t have to be gentle with me,” You murmur, “I only wish for her to be at ease,” Shoko approaches the bed, pulling the chair from your desk with her and then sitting backwards astride it, leaning her arms on the back of it, “May I tell you the good news?”

You nod again, your hand coming up to brush your tears away before they can fall to the pillows beneath you. “I do not believe this illness will kill her, at least not for a long time. There are stories of people dying suddenly of broken hearts but I believe with her daughter taking the throne and her husband still by her side she will live to see another age of Iqoria,”

Shoko’s words prompt idle thoughts, memories of your mother from your childhood, and you nod again, “Thank you for telling me,” You murmur, “Does father know?” She nods, “He specifically requested for my help,” Your hand returns to the back of Ryomen’s head, just gently holding him close lest you fall apart.

It’s just been one bad turn after another, and a little gremlin inside of you tries it’s best to convince you that Ryomen’s presence has been nothing but bad luck, but you shoot it down with vehemence. You’re determined to help him use his immense cursed energy for good, and if that means you have to put yourself in between him and his father, or him and your people, then so be it.

“I do have one other thing I would like to ask of you Princess,” She murmurs, her voice lower than before, and it captures your attention back. “What is it?” “May I examine the Prince while he slumbers? I worry for his health,” She asks tentatively, “I wish to look for any lasting damage within his body from both the cursed energy he bears, and from the physical abuse that he suffered in his childhood,”

You look down at your husband, sleeping peacefully with his face hidden against your stomach, his eyelashes fluttering with whatever dreams race behind his eyelids. Part of you resents the idea of examining him without his knowledge, but you can guess he would refuse if he was awake, “What will this achieve?” You inquire.

“If I can ascertain his sensitivity to cursed energy then I can give Satoru pointers on how to teach him, and maybe even teach him myself, refine his reverse cursed technique. I can also begin work to fix some of the lasting damage within him caused by his childhood trauma, but of course my lady it is your decision right now,” She puts her hand up and gestures to you, “You are to be queen after all,”

“I do not fear retribution as such, I know I can order him to do this, but I fear a breach of boundaries, the loss of trust, Ieiri,” You murmur sadly, “As much as I agree this is something that needs to happen, I cannot do it without his knowledge or without his consent,”

“Will you speak with him about it?” She presses and you sigh, “Yes Ieiri, I will speak with him, but I cannot guarantee anything, he may not want you to heal him, is that all you came to speak about?” Your eyes are drooping and you wish nothing more than for her to leave, as much as you enjoy her company on a regular basis you need to be alone.

She dips her head, “That was all, goodnight Princess,” She returns the chair to its place and then backs out of the room, the latch clicking and her footsteps trailing off into the distance. “Oh Ryomen, what have we gotten ourselves into,” You whisper softly, shimmying back down under the covers until he’s tucked under your chin once more.

~

You didn’t sleep much after Ieiri left. If you could have tossed and turned you would, it felt too hot and restrictive under the covers despite the comfort of your husband’s arms. When he woke you were dozing in the soft sunbeams creeping through the window. “Still sleepy?” He grunts, nudging his nose to your chin as he moves to tuck you into his chest instead.

You grumble something incoherent before the words spill from your mouth, “Shoko visited before I could sleep, told me that mother is ill,” You speak in short sentences, just a hint of anger in your voice, “She wanted to examine you while you were asleep, didn’t let her,” A yawn prevents you from speaking more but he tilts your chin up to look into your sleepy eyes.

“Examine me?” “Your energy sensitivity, your physical trauma,” You mutter, “See if anything was left behind, or strained under your energy,” You shake his hand off your chin and push your face into the hollow space between his neck and shoulder, “She’s worried you’ll suffer under the weight of everything,”

He’s quiet and you can sense him bristling like a hedgehog, “I’m not a specimen to be examined, I’m a human being,” He growls. You hum in agreeance, moving so you can look up at him, “I know, and I’m sure she knows too, but with how much energy you have I’m surprised there isn’t any sign of a physical toll on your body, will you please, for my sake, allow her to at least examine your energy tolerance?”

He scoffs, “As if she’ll be able to resist poking around my scars like they’re any of her business, doctors just can’t resist that sort of shit,” You rest a hand over one of the more prominent scars on his chest, one that looks suspiciously like it was caused by some sort of whip, and gently implore him, “Will you allow it if I am present? If I forbid her from anything more?”

“Only if you order me, Princess,” He spits, pulling back and swinging his feet to the floor until he’s sat on the edge of the bed, resting his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. You push yourself up on one hand, the other adjusting the strap of your nightgown, “Ryomen,” You murmur, “I will not order you around like a dog, you are my husband and you are, as you said, a human,”

You shuffle closer until you can rest your head on his shoulder, pressing a small kiss to his neck, “If there is something you’re afraid of her, or me, seeing, then just tell me that is the reason and I will order her to let it go,” He pulls further away from you, standing and leaving the bedside, taking his warmth with him.

“Ryomen will you look at me!” You shout. It startles him and you feel a slash of his energy cut past your cheek. It stings for a moment before going numb, you ignore it as he turns to look at you, “I will not have you acting like a child, if you want somewhere to be angry that badly then I will send you to the place my brother died to fight in his place, is that what you want?”

You realise your words are going straight over his head, his eyes wide and yet strangely empty, and a strange warmth on your leg makes you look down in shock. The sheets beneath you are stained with pools of liquid scarlet, your nightgown no better, you lift your hand to your cheek only for it to come away warm and wet.

“I knew this would happen,” He covers your cheek with a hand and a comforting sensation flows through your face, which is still slack with shock.

The door slams open and you sense your royal guard and royal sorcerer as they stumble past one another into the room. “My lady, I sensed royal blood, are you-?” Gojo stops talking suddenly, straightens up as he sees the state of the sheets, “O-oh…” “Step away from the Princess you cursed monster!”

Geto steps towards Ryomen, causing you to finally snap out of your shock, putting yourself between them again, “Will you please just stop, Geto!” You beg, “I am sending Ryomen to live in the sorcerer’s tower while he learns to control his energy, now let this stupid obsession with my husband's actions go or you’ll become a permanent employ of Satoru Gojo’s personal guard!”

The air is thick with tension and you step out of Ryomen’s space, your nightgown awkwardly sticking to your thighs with the remnant blood. You take a few deep breaths, fists clenched, letting your eyes flutter shut as you reach out with your mind and summon your maids. Geto still has not backed down by the time they arrive, “My lady, what is it you need?”

Tentative eyes dart between the three men, all silent and in various forms of quiet observation or contemplation. “Good, will you please see to my bedsheets, and draw me a bath, I wish to remove this blood,” The group of women begin bustling around the room, heads down as they skirt around the men.

“Well?” You ask, mild annoyance filling your tone, “Are we done here? Or are you going to continue this pointless battle of wits in my bedroom among my maids for the foreseeable future?” “Of course not my lady, I will see you later Ryomen, I trust you will be quite the eager student!”

Gojo grabs Geto by the elbow and drags him out of the room, surprisingly strong for someone so skinny, and Ryomen stalks into the connected dressing room, leaving you alone to be exhaustedly shepherded to the bathtub and stripped of your bloody nightgown.

~

What makes a king, a king?

Is it respect? Power? Strength?

You’ll get different answers wherever you go, but one thing is always the same.

The ability to protect. The willingness to protect.

If you’re a king and your people feel you cannot protect them, then what is your purpose?

What do you become but a link in the chains of destruction?

If you do not hold respect and love for your people, then you don’t have a people at all.

Stories passed down through generations speak of kingdoms risen through bloodshed and destroyed under the weight of foolish kings and shallow pride.

Will yours join the ever growing list?

Will you allow your anger to come before your people?

Of course you will, for it is all you’ve ever known.

But who will pay the price for this?

Who’s blood will be spilled in the end?

One thing is for sure, written so deeply in the threads of fate.

You won’t be alive to see.

Also don't be afraid to comment or message if you want to be tagged, or if you want me to write a separate oneshot or scenario or something, my requests are open!

Part 6 here

Taglist: @love-jelly

[scarasimping]

love-avoidant princess

pirate!scaramouche x princess!reader

synopsis: scaramouche’s crew had been planning this heist for years prior, and finally, they dock ship at the most heavily guarded kingdom on this side of the world with only one goal in mind: infiltrate the castle and steal the crown used for the coronation ceremony. The only setback? The princess had already stolen it, so now he has to go through her. 

tags: fem!reader, allusions to medieval sexism, you know how that is, mentions of blood like once, alcohol also mentioned a couple times, i believe that’s it for this part!

author’s note: ITS DONE omg, this took way longer than i thought but I guess that’s what happens when i try to throw myself in to writing actual pieces for the first time in three years instead of taking it slow. and it only ended up being 3k words TT but this is not the end, i have way more in mind for these two, this is honestly more like...a prologue of sorts!! hope you all enjoy !! so glad we actually have a plot now instead of me posting random hcs hshshshs also yes, his crew is most of the anemo characters because I said so

word count: 3.63k

One can only see the same garden of flowers so many times before becoming bored of the sight. You have walked through here on so many occasions that you're sure that you could list each plant by its scientific name in the order they appear, from the front of the garden to the back.

So, really, it shouldn't come as a surprise to your retainer when they watch you leave a meeting with a potential suitor halfway through your millionth walk through the garden.

The suitor was confused, calling out to you and running to keep up with your fast-paced steps.

"Princess! Did I do something wrong?" He shouted, but you shook your head, an unimpressed and uncaring look painting your features.

"I apologize for saying this after you made the long journey here, but this simply will not work between us."

And thus, another man was rejected by the unromantic princess.

Known for turning down every suitor imaginable, you had gained the reputation of being entirely against romance. Even though you were clearly not interested, this only made people want you more, and your father, who was eager to get you married off, agreed to let everyone interested in you meet you, as long as they were of high enough standing. This included royalty from other kingdoms, wealthy businessmen, and other government officials or their sons who were your age. 

None of them even came close to winning your heart.

It’s not that there was anything wrong with them. To be honest, even you weren’t sure why you were so bored with every man or woman you met. It seemed to be more the life you would lead with them than the suitor themselves that made you gag. No first-born heir of a royal family wants to be married off; they want to have the throne! And if your parents weren’t going to give it to you, then you wouldn’t make it easy for them to send you away.

As you gracefully left the heartbroken businessman behind, the retainer assigned to watch over you hurriedly followed, barely keeping up with your pace.

"Princess, this is the seventh suitor you've met. Please tell me, what is wrong with this one?" he pleaded. In truth, he was scared to report more bad news to the king and queen, but frankly, that was not your problem.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I just do not see myself having a life with him," you replied, staring straight ahead and hoping he would stop following you. After forcing yourself to be nice to these suitors, all you wanted was to lay in bed and nap, or maybe practice your sparring skills with your sword.

"We'll have to tell your father about this," he gave you one last warning, but your mind was already made up.

"I understand, but I'm not altering my decision."

Just as you and your retainer thought, your father was not pleased, going on one of his long-winded rants about how you should get married quickly because it’s “better for the kingdom” and “what a princess should do.” All the while, your mother sat and watched, not saying a word because she knew that she did the same thing when she was your age. It was how your parents met in the first place, after all.

"At this rate, your little brother will have inherited the throne before you're satisfied with a man." The king ends his rant with this statement, huffing angrily as he furrows his thick eyebrows in your direction. There it was, the constant reminder that you, the eldest heir, were not to inherit the throne, which should rightfully be yours, all because your parents favored your younger brother.

However, who would dare question the king? When he makes an order, it is carried out, and what he demands is brought to fruition. So if he says your sibling shall inherit the throne, he will, and when he finally gets fed up with your high standards and simply makes you marry someone of his choosing, you will have to obey. Such is the life of a princess.

With a heavy heart, you bow to your father, asking to be excused. He sighs and waves his hand, allowing you to leave, to which you immediately turn on your heel and pace quickly toward your chambers.

When Scaramouche's crew docked at the pier, they knew the welcome they would be given wasn't going to be a warm one. It never was, wherever they stopped. It was no secret that wherever this ship docked, well-known valuables would soon go missing and trouble would follow, yet no one could prove it was them.

Still, seeing every guard on patrol look at them with a noticeable glare and watch their every move was more than unnerving. All Scaramouche was doing was going for a stroll, after all.

But, so were his crewmates, Kazuha and Heizou, in separate parts of the city. And it's not their fault if they happen to notice which areas are more guarded than others, when the guards switch shifts, or which buildings have the least amount of foot traffic coming in and out of them. It's all coincidental, of course, not on purpose at all.

It's definitely not intentional when Heizou reports that the only guards that step into the tavern are always there to get so drunk after their shift that they won't remember what they say.

And who's to shame Scaramouche if he wants to step in and have a drink or two, and happens to run into a guard who's slurring his words and would have fallen over if he ever tried to stand up in this state?

"And that princess…god! She's so stuck up.." the guard ranted, taking another swig from his pint. Scaramouche listened with faux sympathy to the drunken man in front of him, but he wasn't sure how much more he could take from this man. He too often leaned too close as if whispering a secret, the stench of sweat, metal, and cheap booze radiating off of him. 

"That princess! She keeps rejecting every suitor who's interested in her! Do you know who has to deal with the king's fury after she does this? Us!"

He leans in once more, and Scaramouche gets a whiff of his rancid breath  "I hear….the king wants her married off to someone wealthy because he's in debt…but she just wants the throne instead! Can you believe it? Too stuck up to let her brother be the heir to the kingdom…."

It seemed all this guard was going to reveal was pointless rants about the king’s only daughter, and today he was not going to get any information that would be helpful to him. After all, if this princess was to be married off, it’s unlikely she would be able to get hold of the crown that was to be used in the coronation ceremony when the prince came of age.

Like an answer from the heavens, his doubts were quickly proven incorrect when the guard’s voice drops to a whisper, and he leans across the table to speak in Scaramouche’s ear.

“I hear…that she got so jealous, she stole the crown. The king says it just got lost, however, we guards know the truth. But what grounds could we present that would warrant a search through the princess’s private quarters? It’s useless…”

And just like that, Scaramouche knew whom he should target. 

The captain stands from their booth in the corner, excusing himself. He buys the guard another drink as thanks for the “lovely conversation” and to ensure he really wouldn’t remember the information he spilled.

The next few nights, Scaramouche and other members of his crew alternate between taverns to gather as much information as possible. Each night, a different person hit a different establishment to not raise suspicion. This heist was going to be big, and after it was pulled off they wouldn’t be able to dock for months to avoid being caught and interrogated.

Stealing the crown from the most heavily guarded kingdom on this side of the world was no easy task, but it had been Scaramouche’s dream ever since he started his life of piracy. Something like this would earn them respect like no other on the seven seas but also put a huge target on their back. His crew was prepared, of course, they wouldn’t have docked here if they weren’t. It’s not like they couldn’t fight, either. They were notorious for many reasons: their crimes that left no evidence behind, the sheer intimidation their crew gave off, and the fact that no crew member lost any duel they were challenged to.

After a couple weeks of solely gathering information, Scaramouche’s crew was ready to take things to the next level. They learned that the princess was unable to leave the castle without supervision, which only occurred on rare occasions. She lived a secluded life and many of the kingdom’s citizens didn’t even know her face. His first mate, Kazuha, who was always good with his words, even managed to get one of the guards to reveal which terrace on the castle belonged to the princess’s room and that the staff had recently increased security in the city and outside the castle because of a suspicious ship that had docked at the pier, which lessened the amount of military inside the building.

Kazuha was always better with people than any other crew member, and Scaramouche was forever thankful he was a part of his crew, even if he didn’t show it.

However, it seemed no one was able to learn that the princess provided enough security for herself, not even needing guards.

Scaramouche quickly learned that when he was finally ready to attempt to get inside the castle, scaling the walls during a shift change and approaching the terrace he was informed about prior.

A candle on your bedside and the illumination from the moon were the only sources of light in your quarters at this time of night. Every other member of the royal family was asleep, but not you. Far too frequently would you stay up reading a novel you “borrowed” from the castle’s library, even though books weren’t supposed to leave the area. 

All was silent except for the wind blowing outside and the rare footsteps in the hall, metal clashing with each step from the guards’ armor.

Though silent, and easy to miss, a sound from outside your window caught your attention. 

Breathing, silent steps getting closer, the scraping of someone climbing the walls and terrace.

You turned, blowing out your candle so that whoever was coming wouldn’t know you were awake. With the time it took for them to reach the glass door that separates your room from the balcony, your eyes had already adjusted to the darkness and you had your sword out from underneath your bed, drawn and ready to be used.

The door cracked open, slowly, and it was obvious that whoever was there was trying to use the element of surprise. They must not know you, considering they thought you wouldn’t discover them. One hand pushes the door open all the way, then pulls the person inside. It was a man with indigo hair and eyes. Everything he wore was black - his boots, high-waisted pants, and tricorn hat, - besides his shirt, which was a white poet shirt with purple and black accents tucked into his pants. Adorned on his hat were feathers that spewed from the back and gems which were sewn on, each one catching the light from the moon. He was obviously a pirate, and based on the whispers from the staff in the castle, he was probably from the ship that docked recently and made everyone nervous. The captain of the guards had even told you to report anything suspicious you happened to see, which told you they were no joke, Normally, if there was a threat, you wouldn’t even be informed. 'No one wanted to worry the princess, of course' is what they would say, but you know they just think you can't handle it.

Before he even has time to process you're there, you point your sword at his throat, the tip pressing against his flesh, but not hard enough to draw blood. Just enough so that he knows he made a mistake.

The pirate stares down at the sword at his neck, his gaze following the blade to its holder; the very princess he intended to come in here and threaten. It's a funny thing how easily the tables can be turned. He eyes the princess warily, one eyebrow raised and an awkward smile on his face, knowing he's been caught so easily.

"Well, isn't this a surprise?" He chuckles to himself, raising his hands up beside his head in a phony sign of surrender, but your sword never wavers.

"What do you think you are doing here?"  You demanded, sword to the pirate's throat. The captain remained silent, weighing his options. He could try to talk his way out of this or use his cunning tactics to somehow overpower the princess and make a break for it. Whatever decision he made, it could mean the difference between life and death.

"Sure, as soon as you put that sword down. I'd rather have a conversation than an encounter between your blade and my jugular if you don't mind," he reasons, staring right back into your eyes with a look that screams mischief. Still, you sigh, and lower your sword, taking a step back and never loosening your grip on its handle. 

"Speak." 

He chuckles, lowering his hands and letting a cocky smile spread across his face.

"You see, princess, there's a rumor going around that you've stolen and hidden the coronation crown. I'm here to simply…take it off your hands," he explains. Everything about him seems sly, and even though it seems he's at a disadvantage, he's acting like he has the upper hand. There's not an ounce of fear on his face.

Your hold on your sword is steady, ready for combat at any moment, and it seems he's thinking the same thing.

"I'm afraid I can't allow you to do so. I can, however, offer you a deal. Leave now and I won't report your attempt to rob the royal castle and have you thrown in prison."

The pirate shrugs and sighs, his hand reaching for the sword that hung from his belt. 

"Oh well, looks like there's no other way."

And with that, he draws his sword from its scabbard, a sleek, steel sword with a curved blade,  and lunges forward, dealing the first strike. Blades clash and the sound of metal on metal echoes throughout the room as you parry his sword, pushing him back further. He doesn't let up, dealing strike after strike, yet landing no hits nonetheless. 

While the pirate’s blows are strong and aggressive, his attacks powerful and relentless, yours are both quick and agile with fast and precise strikes.

He expected the princess to be less of a hassle, yet here you were, not only putting up a good fight but winning too. Similar to him, there wasn't even a hint of sweat dripping from your brow, no signs of exhaustion as you dueled him in just your nightgown and slippers.

Your sword comes down once more towards his chest, and he raises his own to block it when suddenly you change your direction and aim to land a hit on his arm instead.

Ever quick on his feet, the pirate steps out of the way, dodging an almost fatal attack, but not before your blade can tear through his shirt and leave the faintest wound on the flesh of his shoulder.

He hisses as he feels the sting of his skin splitting, looking down as red stains the sleeve of his shirt.

"Not bad," he mumbles, his eyes sharp as he glares at the princess, a cocky smirk adorning his face. "Haven't struggled this much with an opponent in a while."

"Likewise," you muse, tightening your grip on your handle as you raise your eyebrows, almost taunting him.

"Tell me, pirate, what is your name? I want to know what to call my attacker before I slice your throat." 

He chuckles, rolling his wounded shoulder back and getting into a better position to keep fighting.

"Oh, I don't believe you really could. Wouldn't want to get your pretty hands dirty after all." He, once again, swings his sword, but to no avail. You continue trading blows with him, barely giving each other a chance to breathe. No matter what he tries, he can't seem to get the upper hand. Mentally, he wants to blame it on the fact that he was caught off guard, or that the way the silk of her nightgown hugs her body when she twists and turns to use her sword is distracting, but really he knows he's just finally met a well-matched opponent. 

"But the name's Scaramouche, consider this knowledge a gift before I beat you at the game of swords.”

It was then that the sound of armored footsteps approaching rapidly caught both Scaramouche and the princess’s attention. You bite back a laugh, glancing at the door and then back to the pirate in front of you.

“Looks like that will have to wait, Scaramouche.”

His name spilled from your lips easier than you’d like to admit, sounding almost natural when it came from you. Scaramouche noticed this too, stiffening as you say it and running his tongue along his cheek. It was annoying whenever he found himself having to make an enemy of an attractive woman. He takes one last look at the princess, before stepping away towards the glass door he came in through. He keeps his sword pointed at you as he backs away, not taking any chances.

“This was lovely, princess. I’ll be seeing you again very soon, but for now, I bid you adieu,” He takes his hat off, bending his arm at his waist and bowing overdramatically before opening the door and launching himself over the fence of the terrace, disappearing into the night.

As the footsteps get closer, you kick your sword under the bed, praying it wasn’t damaged, and toss yourself onto your mattress, throwing the covers over your body just in time for the door to swing open. A few guards peer inside, seeing nothing but you sleeping soundly in, your back turned to them as your body rises and falls to the rhythm of your breathing. There was no sign a fight had even occurred, despite the noises that multiple knights had heard coming from here.

As they close the door, the sound of their footsteps moving away from your room, a giddy smile creeps onto your face. After all, if no fight happened in their eyes, there would be no reason to increase security and you could see that intriguing pirate again.

After Scaramouche escapes down the castle walls, he books it for the treeline that separated the castle from the ocean. It was just past there that his ship resided, where his crew was eagerly awaiting his return with good news. A sinking feeling resides over him whilst he runs through the trees, kicking up dirt and leaves with every step. There is no reasoning he could possibly give that would excuse his failure. Not when he knows it’s caused by his own faults as a man. He, just like all of her numerous suitors and admirers, simply got distracted by her appearance. At some point, he had to stop as his head became too muddled by his thoughts, leaning against a tree, taking a deep breath, and trying to calm his thoughts.

Before, when hearing about rumors of the princess and all of the men interested in marrying her, he assumed the stories all came with a tinge of exaggeration.

Yet, after seeing her and fighting with her, he knows each metaphor and story told of her had to have been nothing but the truth. Tales of her beauty were honestly an understatement. It’s not often he finds himself this distracted by a woman, especially a princess, and he can’t help but feel ashamed in a way. He just failed to execute the plan his crew had been working on for years prior to docking it this kingdom, but all he can think about is her smile when she taunted him, her confidence because she knew she could fight, or the way her nightgown revealed the shape of her body, expensive silk clinging to every curve of her flesh. She was a princess rarely even seen by the public, but he got to see her in such a private setting, and god was it worth it.

He starts running again, her face in mind doubts infecting his every thought. His heart pounds heavily in his chest, and his lungs burn with each breath, but he doesn’t stop running. He would much rather face his crew than the entire royal army. He was sure the princess had reported what had happened by now, and he didn’t want to stick around so they could remember his face.

As he runs, he starts to feel the ocean breeze brushing along his face, and it reminds him that he’s almost home. His crew is smart; they’ll be able to come up with a new plan together. Maybe next time they’ll send a different member of the crew. 

As soon as the thought of someone else seeing her like that enters his mind, he quickly shoos it away. 

Just for now, he’d like to keep the image of her to himself.

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[cal-daisies-and-briars]

☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️

Damn okay! 165 for ☠️:

---

“How did people react?”

“While he could still talk, he told us,” Karen explains. “‘Epipen. Truck. Glove box.’ I remember him struggling to say that.”

“Tommy grabbed his keys and ran out to the truck,” Buck says. “He got the epipen while Eddie called 9-1-1.”

“Yep, I called 9-1-1,” Eddie says. “I was pretty buzzed, so I didn’t think I should do any medical intervention. Tommy and Buck had had less to drink.”

“Chimney and I helped Captain Gerrard to lay down flat on the floor,” Hen says. “Then Tommy came back inside and administered the epipen. It was only when we noticed it wasn’t having any effect that we checked the expiry date.”

“He just kept getting worse,” Buck explains. “Chim went to start CPR, but he was drunk. I offered to take over.”

“Even though there were three paramedics in the room?” Ransone asks.

“All drunk,” Buck says. “Plus, I’ve done CPR hundreds of times. I know what I’m doing. I did everything I could.” 

But he was dead before Athena arrived. 

▪️▪️▪️

“It still seems like just an accident to me,” Ransone tells her. “What do you think, Sergeant Grant? You know these people.”

Athena isn’t sure. She still feels uncomfortable about the whole thing. It seems like a big coincidence for swapped pitchers and an old-enough epipen to not work at all to overlap in such a fatal way. Her years on the job have certainly exposed her to the often banal tragedy of minor negligences. She knows it’s possible. But the other thing she knows? Coincidences are rare.

“What was the expiry date on the epipen?” She asks. 

“2019,” Ransone answers. 

“Five years,” Athena sighs. “Doesn’t that seem odd? Gerrard was a first responder. He ought to have seen enough of these sorts of deaths to know better.”

Ransone nods. “There is that.”

Before they can discuss further, Ransone’s phone rings. He takes the call and listens as someone on the other end provides an update. When he ends the call, he looks at Athena gravely. 

“What’s wrong, Lou?” She asks. 

“Gerrard’s truck was searched. There were two epipens in the glove compartment. Including one that was brand new.”

Athena feels cold. Tommy made the caesars. Tommy grabbed the epipen. This death just became officially suspicious.

ii.

The next morning, Athena gets the call that the coroner’s report has confirmed their understanding of events. The contents of Captain Gerrard’s stomach indeed contained clamato juice. He had not drunk the vegan option. Though everyone, including the actual vegan who drank from the same pitcher, believed that he had. So either Tommy made a mistake when making them, or Tommy intentionally switched them. And either Tommy accidentally grabbed the expired epipen rather than the functional one and failed to notice the functional one present, or it was on purpose. 

“That’s crazy,” Bobby says when Athena explains it all to him. “Tommy wouldn’t do that.”

“Do you know that for sure?” Athena asks. 

“Well, listen, I know he had a history with Gerrard and some of the guys at the 118 before I arrived,” Bobby says. “A history that doesn’t always reflect well on him. But I never had any reason to suspect anything violent! He’s not… I mean, he’s dating Buck!” 

“I know,” Athena sighs. “That might be the worst part of all this.”

Bobby’s shoulders sink. “I didn’t suspect anything about Jonah either. So… What do I know?”

Athena feels terrible. She hadn’t even thought of Jonah Greenway. She hopes they’re all wrong about this. Bobby doesn’t need to learn that anyone else under his command is a murderer. 

▪️▪️▪️

“There’s more evidence,” Ransone says when Athena arrives at the station. 

“More?” Athena frowns. 

He brings her over to a computer screen and shows her an opened Adobe Acrobat PDF. 

“This,” he says. 

Athena reads the title page of the document. 

10 Murder Mystery Party Plots to Entertain and Thrill! 

“What’s this?” She asks.

“The guide Kinnard used to plan his party,” Ransone says. “We got a warrant to search the condo.”

This is moving fast, then. 

“Okay,” Athena says. “Why is that significant?”

Ransone scrolls down to the table of contents. 

“He based his party on plot number six,” Ransone says. “One Last Strip Tease.” 

Right. In which Eddie was the slain exotic dancer, Chip N. Dale. 

“Read number seven,” Ransone prompts.

Athena reads aloud. “Comments from the Peanut Gallery?” 

Ransone clicks it, bringing up the proposed plot and how to execute it. Athena reads. It tells the story of a character allergic to peanuts who is fed sabotaged baked goods. Jesus. Is he stupid? The idea is all spelled out in front of them. Tommy must have read this, when he was planning the party. 

“I think that’s enough,” Athena says quietly. 

“I agree,” Ransone says. “I’ve already made some calls.” 

▪️▪️▪️

Ransone brings everyone back in, one by one, for more interviews. He doesn’t tell them why. 

Each person, individually, looks concerned to be asked back. They all thought it was an accident. They all thought it was a mistake. No one thought there’d be an investigation. Athena feels bad about that. The blindsided looks on her friends’ faces as they walk past her. She knows they’re confused. She knows they’re probably scared. They don’t need to be, though. 

Only Tommy should be scared today. 

Athena doesn’t participate in the questioning. Obviously. She’s not a detective and she has a conflict of interest. She does, however, watch through the two-way mirror. She needs to hear everything that’s said. She can’t miss any of this. 

With the exception of Tommy, Ransone starts by asking everyone the same question. 

“So, did you know Captain Gerrard had an allergy to shellfish?”

The answers are varied. 

“No,” Karen says. “I didn’t know anything personal about him, really. This was only the second time we’d even formally met.”

Matt and Mark didn’t know. Obviously. They’d never met the guy before either.

“No,” Eddie says. “Had no idea. We didn’t talk about personal stuff.”

“No,” Buck sighs. “Which is kind of insane, since I did a lot of the cooking. You think he’d mention it to me? Closest thing I think was him telling me he hated the idea of shrimp scampi.”

“Mmm, yes,” Hen says. “That’s familiar. But I’m not sure why I knew.”

“Oh, yeah,” Chim says. “I knew. Anyone who used to work with him back before he got transferred knew. B-Shift left a mess of coconut shrimp and he lost it.”

 Ransone latches onto this answer just as Athena suspects he will. 

“So Tommy probably knew about it too, then?” He asks. “He worked with you back then, right? That’s how you know him?”

Chim’s expression falls as he realizes what is really being asked. As he realizes the trap he’s been guided into. 

“Uh, yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, he probably knew. I mean, if he remembers. I don’t know how good his memory is.”

After that, the conversation with Chimney takes an interesting turn. 

“Wait… You guys don’t really think Tommy did this, do you?” He asks. “I mean, it was an accident.”

[euphreana]

The Shape of Truth - Chapter 7: Unit 531

Masterpost

-

Knightly Storage required a passcode to get in. The key tag hadn’t included that - it just had the name and unit number; 531. And 531 wasn’t the code.

The storage building was a tall, stone structure with a side entrance hidden from the street by some towering bushes. An awning over the door blocked the rain as Ambrosius stared at the keypad next to the doorway. Nimona, next to him, shifted into a hulking humanoid with large hands.

“We could break in.” She said with a grin, flexing an arm.

Ambrosius rolled his eyes.

“That would be illegal.”

Nimona smirked and shifted back to a teen.

“As if today wasn’t already toeing the line.”

“We didn’t… break any laws.”

“Sure. We just bent them a little.”

“Exactly. A knight must uphold the rules that keep us in order.”

Nimona groaned.

“Come on… don’t tell me you haven't broken at least ONE rule at least ONCE in your life.”

Ambrosius still looked unamused.

“Even if I did, I wouldn't be telling YOU about it.”

“Aw, why not?”

“Because I still don't know anything about you! I don't even know how old you are, or if ‘Nimona’ is even your real name!”

Nimona was silent while Ambrosius tried to figure out the door code, punching in several numerical combinations off the top of his head. The keypad flashed red each time.

Nimona’s voice broke his concentration.

“They never told you how your dad really died, did they?” she said, seemingly out of nowhere.

Ambrosius gave her a side glance.

“What in Gloreth's name are you talking about?”

“I mean you were just a kid - they didn't want you to think he was a bad man or anything - nothing you could possibly blabber to the wrong person about. They told you he went out for a few drinks with his knight buddies, got plastered, and then walked in front of a speeding truck, right?”

Ambrosius looked wary.

“That's... what happened.”

“That's what they WANTED you to think happened. That's what they wanted EVERYONE to think happened. They couldn't let Gloreth's name get dragged in the mud, could they?”

Ambrosius didn’t look convinced.

“So you're saying there was a coverup.”

"I'm saying you never saw him drunk before, did you?”

“I don’t remember. Maybe?”

“Believe me, you didn’t.”

“How would you know?”

“I’m telling you - I’m full of information about your family.”

Ambrosius turned back to the keypad.

“Aaaand now you're just sounding creepy. One less reason for me to trust you.”

“Think about it though! The man never got drunk. So how did he get so tipsy that night he didn't see the truck coming?”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“Hey, you don't have to take my word for it - with your rank, you can go to the medical records building and see the original coroner's report for yourself.”

Ambrosius typed in another combination.

“Maybe I will. Or maybe I won't. What difference would it make? He’s still dead.”

The keypad flashed red again. Ambrosius sighed. He was quickly realizing he could stand here all day trying different combinations and none of them work. He waved a hand towards the other side of the building.

“Come on, let’s go to the office.”

“I still vote ‘break in’.”

Ambrosius gave her a weary look. Nimona held her hands up.

“I mean bend, not break.”

~ ~ ~

There was already a woman arguing with the clerk when Nimona, now matching Ambrosius’s height and age, entered the office, followed by Ambrosius himself. Fortunately, there was another worker passing by whom Nimona was able to flag down.

“Heeeeeey… I totally forgot the passcode for the door. Could you let me in?”

The worker pointed to the desk.

“Sure, just show them your ID.”

“ID… yeah… you know, I think I left it at home. I just ran over here to get something” she dangled the storage key in her hand.

The worker gave a forced smile.

“Talk to the desk.”

They both looked at the discussion at the desk. It didn’t look like it was going to end soon.

Nimona held a hand up, “Come on, me and my brother just need to grab something real quick.”

“Talk to the desk.”

“What if I slid you a 20 goldpiece?”

“Talk to the desk.” The worker pushed past her, off on their own errand.

Nimona glanced at Ambrosius with a look that said ‘ok we tried it your way and it didn’t work.’ Ambrosius shrugged and jerked his head towards the desk. This could still work - his own ID would draw attention, but maybe Nimona could work something out.

“For the last time, we can’t let you use acid on the lock!” The clerk behind the desk was saying, “You either find your key or find a licensed locksmith to remove the lock for you.”

The woman in front of the desk waved a hand desperately.

“But what if—”

“We can recommend a locksmith for you if you don’t want to do the footwork yourself.”

“— I fill the lock with water, and then freeze it! Water expands when frozen, so the lock should break right off!”

“Miss Bitsmore, there are other people waiting in line behind you.”

“It’s Blitzmeyer! Meredith Blitzmeyer!”

“Miss Blitzmeyer, would you like the number for the locksmith or not?”

“I’m telling you, I can’t afford a locksmith! My lab burned down and I’m living off savings!”

Ambrosius’s ears perked up. The initials from the sword invoice flashed in his mind. MB!

The clerk didn’t miss a beat, sliding a business card across the desk.

“You can find the number here. Let us know when you plan to come. Next!”

The woman waved her hands in exasperation and stomped out the door, not bothering to take the card. The clerk tapped an intercom button on the desk.

“Hey, keep an eye on unit 531 - we might get someone trying to break into it.” Then the clerk looked up at Nimona. “Can I help you?”

Nimona gave a toothy grin.

“Heyyyy, I need to get in but I forgot the passcode. My ID is—”

Ambrosius hurried forward and grabbed Nimona by the arm.

“Hey you know what? I think I remember where you left your ID!” He pulled her toward the door. “Come on!”

~ ~ ~

It had started to rain in earnest now. Meredith Blitzmeyer walked hands-free, umbrella balanced on her shoulder thanks to the weights built into the bent shaft and handle. She'd designed that part herself, and more.

“Excuse me missus umbrella lady...”

Meredith looked down to see a small boy suddenly standing in front of her. He was dressed in tatters and looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“I can't find my mommy... She went through that scary alley over there.” the child pointed, shivering in the rain. “Could you help me find her? Pwease....?” He looked up at her with sad puppy eyes.

Meredith glanced around. There were other people walking down the street, but nobody was stopping to see if the child was alright. Nobody except her. She sighed.

“Come on, let’s find your mom.” She took the child by the hand and started down the alleyway.

She hadn’t gotten far before she sensed someone else behind her. She glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, there was a tall, hooded figure barely a meter behind her. Of course. Meredith could have slapped herself for being so gullible.

The hooded figure reached out, but Meredith was faster. Before either the child or the stranger could react, she’d swung her umbrella off her shoulder, collapsing it and shoving the end into the stranger’s chest. A crackle of electricity rippled through the air and the hooded figured dropped like a stone.

Meredith broke into a run. The street was close. Just a few meters… A beastly snarl echoed down the alley as a set of jaws clamped around her leg, yanking her to the ground. Meredith tried to get back up, but the grip on her leg wouldn’t let go. It started to drag her backwards, away from the street, back into the dark alley.

The electrified umbrella was still in her hands. Meredith turned and swung it at the beast, electricity arcing at its tip. She almost hit it. It let go of her instead, ducking out of the way. That was all the time she needed to get back to her feet. But before she could run, the hooded figure slammed into her, knocking her back to the ground. Then the beast - a large, pink wolf - grabbed the umbrella in its jaws and yanked it away.

Meredith blinked in surprise. Pink? The next thing she knew, the hooded figure had rolled off her and the wolf was towering above her, teeth bared.

A man’s voice rang out, angry.

“Who are you working for?!”

The question caught Meredith by surprise.

“What?!”

“We know you ordered the sword!”

“I didn’t—”

“We have paperwork - with your initials on it! You had the sword - the sword that killed the queen - the sword that framed Ballister, that got him killed…” The man’s voice broke.

Meredith tried to look at the source of the voice, but the wolf growled at the slightest movement. The man found his voice again, wavering as it was.

“I should turn you in now. There’s enough evidence here. That’ll be enough to prove his innocence, and then… then…”

The wolf spoke in a female voice.

“Hey, keep it together man. We’ve got an interrogation here.”

Meredith, fully bewildered by now, broke in.

“I didn’t do it! They ordered the sword in my name and then burned down my lab when I said I wouldn’t put the blaster in it! …. I can show you the emails!”

The man sank to his knees next to her. Meredith got a look at his face.

“Wait, you’re the Goldenlocks guy!”

Ambrosius didn’t bat an eye.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“Ohhh no… I- I didn’t do anything wrong! I swear I thought I was designing mining equipment! Good Gloreth I talk too much…”

“Why didn’t you say something after they arrested Ballister?”

“I thought he was the one who’d ordered the sword! I- I didn’t want to get in any more trouble!” Meredith blinked several times under her glasses. “They already killed my friends in the fire…”

There was a long silence. Then the wolf spoke again.

“You think she’s telling the truth?”

“Not all of it.” Ambrosius turned back to Meredith. “You said there were emails. Show me.”

Meredith hesitated.

“Ah, you see, I don’t have my work email on my phone - I use my laptop for that. And I left that at home.”

Silence. Meredith spoke again.

“So if you could let me go….”

“We found this at your old lab.” Ambrosius said, holding up the misplaced storage key.

Meredith’s eyes grew wide. Ambrosius pocketed the key and continued.

“Meet us at the library. We’ll be in a study room under the name ‘Goldenlocks’. Bring the laptop. Otherwise I toss the key and give the sword invoice to Security.”

“But… I have somewhere to be…”

“You have two hours.”

Meredith looked like she wanted to say something else, but thought better of it. She didn’t want to get on the bad side of a noble, much less a knight. She nodded instead.

The wolf backed up. Meredith scuttled backwards, grabbing her umbrella and getting to her feet. She paused to brush the water from her clothes.

"If I can ask... You said you thought Ballister was framed. Why? Didn't he confess to the murder?"

Ambrosius hesitated.

"I don't think that confession was from him. It didn't... sound like him."

Meredith gave an unimpressed “Oh,” then flicked her umbrella open and hurried back to the street. Still in the alley, Nimona shifted back to dog form, suddenly dry as she ducked under an overhang. Ambrosius turned away, rubbing his eyes. Nimona looked up at him.

“You okay, boss?”

Ambrosius didn’t look at her.

“… It was just yesterday. They published the confession at noon, and he was dead before sunset.” He leaned back against the wall. “I didn’t even get to see him...”

Nimona sat next to him, pressing her furry head under his hand. Ambrosius reflexively ran his fingers through her fur, appreciating the softness. He cracked the faintest smile. So that was what having a dog was like.

Next Chapter

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Do you think William's reputation will survive? I feel so sorry for him and Catherine, I had to take a break from social media, the affair rumors are everywhere, everyone is now believing he had an affair, foreign media is now talking about him fathering an illegitimate child with Rose, they are even accusing him of domestic violence and people take it all as a fact.

In the long term big picture, William will be fine. A lot of this is going to be just a paragraph or two when he’s Charles’s age and we’re celebrating a jubilee or the birth of George’s child or Louis’s wedding or Charlotte leading the Lionesses to Olympic Gold and World Cup medals.

But in the short term, yes, William’s reputation will take a hit. What he does next will determine how long it takes for his reputation to climb back up. There are three things that he can do:

Prove that everyone is wrong, that his marriage is fine and he does not have anger management issues.

Go away and not be in the news for a few weeks or months till everyone’s forgotten.

Work. Really crank out the engagements, get his numbers up to spitting distance of Edward’s, and maintain them at that baseline from here on out.

#1 requires becoming more public, and we know that’s not going to happen for the Waleses. That’s fine. History will have to judge on that one. But there is some good news on this front - the Chumleys have had enough and they’ve begun taking legal action on the rumors involving them and their children.

#2 is not happening. William can’t just peace out and not work or be seen for 3-4 months. He’s the heir, it’s his job to be seen and to work, especially when Charles can’t do much because of his own health.

Which leaves us with #3 - work. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again. William (and Kate) both need to work more. Their numbers both need to go way up once Kate’s current health crisis is over and she’s back to top form. If they’re not going to work more, that’s fine but they need to show us more of the in-progress work that they’re currently doing and not save it all for the bow-on-top end-result. There’s a reason why the photos and videos of The Queen and Charles working through the red boxes are popular and, at times, iconic - because it shows that they’re working. If just every other week we got a photo of William in a meeting or Kate reading the reports that the Early Years Foundation says she’s been reviewing.

However, the issue with William’s work is that it can’t be a one-and-done. What ever changes they make and whatever the new number is after they’ve scaled up, that has to be the new baseline, the new standard. It must be maintained, otherwise it becomes clear that it was just a PR exercise to distract from these scandals.

Something else I’ve been thinking of a bit lately is the Waleses’ engagement numbers, particularly Kate’s and since accession in 2022. There was a lot of talk throughout 2023 of how disappointing it was that the Waleses turned in the same numbers for 2023 as they did while they were Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, at the bottom of the list. There was an idea on the blogs that everyone understood William and Kate to keep a lower profile through the spring so the attention was rightly focused on Charles and the coronation, but then they’ve should’ve scaled up from late summer onwards, after the anniversary of The Queen’s passing to demonstrate their ability to be heirs and show acceptance of their future.

But now I wonder if Kate’s numbers have been affected by her condition. They haven’t said a whole lot, but what I know of bowel/stomach issues is that they’re usually chronic and people can suffer symptoms for a long time before surgery becomes an option. So with that, perhaps Kate’s numbers didn’t change much last year because she was dealing with these issues? And to save face, the palace made the usual “for the children” excuses until it became emergent and the surgery essential. Just something to think about.

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter VIIII.

GIF CREDIT

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: After months of dancing around their emotions, Javier and Paloma finally address the tension between them head-on.

WORD COUNT: ~9.2k

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

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: smuttt, bulge riding, dry humping, protected p in v sex, dirty talk, javi being an asshole, angst, crime talk (if it's not accurate don't @ me), descriptions of violence against women, vomit mention, slut shaming(?), detective!javi is very gorgeous ME, other things that I'm probably forgetting.

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

A/N: we did it… we did it joe !! javi and OFC finally [REDACTED] !! thank u to everyone who has been keepin up w this foolery so far, it makes my lil heart happy to see engagement < 3 also wanna say that years of watching criminal minds is finally starting to pay off and i rly hope u guys are enjoying the crime aspect of the plot because i'm havin A LOT of fun writing and developing it !! shit is gonna get twisted and intricate so brace yourselves for where we're about to go !!! the smut in this chapter is heavily inspired by touch it by ariana grande so i def recommend giving that a listen bc i feel like it just fits their vibe so well (i may or may not have used some of the lyrics in the dialogue.. oop!) last thing sooo irrelevant but mayor abbott looks like jonathan bailey (bridgerton hive RISE!!) in my head so take that as u will xoxo always feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

As the sun casts its golden rays over the quiet outskirts of town, a grim discovery awaits the two men. The body of Jessica Valdez, the young girl reported missing from their neighboring town, lies lifeless in a shallow ditch. Javier stands beside Sheriff Leighton, their expressions grave as they survey the scene before them.

Reporters and curious onlookers have gathered, drawn by the spectacle of flashing lights and the somber atmosphere. A small group of people whisper amongst themselves, their hushed tones mingling with the distant sound of camera shutters clicking.

Romeo’s authoritative presence looms beside him, a pillar of strength in the face of another tragedy. His eyes narrow as they push through the gathered crowd, commanding respect and order in the chaotic scene.

They duck beneath the yellow crime scene tape, ignoring the questions being hurled at them by the press.

“Are there any indications of a motive for this murder?” 

“Is this connected to the similar incidents in the area recently?”

“Is there anything the public can do to assist with the investigation?”

Javier’s stomach churns with sorrow as he takes in the sight. The body lies face down and sprawled in the dirt. He clenches his jaw, steeling himself against the wave of frustration threatening to overwhelm him.

Another failure on their behalf and all he can think about is the kiss shared between him and Paloma.

“Talk to us, Cecelia.” 

“Well, at first glance: the body is still fairly warm so she was alive a few hours ago. It looks like she was held captive somewhere due to the bruising on her wrists and ankles. There are signs of malnourishment and she has smaller injuries scattered throughout her body. I won’t know more details until I do the autopsy.” The coroner answers before continuing,” Her chest is completely slashed through, just like all the others. Still our guy. Or girl–– you never know nowadays.” 

Javier’s jaw flexes out of exasperation, mirroring the heavy sigh that escapes the sheriff’s lips. The weight of this repeated revelation settles over them like a suffocating blanket, casting a shadow over their efforts to uncover the truth.

Despite their tireless pursuit of justice, they find themselves no closer to catching the culprit or unraveling the mystery shrouding these towns. It’s fucking infuriating. 

Amidst the tangled threads of his personal life, Javier has momentarily lost sight of his purpose for being here. He has been too immersed in his own character transformation and entanglement with Paloma, overlooking the harrowing reality unfolding around him: innocent women continuing to fall victim to brutal, senseless violence.

The gravity of his oversight has a mixture of guilt and despair settling deep within his chest. 

Javier prides himself on his prowess, his ability to navigate the most intricate of cases and weather the toughest of storms. As a seasoned field agent with a string of accolades to his name (some undeserved, others very well deserved), he’s faced down challenges that would make others quiver.

Yet here he stands, feeling utterly impotent in the face of this whodunit in the confines of a sleepy town.

It gnaws at him, this sense of inadequacy, like a persistent itch he can’t scratch. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, a humbling reminder of the unpredictable nature of crime and the limits of his own expertise.

He needs to be better.

“What’s interestin’, though, is this,” She stands, motioning for the two men to follow her and they share a look before wordlessly complying. Cecelia hands them both a pair of latex gloves, instructing them to put them on.

They make it a few feet away from Jessica’s body and that’s when Javi sees it.

“Is that vomit?” 

Cecelia nods, “It is. I’m betting it’s hers. The interestin’ bit isn’t that she vomited–– but the contents. Take a look. Tell me what you see.” 

Javier is the first to kneel with Romeo looking over his shoulder. He eyes the evidence, pushing his aviators to the top of his head, making out the larger chunks in the grossly colored bile.

He can’t discern what it is right away and Cecelia encourages him to use his hands, which has him looking at her ludicrously and muttering how gross this shit is in Spanish before doing as suggested.

Poking his latex clad fingers in the mess, Javi analyzes the contents and that’s when he sees a symbol marked in ink on one of the scraps.

“It’s flesh. Human flesh.” 

Shit. He sees it now, the mark is a tattoo and he quickly barks out an order to have one of the lingering deputies come take pictures of it.

“Son of a bitch is feedin’ people… people. Would explain Nina Thorton’s missin’ leg. What the fuck is goin’ on here?” The sheriff sounds defeated and Javier just remains silent as he mulls over all this new information that’s been revealed.

Kidnapped, held hostage, fed human flesh, murdered, dumped.

All the other victims up until now have only been taken then killed. None of them held captive for long. Not all of them consuming flesh.

But then there’s Nina and her postmortem severed leg.

Fuck, the answer is right there, interwoven in the intricacies and lack of details in the cases. 

No more fucking around, no more helping girls sneak back inside their homes, no more distractions. He has to focus on doing his job.

He will catch who did this, he will prove himself to be qualified to do what he was brought here to do.

Javier remains kneeled and deep in thought as Romeo and Cecelia continue on with their observations. He looks around to study their surroundings, wondering if there is anything else that is right in front of him that he cannot see.

“Three outta five have been brunettes around the same age. I think that’s something worth considering now,” Javier breaks up the conversation betweens the sheriff and coroner, both of them turning to look at him as he stands from his kneeled position and begins to take off the gloves,” Seems like they found their type. There’s got to be a purpose for the consistent victimology.” 

They’ve migrated over to Jessica’s body now, both men doing last minute look overs before she is transported back to her hometown for her parents to identify and for Cecelia to preform the autopsy.

When a deputy comes over to take the last bits of photo evidence, he looks sickly but Javier ignores it. It’s not until her body is turned upright, exposing her mauled chest, that has the younger officer hurling over and throwing up, some of it landing on Romeo.

“God fuckin’ damn it, Andrews, spew that shit elsewhere. Fuck, not only are you contaminatin’ the crime scene but you got it all over my damn pants.” 

The sheriff goes on a tangent, chewing the officer out and threatening to suspend him for two weeks with no pay. It’s harsh, Javier will admit, but he doesn’t say anything, remaining stoic with his arms crossed against his chest as he watches it unfold.

Eventually, everyone trickles out. Even the nosey reporters and townies. Javier wants to stay, walk around the area to see if anything else was left behind. Maybe something was dropped or buried nearby, and while they had assured him that others have already done a thorough search–– he’d feel more comfortable if he did it himself.

“Ya mind stoppin’ by my place so I can change? Kid ruined these.” Romeo’s gruff voice has Javier losing his train of thought, too engrossed in looking out into the vast area of the woods as the sun slowly begins to set. 

Right, they arrived together, driving from the station in Javier’s cruiser.

“Sure.” He replies plainly. His plans for the evening now include getting Romeo situated so that he can come back here and investigate all on his own. He might even drive to Fayette to retrieve the autopsy from Cecelia as soon as she completes it.

With the Leighton home being on the other side of town, this gives the two men time to talk the case over; going over all that they know and all that they’ve discovered. Romeo confides in Javier about feeling inadequate about the way he’s doing his job and, in a turn of events, Javier does the same. In his own way.

The mutual understanding is a relief, though the guilt of his kiss with Paloma is palpable and it makes Javi feel like a fraud.

Across from him is a man who has extended nothing but kindness and trust, offering camaraderie and a sense of belonging. Yet, despite this, Javier found himself drawn to his daughter in a way that was both exhilarating and forbidden.

It feels wrong, achingly so. A bitter realization that despite their mutual longing, their connection can never be fully realized. It’s a harsh wake up call: if he truly wants to better himself, he must shed his bad habit of losing himself in women and distance himself from her.

What a discomforting prospect, the inevitable separation. But he knows it’s the only way forward. He understands that in time, they will both resign themselves to the reality of their infatuation.

It’s a familiar ache, this sense of inevitability that haunts his romantic endeavors like a relentless specter. Javier knows the drill all too well; it’s not his first rodeo in navigating the treacherous terrain of severing emotional ties.

His love life feels like a series of missteps, a cursed labyrinth from which there’s no escape. Despite the initial allure of each new romance, he’s come to anticipate the eventual descent into disappointment. No matter how promising the beginning, the journey always seems to lead to the same desolate destination.

With him hurting them beyond measure.

Fuck the idea of reinventing himself here. He can find peace and monotony anywhere else.

Javier will follow through with his responsibilities, and the second he’s able to peel out of Seminary–– he will, leaving her behind as a bittersweet memory. A beautiful yet unattainable dream that he will carry with him for years to come.

As they pull in to the Leighton residence, he sees the woman that lives in his head perched up on the fence that surrounds the immediate area. Her baggy jeans are hanging low, exposing the sheer fabric of her underwear. She turns as she hears the sound of a car approaching, and her lips pull into a smile once she sees who it is.

Paloma fully expected to wake up the following day filled with regret and plagued by a hangover. The only thing she experienced was the latter, but it had quickly been nursed by a greasy breakfast and some yard work.

Javier had kissed her back, that was enough to feed into her delusions that he does want her. All inhibitions have been dropped, she’s prepared to lay herself out for him–– to tell him that she’s wanted him since the moment they met.

It might seem premature, an impulsive plunge into the uncertainty of his reaction to her feelings, but the tender memory of their shared kiss eclipses all rational thought. She finds herself irresistibly drawn to the possibility of something more, unable to resist the pull of her emotions.

His touch still lingers on her skin. His hands tracing the curves of her body with a hunger that left her breathless. She can still feel the way he had grabbed her ass then gripped onto her hips, pulling her closer to him.

But it was his mouth that left the strongest impression. His tongue had explored the depths of hers, tasting and teasing her with a ferocity that made her feel alive.

In that moment, she had felt desired, cherished, and wanted. It was a feeling that she hadn’t realized she craved so badly until last night. She knew that she would never be able to forget that kiss and the way it had made her feel.

She’s giddy, her excitement bubbling up like fizzy soda, reminiscent of the first time she ever kissed a boy. Except Javier isn’t a boy–– he’s a man. A man whose expertise and skill are a potent aphrodisiac, heightening her arousal to levels she never thought possible.

She’s been hot for him all day, even touched herself to the memory of his soft lips, the tickle of his mustache, against hers then imagining them everywhere else. The mere thought of it is enough to send her heart racing, and she knows that nothing will satisfy her until she has him in her arms again.

Romeo gets out the car, muttering that he’d be right back and Javi opts to stay put. He does not want to speak to her, knowing that the second he gazes into those beautiful brown eyes–– he’d buckle. He needs to build animosity between them; it’s the only way for them to definitively be able to separate from one another.

But she doesn’t make it easy, of course. Because the second her father is inside, she’s practically skipping over to the driver’s side of the cruiser.

“Hello officer. Here to bring me in for all those crimes I committed last night?” She teases as she leans her forearms against the rolled down window, the cowgirl hat perched on her head complimenting her so well.

Javier swallows thickly, taking a lengthy drag of the familiar cigarette between his lips. He can’t outright ignore her so he decides to be short instead.

“M’not here for games, Paloma.” 

She’s taken aback by his tone, her smile faltering.

“Well excuse me for tryin’ to make conversation. Wasn’t aware that you’re in a mood today.” 

There’s a pause despite her attempt to add a teasing tone to her words to lighten him up. It falls flat.

“And I’m not looking to have a conversation. You can go.” 

Her brows cinch together at his dismissal, this is not how she was expecting for this to go.

“What’s goin on’? Is this because we… because of the kiss last night?” She lowers her voice towards the end, red blooming across her cheeks but she keeps her composure.

“Jesus,” Javier chuckles humorlessly, shaking his head. It sends a sharp pang through her heart.” Why do you always think that’s the fuckin’ problem whenever I don’t want to talk to you? For someone who claims to be a grown woman all the time, you sure as shit don’t act like it.” 

She stills, the buoyant confidence that had propelled her toward him evaporating in an instant, replaced by a wave of hurt at his unexpected chilliness. What has gotten into him?

“Drop it and move on, Paloma. We just found Jessica Valdez’s body dumped out in a ditch. S’not the time to be hung up on a damn kiss.” 

The sound of the screen door shutting close breaks her away from him and the trance she’d seemingly gone into. Another victim, another tragedy to confront… and here she is acting like a smitten teenaged girl.

The urge to cower and crawl into herself, to surrender to the overwhelming embarrassment and sorrow, threatens to engulf her entirely. She remains silent, fighting back the surge of frustrated, angry tears as she pushes off the car and trudges back toward the house.

Javier exhales heavily once she strides away without a word, feeling a weight settle on his shoulders. He had braced himself for a snide remark or some form of verbal retaliation, but her silent departure was far more impactful.

“I’ll be home late. Don’t wait up.” Her father murmurs as he passes her, planting a tender kiss atop her head. He lingers there for a moment but she doesn’t question it, knowing it’s because of what they found today and she doesn’t even mind that he hasn’t told her about it.

As he breaks away, she conjures up a semblance of a genuine smile, masking her turmoil, and nods before he affectionately pinches her nose and continues on his way.

She doesn’t look back, she doesn’t cry or go inside–– instead she picks up her discarded gardening gloves and proceeds to channel her energy into the simple act of mowing the grass.

She finds herself alone at the open bar as the party continues in full swing. It’s been days since Jessica’s death, and the tense conversation she had with Javier still lingers in her mind.

“Drop it and move on, Paloma.” 

Unlike the last time they went without speaking, there is much more tension between them now. The worst part about it is having to act as if nothing is wrong in the presence of her father.

No daddy, everything’s fine! It’s not like I threw myself at your co-worker not once, but twice and both times he made me feel like a fucking idiot!

She lets out a disdainful sigh, her fingers curling around the glass containing her coveted cherry root beer since she’s decided to part ways with alcohol and any other substance for the time being.

The two men are busy mingling with other guests and have been since the moment they arrived. Despite her efforts to divert her gaze elsewhere, her eyes keep involuntarily drifting towards Javier’s broad figure.

The event had called for formal attire, so when he strode in wearing a meticulously tailored all-black suit, her breath caught in her throat. The sharp lines of his outfit, coupled with the crispness of his button-down and the matching tie, made her momentarily forget why she was so upset with him. He looked too damn handsome.

It’s brutal how the things we desire most often seem to radiate the brightest when they’re just out of reach.

Observing him mingle effortlessly with others is entertaining. Contrary to her expectations, he appears completely at ease in this bustling social setting, a far cry from the disdain he expressed for large gatherings that morning in his kitchen.

He’s acting a lot more extroverted and… smile-y. It pisses her off as much as it melts her heart.

They make their way over to her and she makes a point to not even look in his direction. Though now she’s caught between her father and Javier as they order another round of drinks. 

It really doesn’t help that they’re shoulder to shoulder. The heady aroma of his cologne, laced with the familiar tang of cigarette smoke and the faint hint of whiskey, infiltrates her senses, making it impossible to outright ignore him.

Javier Peña is like a blazing beacon and she’s the foolish moth drawn inexplicably closer to his flame. But she knows all too well the danger of getting too close, like a moth singed by the heat, the allure of his brightness can be killer.

Javier had assumed that with news of Jessica being found dead, their attendance to this party wouldn’t be mandatory.

Well, he thought wrong. It is a cruel reminder of how life goes on, even when tragedy strikes.

Another dead girl, another over-the-top party.

Which is why he’ll give it an hour–– tops–– to shake whoever’s hand and meet whoever else, then he’d leave. It’s a simple plan, the only thing making it difficult for him is his proximity to the woman he’s desperately trying to cut ties with.

She looks so beautiful tonight, donning a calf length simple black dress that hugs all her curves just right. 

“There they are! My Law and Order! Y’all keepin’ the townsfolk in line?” The boastful voice of Mayor Jonah Abbott draws near and Javier suppresses the urge to roll his eyes.

Foolish of him to think he wouldn’t have to interact with the titular birthday boy tonight.

He greets both men with a firm handshake, and when his attention turns to her; Javier has to drown the subtle spark of frustration with his drink at the way his eyes rake over her body.

“And of course, Miss. Paloma. They say a smile is worth a thousand words, but yours? It’s worth a million dreams.” He brings her hand up to his lips to plant a kiss against her knuckles and all she does is offer him a polite smile. Here we go…

“Mr. Abbott—” 

“Jonah, sweetheart. Been tellin’ you to call me that for years now.” 

Her smile threatens to twitch out of annoyance, “Jonah. Happy Birthday. Thank you for invitin’ us to your home.” 

“Always a pleasure to have you ’round. I heard about your performance up in Dallas. Shame I missed it. Woulda loved to hear that beautiful voice of yours and seen you up on that stage.” 

Javier can’t help the subtle grunt he emits at the mayor’s overt flirtation, causing for her to just briefly glance up at him with a bemused flash crossing her stare.

The familiarity of Jonah’s behavior strikes a chord within him. Once upon a time, Javier was just like this–– an arrogant charmer with a penchant for flirting with anything in a skirt. Standing here amidst the other man’s smooth talk, he sees through the facade with clarity born of experience.

It’s a performance, an act to charm his way in between Paloma’s legs, though Javi can clearly see that she’s not falling for it. Does Romeo notice it too, he wonders? Or is he blinded by the mayor’s charisma, unable to see that this man clearly wants to sleep with his daughter.

Then again, Javier’s opinion on this is irrelevant and invalid since he too has been in the same predicament since meeting her. At least he didn’t do it blatantly in front of the sheriff’s face.

Or, in a turn of events, perhaps Romeo doesn’t give a damn. Jonah Abbott presents himself as a viable candidate to be with his daughter; a young politician with deep pockets and a keen interest in her.

Javier can’t shake off the mental picture of the man’s wedding ring adorning her finger, of her transforming into the perfect, submissive wife, tending to the household and filling this place with snot nosed kids. But such a scenario doesn’t align with her fiery and headstrong nature. She’s far too independent and spirited to succumb to the confines of domesticity, particularly for a man like Jonah.

Then again, why the fuck does he care?

“Well as you know, I do two shows every weekend at The Whiskey Fox. Could always stop by and see me and the band.” 

“A busy man like myself always has a full schedule. Though I reckon I should make some time to be out in the community. Wouldn’t hurt to stop by for dinner and a show.” 

He winks at her and of course he does it when her father turns to order himself another drink. Javier’s jaw flinches.

“Now Romeo, why have you been keepin’ this badass motherfucker hidden from me? I knew we had someone new joinin’ the force but I didn’t think it’d be the Javier Peña. A goddamn American hero— right here in Seminary, Texas!” 

As Jonah begins his praises, pairing them with a harsh slap to his shoulder, Javier remains cool and calculating. He refuses to be swayed by empty compliments.

Meanwhile, she breathes a silent sigh of relief as the spotlight shifts away from her, and she finds it amusing at how everyone seems to talk about Javier.

A hero. A true patriot. Such a brave soul for fightin’ the war on drugs on Uncle Sam’s behalf.

If only they knew the truth––if they had even a glimpse of the darkness he’s had to face, they wouldn’t be so quick to idolize him.

The label of hero, bestowed upon him since the demise of Escobar, sits uneasily on his shoulders. The adulation feels like a burden he never asked for, a title he never wanted. It’s a reminder of the complexities of his past, the mistakes he’s made, and the ghosts that continue to haunt him. Javi despises the word, resenting the way it overshadows his true self and the countless sins he harbors in silence.

“Gotta keep ’em humble. Keeps the head on straight.” Romeo banters back, pulling one of those haughty, rich men laughs from the mayor. 

She cringes at the pretentiousness echoing in the air.

The men break out into small talk leaving her feeling awkward as she swirls the almost fully melted ice around the empty cup. It’s not until Jonah is getting ready to move on to a new set of guests that the attention is turned back to her.

“And you, pretty girl, owe me a song. Specifically that one Linda Ronstadt song from the Fourth of July barbecue last year. Remember? S’only fair… consider it a birthday gift from you to me.” 

Despite her inner discomfort, she maintains a face of cheerfulness, though her stomach sinks with apprehension at his request. Memories of the barbecue flood her mind, vivid recollections of his relentless pursuit despite her repeated, albeit polite, refusals.

The word ’no’ is on the tip of her tongue, but knowing all too well the persistence he’s exhibited before; she succumbs to the weight of the occasion—his birthday—and the anticipation in his eyes.

“Blue Bayou, I remember. Does the band know it?” She inquires, her gaze flickering towards the live band stationed near the open area of the dance floor where a throng of people sway to the music.

She’s secretly hoping that they don’t, but the song is very popular so her hope dwindles.

“If they don’t, they will. I’ll introduce you when it’s time.” 

With a tight and forced smile gracing her lips, she simply replies, “Okay,” accompanied by a subtle nod. His wicked grin spreads larger, almost daring Javier to react by punching him square in the jaw.

Regardless of how he feels towards her and their situation, it irks him to no end how this man blatantly disregards her boundaries.

Her body language screams apprehension, evident to anyone observant enough. However, Mayor Abbott is too fixated on persuading her to comply with his wishes to take notice. It’s apparent that he’s not accustomed to hearing the word ’no’.

Javi just holds his tongue, an insult threatening to slip out, as he finishes his drink with a practiced air of nonchalance.

The mayor finally says his goodbyes before walking away and her shoulders drop instantly.

“Guess I owe ya twenty bucks.” Romeo mutters, digging into his suit pocket for his wallet. 

The laugh she gives, though slight, simultaneously soothes and torments his heart.

Damn it all— this is going to be torture but he must endure.

“She bet that he was gonna pull somethin’ like this before leavin’ the house. I was dumb enough to think he wouldn’t.” He explains to Javier as he slips his daughter the twenty dollar bill which she slyly stuffs under the fabric of her dress by her chest.

The action, seemingly simple, is so hot to him.

“How many times do I have to say m’not a damn show pony that does tricks whenever it’s asked? He’s so lucky that I’m polite and that it’s his birthday— If not I woulda told him to shove it—-” She doesn’t finish her sentence as they’re approached by a group of people that she doesn’t recognize nor care for.

She feels like an afterthought as they bombard the men with questions about the recent cases and other related topics, so she takes that as her cue to leave, ordering another mocktail before slipping away towards the dance floor.

She is fully prepared to turn her brain off to enjoy some semblance of normalcy before she’s thrown back in to the confusing pit that is her current status with the former DEA agent.

Attempting to convince herself that she’s enjoying the moment, she sways to the lively rhythm of the music, lost in her own solitary dance. A few partygoers approach her asking to join her which she declines; peeved by all the unwanted attention she’s getting.

This isn’t even her party. She holds no merit here.

Javier only catches glimpses of her from his peripheral, engrossed in a conversation with a man who remembers him from his sheriff days in Laredo, before he left for Colombia. The discourse drones on, punctuated by forced laughter and idle pleasantries. Each word falls flat, devoid of substance, yet Javier remains steadfast. Anything to keep him and his mind away from her.

Suddenly, the screeching sound of microphone feedback reverberates off the opulent walls of the ballroom-style space and she winces at noise.

“Excuse me, sorry–– I’m not very good with these things.” The man of the hour apologizes, his voice crackling through the speakers. She inwardly curses, anticipating what’s to come next. Setting her now-empty glass down on one of the nearby tables, she smooths her hands along the velvety fabric of her dress, ironing out any wrinkles, and hastily fixes her hair as best as she can without a mirror.

With a deep breath, she pushes down her nerves, summoning a smile to face the adversity when he introduces her. She steps onto the stage, the room erupting into scattered applause as she approaches the microphone.

♫

Midway through the song, to her surprise, Jonah joins her on stage, transforming the solo performance into an unexpected duet. Despite her inner discomfort, Paloma maintains a composed expression and tries to conceal any hint of surprise in her body language as he draws nearer.

Her unease heightens when he pulls her close against him, the heat of his body against hers as they sway to the rhythm of the music during the instrumental interlude of the country song. She reluctantly complies, her compliance more a result of avoidance of potential consequences than genuine willingness to dance with him.

The sight of his possessive grip on her waist, pulling her into an unwelcome dance, ignites a surge of vexation within Javier. He feels the tension in his muscles coil tighter with each step they take, their bodies moving in sync to the rhythm of the music. It’s unbearable to watch, the image of Paloma in Jonah’s arms twisting like a knife in his gut.

Without a word, Javier makes his escape, his strides purposeful as he navigates through the crowded room. He mutters a vague excuse to Romeo, the urgency in his voice betraying his need to flee from the suffocating scene unfolding before him.

Finally stepping out into the cooler night air, Javier takes a deep breath to soothe his frazzled nerves. He makes his way towards a gazebo that’s right by the large pond, putting as much distance as he can between himself and the party inside.

Leaning against the railing of the structure, he retrieves his trusty pack of cigarettes from his pocket, hands trembling slightly as he lights one. Each drag offers a fleeting moment of respite from the turmoil brewing inside him.

Inside, the song ends and she wastes no time in descending the stage, a sense of urgency propelling her movements. She refuses to linger, her mind consumed with the dread of another unwanted encounter with the mayor. Surveying the crowded room, she searches in vain for her father or Javier, but they’re nowhere to be found amidst the sea of faces.

Determined to escape the party atmosphere, Paloma makes a beeline for the exit, craving the solace of the summer night air. Stepping out onto the back porch, she inhales deeply, the breeze offering a welcome reprieve from the stifling heat of the event.

The night is alive with subtle sounds—toads croaking in the distance, the distant murmur of conversation—but it’s the solitary figure in the distance that captures her attention. With a sense of inevitability, Paloma finds herself drawn towards the silhouette, her heels clicking softly against the pavement as she descends the steps leading to the gazebo.

When she approaches, Javier remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the tranquil expanse of water before him. The rhythmic puff of his cigarette punctuates the silence, a tangible barrier between them. Despite the tension hanging in the air, Paloma presses forward, her resolve unyielding as she closes the distance between them.

“We need to talk.” 

He stands like a statue, the weight of her words are heavy, yet he remains resolute in his silence, hoping that she’ll simply give up and leave him be. But Paloma is nothing if not persistent, her frustration bubbling over as she confronts him.

“Fuck, Javier will you at least look at me?! Acknowledge that I’m standin’ here tryin’ to speak with you?!” Her voice crackles with pent-up emotion, her southern accent thick as each word is laden with an intensity that he can’t ignore.

Reluctantly, he turns his head slightly, his gaze skimming over her figure with resignation. It’s a small concession, but it’s enough to stoke the fire of her frustration to new heights.

“I dunno why you’ve decided to be such a jerk to me all of the sudden,” she continues, her tone laced with a raw edge of hurt and confusion. “You’re tellin’ me that I’m bein’ childish a-and that I need to move on from the kiss but we both know it’s so much bigger than that. We’ve been dancin’ around it since the moment we met and I’m tired of pretendin’ like I don’t want you.” 

His eyes close briefly, a fleeting moment of vulnerability before he retreats behind his stoic facade once more. His fingers find their way to the bridge of his nose, pinching tightly as he struggles to find the right words to respond. But before he can form a coherent thought, she presses on, her voice trembling with the weight of her confession.

“I told myself I wouldn’t care if you didn’t feel the same way,” She admits, her voice growing softer now, tinged with a hint of desperation. “But that was before I got to know you. Before you somehow wriggled your way into my heart and overtook my mind entirely. We became friends, and I-I didn’t want to screw that up. But then we kissed, and in that moment, I knew you wanted me just as badly…” 

She draws closer, her hand reaching out tentatively to rest on his shoulder, the touch sending a jolt of tension through his body. It’s a silent plea, a manifestation of her vulnerability, and it’s all he can do to keep his composure still as her words wash over him like a hurricane.

“Every time I see you I don’t want to behave, Javi. I’m tired of being patient, so let’s pick up the pace and finally give in.” 

He flicks his finished cigarette out into the water, the ember trailing like a shooting star before disappearing into the dark abyss below.

Slowly, he turns to face her fully, the summer air crackling with tension as he takes in her determined stance. His hand shoots out, grabbing hold of the wrist that had just been resting on him, his dark eyes boring into hers in an act of intimidation.

But Paloma doesn’t back down, her gaze unwavering as she meets his stare head-on. Instead, she brings her free hand up to rest against his chest, the heat of her touch seeping through the fabric of his shirt as she steps closer, closing the gap between them until his dress shoes are toe-to-toe with her pointed heels.

He doesn’t make an effort to step away or decline her advances, his resolve crumbling in the face of her determination. Her words have jumbled him up completely, the sudden revelation of her feelings catching him off guard and leaving him reeling. The direct mention of what they’ve been indulging in for the past few months digs into his achilles’ heel—his tendency to fall in love in the damndest of times.

He stares down into her eyes, a storm of conflicting emotions raging wildly. The lust swirling in her gaze stirs something primal and raw within him. Any rational part of his brain seems to shut down in that moment, his thoughts consumed by the overwhelming desire to kiss her again, to lose himself in the exhilarating whirlwind of emotions that she evokes from him.

“It’s obviously insane, m’not a fucking idiot I understand the repercussions…. but we both know what we want, so why don’t we…” She whispers, tilting her head up until their lips brush against one another.

“Why don’t we fall in love?” 

It’s not clear who makes the first move, but their lips are interlocked in a passionate kiss—a fierce collision of desire and pent-up longing that surpasses the one they had previously shared. Paloma’s hand on his chest clenches the fabric of his shirt while Javier relinquishes his grip on her wrist, his own hands rising to cradle her jaw in his palms.

The taste of the lingering cigarette smoke mingles with the faint bitterness of alcohol on his breath, a heady combination that heightens her desire. She moans softly into his mouth, her tongue intertwining with his in a desperate attempt to savor every fleeting moment before it inevitably slips away.

Javier, consumed by the intoxicating sensation, slowly walks her back until her back is against the sturdy pillar of the gazebo, his movements now possessive and urgent. He deepens the kiss, molding his body against hers as if to merge their souls into one.

Her touch is addicting, a bittersweet symphony that resonates in the depths of his bones. Despite the warnings screaming in the recesses of his mind, urging him to stop and pull away, he finds himself unable to resist the magnetic pull she exerts over him.

Breaking the kiss, Javier’s lips trail down the side of her mouth, blazing a trail of heated kisses along her jawline before descending to her neck. His teeth graze her delicate skin, resisting the urge to leave a trail of marks in their wake as his tongue traces a path along her neck and up to her earlobe, where he bites down gently.

“Is this what you wanted, nena? For me to shower you in my fucking attention?” He husks, his voice thick with desire and a hint of frustration. His words swim between them, a question laced with layers of longing and palpable need, as he continues to lavish attention upon her neck, each kiss and caress fueling the flames of their mutual desire.

Paloma just whines, arching herself into him as her thighs rub together to relieve the tension of arousal that is assaulting her core.

“Yes, Javi, that’s all I want. I want you to talk to me, to touch me, to make me feel good.” 

Her hands are now against his broad shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his suit jacket as she feels the muscles beneath tense at her touch. A low, guttural groan escapes his lips in response to her words, a primal sound that sends shivers down her spine.

“I can make you feel good, hermosa. Better than any fucking culero (asshole) in this town.” He murmurs, his voice dripping with possessiveness. With deliberate intent, Javi begins to hike up her long dress, the fabric yielding easily to his touch until it’s gathered at the top of her thighs, exposing her black, lacey panties. His hands roam lower, trailing a path of electricity along her skin until they find purchase behind her thighs, gripping the soft skin firmly as he effortlessly lifts her into his arms.

She wraps her legs around his waist, anchoring herself to him as he hoists her up against the solid pillar of the gazebo. She feels his hardness pressing up against her clothed cunt and it has a sharp pang of pleasure sprouting at her core, igniting a fierce heat to course through her entirely. His touch is addicting, sending waves of ecstasy rippling through her body as she surrenders to the intrinsic urgency of their shared horniness.

The pure conviction in his tone only adds to the intensity of the moment. She wants nothing more than to be completely ruined by this man. She wants to be his, and his alone.

Javier grinds his hips up, the friction between them firing up every nerve ending. Her pussy throbs with need, aching for more of his touch. She can feel every inch of him pressing against her, his hard cock straining against his pants, begging to be released.

As their bodies move in perfect harmony, she wraps her fingers in his hair, tugging at it lightly. His lips move from her neck and crash against hers, a wild, passionate kiss that leaves them both panting for air. It grows more frenzied, their teeth clashing together in a desperate and selfish need for more. She moans into his mouth, the sound sending a jolt of electric arousal straight to his cock. He grinds harder against her, his hips moving in rhythm with hers.

She can feel her orgasm building, a fierce heat blossoming at her pussy. Her whimpers turn to animated moans as she writhes against him. The last time she dry humped someone to completion had been way back in high school and that had been an overall embarrassment so it’s never something she revisited.

Not until now, with Javier who is making her feel like she’s the only girl in the fucking world.

His fingers expertly cup her breast, teasing her hardened nipple through the fabric of her dress. She arches her back, pressing her chest into his hand, silently begging for more. He takes the hint, groping her and squeezing it gently, relishing in the way she shudders.

Her eyes close in ecstasy as he continues to knead her tit. His other hand trails along her inner thigh, inching closer and closer to the heat between her legs. When he finally reaches her core, she gasps, her body trembling with need. He doesn’t touch her, instead he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of her thigh.

“If this is what you wanted so fucking bad then go ahead and take it, needy girl. Go on, make yourself cum by grinding that wet pussy all over me.” 

She mewls, throwing her head back as she feels her orgasm building. She’s such a sight to bear witness to, how her swollen lips part and his name slips from her tongue like a hymn, making his cock twitch.

Her wetness seeps through her flimsy thong, leaving a damp spot on the fabric of his dress pants. He can feel it seeping through the material and it drives him mad. He needs to be inside her, to feel her walls fluttering around his cock as they finally give in to each other…

But first, he wants to watch her unravel just like this.

“I’m close, Javi…” His lips hungrily devour the tender flesh of her neck again, making her eyes roll back as their hips continue to move at a sensual pace. The metallic zipper of his pants brushes against her sensitive clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body. She can’t help but cry out in sweet surrender, her voice louder than before.

His large hand clamps over her mouth, preventing her screams from echoing out.

“Don’t get us caught, chiquita. Wouldn’t want your daddy comin’ out here and findin’ you like this–– all cockdrunk and begging to be fucked.” 

His dirty and abrasive words are like fuel to the flames of her impending climax, sending her spiraling out of control. Her rhythm stutters, her body writhing uncontrollably as she bites down on the skin of his palm as the orgasm overtakes her entirely.

All that can be heard is their heavy, shared pants. His hand falls from her mouth as she falls limp in his arms, her body jolting every now and again with the aftershock of her intense orgasm. 

She peppers tender kisses along the bare expanse of his jaw, silently berating him for having his shirt buttoned up for once and the pesky tie restricting her from licking and biting against the tantalizing skin of his neck and collarbone.

“Need… need to feel you, Javi, please.” She whines against his ear, her hands trailing down from his broad shoulders, over his chest, then down to his belt buckle. She can still feel the swell of him pressed up against her sopping cunt and despite just coming hard; she’s craving to feel all of him.

This is the pivotal moment where he knows he should exercise restraint, where the noble path of virtue beckons him to rise above the consuming tide of desire. To explain to her that they can and never will be anything but an unattainable fantasy.

But he doesn’t, instead Javi lets her untuck his dress shirt from his pants and helps her with unbuckling his belt.

“We shouldn’t do this, Paloma…” Is all he can say in an attempt to keep it from happening but she shushes him, her hand slipping beneath his boxers as she wraps her manicured fingers around his girth and begins to pump him slowly.

“Mierda,” He curses in Spanish, his forehead falling gently against hers as his eyes flutter close at the overwhelming feeling of her softer, smaller hand jerking him off. Her thumb glides over the tip, spreading his excessive precum over the length of his cock.

“But we want to… oh you’re so big Javi. Gonna be feelin’ you for days…” She sounds like something out of a wet dream and he simply can’t hold back any longer.

He instructs her to grab his wallet from his suit pocket and to retrieve the condom he keeps in there, receiving a playful eye roll from her but she doesn’t push her luck–– she needs him badly and she’d go absolutely feral if he decided to deny them both the pleasure of fucking.

His strong hold on her keeps them secure against the pillar, she rips the small package with her teeth then pushes his pants down enough to release his erection, rolling the latex on easily.

There’s a moment where suspension hangs in the air, both of them staring into each other’s lust blown eyes.

“Don’t think about it too much, please. Just fuck me.” 

Her insistence is such a turn on, spurring him into reaching down to ball up the thin layer of her panties before he yanks them off, the sound of the fabric tearing apart causing her to gasp. Stuffing the ruined material into his back pocket, he readjusts his hips so that the thick head of his cock presses up against her exposed and puffy folds.

“Such an impatient little thing, hermosa. I shouldn’t even give you what you want. Should just walk away and leave you here a desperate and wet mess.” 

Gripping onto the base of his cock with his free hand, Javier nudges it between her slit and teases her, the head repeatedly brushing against the pearl of her clit.

Her breath hitches, rolling her hips to entice him into entering her, “Please, Javi, I’ll do whatever you want just plea–– oh f-fuck!” 

He sinks into her pussy, leaning forward to bite down on her shoulder to keep his own sounds of pleasure at bay as he feels the way her fleshy walls contract around his cock, stretching her with how thick he is.

Her fingers return to intertwine themselves in his hair as he begins to set a delicious pace, fucking into her with a passion that’s making her see stars. The feeling of his teeth digging into her skin is an added stimulant to the already immense pleasure.

“Damn it you’re so tight. Feel so good wrapped around my cock, pretty girl. You satisfied now that I’m giving you what you want, huh?” He grunts out, nipping at her jawline as all she does is keen and moan, too overwhelmed with how good he’s making her feel. “Spoiled little thing, gonna fuck that right out of this tight little body. So you can learn, fuck, learn how not to be such a fucking pain in my ass.” 

She’s too wrapped up in the feeling of him brushing up against her cervix to fully process what he is saying against her skin. Their lips slant over each other as they kiss messily, the way he fucks her making her brain melt.

There’s no thoughts up there, just the feeling of him as he continues to break her open with his delicious cock.

His hands fall down to her waist, holding on tightly as he goes from languid thrusts to a quicker, more brutal pace as they chase their orgasms.

She’s glad that they’re far away enough to where no one can interrupt this moment, though the idea of there being an onlooker does entice her more than she’d ever admit. 

Her legs tighten around his waist, the pointed heel of her shoes digging into his backside as she feels a knot forming at the pit of her stomach, indicating that she isn’t far from coming undone.

“C’mon nena, be a good girl and let go,” His thumb finds itself being pressed against her soft lips and immediately she opens her mouth, licking around then sucking the digit and maintaining eye contact through it all. It has Javier grunting out a few expletives before letting his saliva coated thumb drop between them, rubbing tight circles against her clit.

This has her clenching around him and crying out, which causes a smirk to tug at his lips as he puts more pressure onto her clit.” Tan bonita así, toda lista para mi. (So pretty like this, all ready for me)” 

She tugs harshly at his hair at the sound of his Spanish, her arousal topples over and her second orgasm hits her like toppling bricks. She squeezes his cock tightly inside her, her legs an iron grip on his waist as she bites down harshly on her bottom lip, almost drawing blood, to keep her intense whimpers and moans from spilling out and drawing attention to them.

Satisfied that he’s made her unravel on him, Javier fucks her through her orgasm relentlessly until he’s spilling into the condom, burying his face in her neck, right where he can feel her pulse, and grazing the skin with his teeth. He wants to leave a mark, for her to walk around with evidence of him on her body but that’d be a wrong move atop of all the other wrong moves he’s made tonight.

Paloma breathes heavily, mind hazy as she tries to recollect herself from the throes of passion bestowed upon her by Javier Peña. They stay there, embraced in one another before he pulls out of her with a grunt and she whines at the loss of him.

Her legs unwrap from his waist as he tentatively sets her down, discarding of the condom into the water as he tucks himself back into his pants and she pulls her dress down, not even bothered by the fact that he ripped her underwear right off of her.

“That was a mistake.” 

His statement cuts through the night air and she’s already struggling to catch her footing on wobbly legs, the effect of being fucked hard and good.

“Javi––” 

“No, Paloma, I’m fucking serious.” He asserts, his voice taking on a sharp edge, landing like a heavy blow on her already rattled nerves.

“All that sentimental bullshit you were saying before… it means nothing to me. You’re just a distraction–– a pretty face that’s been keeping me from doing my damn job. Now, there’s another life lost, and instead of finding answers, I’m too busy babysitting you.” 

“Don’t you dare pin your incompetence on me, Javier,” She shoots back, her tone tinged with anger and frustration,” I’ve seen my father struggle with this bullshit for months now–– it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with you. S’not my fault you’re not as clever as everyone thinks you are. All the praise you get for being such a fuckin’ hero and yet… look at you. Unable to meet the expectations.” 

She adjusts the thin straps of her dress back up her shoulder, wincing slightly as she brushes against the bite mark he accidentally left against her skin, knowing that she’s going to feel that atop of the soreness between her legs after this.

She braces herself for the inevitable discomfort that will follow, both physically and emotionally.

Javier’s jaw tightens, muscles rippling beneath his skin as he fights to maintain his composure. He knows better than to let her words get to him the way that they are.

This is exactly what they need, some intense fight to fully shatter the illusion of their involvement.

“Look at you, Paloma,” He sneers, his words dripping with contempt as he levels a scornful gaze at her. “Throwing yourself at me every chance you get like a whore. I used to pay for shit like this, but you? Oh, I didn’t spare a fucking dime. Giving it all up for free.” 

Her jaw drops, a surge of anger and indignation flooding her senses as his words cut through her like a knife. She raises her hand instinctively, intent on delivering a stinging rebuke in the form of a slap across his jaw. But before she can make contact, his grip tightens around her wrist, arresting her movement with an iron grip.

“Don’t be stupid, querida,” He mocks her, his voice laced with disdain as he delivers each word like a venomous dagger. “Now that I fucked you one good time: Leave. Me. Alone. How ’bout you go back inside and fraternize with the mayor. I’m sure he’s eager to give you all the male validation you’re clearly chasing after.” He tilts his head, glaring at her in contempt. “Better yet, run off to your junkie, criminal boyfriend; won’t be long before he knocks you up and you’re stuck living in a run down trailer park in this shitty fucking town.” 

Paloma’s heart shatters at his callous words, tears welling up in her eyes and streaming down her cheeks unchecked. She gazes up at Javier, but the man before her is no longer the sweet, charming figure she thought she knew. His eyes, once warm and inviting, now glint with coldness and malice, rendering him unrecognizable to her.

“Fuck you,” She spits, wrenching her hand free from his grip with a mixture of anger and hurt flashing in her eyes. Despite the tears welling up, she summons every ounce of defiance to shoot him a disdainful glare. “You’re a piece of shit, Javier Peña.” 

With those final words, ones he’s heard a plethora of times before, she whirls around, her footsteps echoing loudly on the wooden stairs as she races to the nearest bathroom.

Ignoring the throbbing ache between her legs, she finds solace in the confines of the lavish restroom, allowing herself to unleash the torrent of tears pent up inside. Feeling foolish and utterly used, she wonders how she could have ever fallen for a man like him.

Meanwhile, Javier is left grappling with the sight of her heartbreak now etched into his memory. Pushing aside his own conflicted emotions, he knows he can’t afford to let their tangled affair distract him any longer.

This is what you both needed. He reminds himself, looking out into the water as the silver moonlight reflects off of the surface. Harsh, but she’ll get over it.

With a resigned sigh, he retrieves another cigarette, the familiar ritual offering a fleeting sense of calm amidst the storm raging about.

[avalonia320]

Claudia's Revenge

It's officially October in 13 minutes here so I'm posting an excerpt from the next upcoming chapter of my IWTV fic, Darkest Before the Dawn. The Ghost Claudia storyline is starting to rev up and I'm getting excited to write it. Plus bonus Daniel!

***

Louis du Lac! You there? 

Daniel, he smiled as he opened the door. It’s about time. He hesitated a moment, taking a deep breath. Actually, it’s sooner than I expected. I thought your research would take longer. What have you found?

He could feel the hesitation before Daniel spoke. Louis, we need to do this in person. Why the fuck are you still in New Orleans? 

Louis could feel himself tensing as he walked inside. What did you find, Daniel?

Let’s talk about it when you get here. I’m in L.A. You could be here before dawn if you head to the airport now.

I can’t. I have…things going on. Tell me what you found.

Daniel sighed extra heavily for his benefit. It seems you may have been right.

Louis closed his eyes. How many?

Dammit Louis, I’m worried about you.

How many, Daniel? 

A resigned groan. 196 deaths that I could verify. There’s probably more, but the records are gone, or families didn’t want the stigma associated with their loved ones death.

You found almost 200 deaths that you could connect to the Theater des Vampires over 70 years ago in a three day period? While you’re on a press tour?

Daniel snorted. Don’t underestimate my investigative abilities.

Oh, I’ve learned the folly of that already. Nor would I doubt your connections at the Talamasca. Louis smiled despite himself.  I thought they were trying to cut you off. Something about you prying where they didn’t want you to.

Yes but my source is not above a little bribery. Which was not cheap, by the way. Turns out the Talamasca had the same thought you did, but only about fifty years earlier. They had a whole file.

I see. What was the common denominator?

The deaths are all within a year after the trial. They’re also all eerily similar. A rash of suicides or homicides, depending on whatever conclusions the local investigators came up with. Same MO for each one. Each victim had slashing wounds and died from severe burns. Only ones that were different were an Army transport carrier that crashed upon takeoff with 15 soldiers returning to the US from Paris. It was confirmed the troop had visited the Theater des Vampires the week before. It was covered up, of course, blamed on a mechanical failure, but the truth is, the bodies that were recognizable enough to be examined all had severed Achilles tendons. The plane caught fire on impact. Coroner concluded most of them lived through the crash, and some could have survived if they had tried to get out of the plane. They didn’t. They sat there and burned to death. Internal reports blamed severe PTSD that caused some kind of mass psychosis. 

Claudia, Louis whispered.

Claudia, Daniel confirmed.  I’ve got to be honest, Louis. This is freaking me the fuck out. 

She told them she’d kill them all, Louis was still whispering more to himself than anyone else.

Yeah, well there’s certainly the argument that they all had it coming.  

I knew it was real. I knew she was still here, Louis stood up and began to pace the room. I think I’ve found a way to talk to her.

Talk to her? Why the hell would you want to do that? Louis, I’m serious. Let this go. If it’s been 70+ years and she hasn’t shown up in your bathroom mirror yet, I think you’re safe. Maybe it’s just what she needed to do to rest in peace. My suggestion is you let her continue to do so. 

She’s not resting. I’ve seen her. 

Fuck me, Daniel groaned even more loudly.  Every time I think you couldn’t possibly say something more horrifying, I’m sadly proven wrong. What the fuck do you mean, you’ve seen her?

Exactly that.  She’s here in New Orleans. She led me to someone who can help.

Please tell me it’s an exorcist.

Not exactly. She’s a waitress. Her name is Lillie.  She can see ghosts.

A waitress named Lillie that can see ghosts. There was a thumping noise and Louis was pretty certain Daniel was banging his head into something. I hate this for you. No, you know what?  I hate this for ME. The girl was scary enough when she was only a vampire. Slap ‘vengeful ghost with mind control powers’ on top of that and it gets exponentially more terrifying.  You’re gonna unleash her and somehow manage to survive the fallout just like you do everything else and I’m the one who’s gonna get Bloody Mary’d by Ghost Claudia. 

Nothing’s going to happen to you, I promise. 

Yeah, I distinctly remember you saying that to me several times before. If Claudia kills me, bet I’m coming back to haunt your ass.

[innerchorus]

Arslan Senki Chapter 128 (Part 1)

We've finally reached it. The Worst Coronation Ceremony in the World. As I'd hoped would be the case, it's a split chapter, with the first half sticking with Team Arslan before the second half moves to Ecbatana to focus on Team Hilmes.

The chapter opens with the gang sitting around a campfire.

An owl... Do Team Zahhak have someone watching them? Are we going to see that someone report back to the Master soon about how Prince Arslan now has Rukhnabad? Yeah sometimes an owl is just an owl but this really has Team Zahhak vibes.

Arslan trying to ask Don Ricardo to hand Rukhnabad to him, realising he doesn't speak Parsian, and then... managing to speak some fragmented Lusitanian? 👌 I love that he's been learning this and is willing to try instead of just asking Estelle to translate.

Who wouldn't immediately hand over the sword that saved your life upon seeing this face, amirite?

(Obviously, it worked. Totally disarmed, Don Ricardo gives Arslan the sword.)

Anyway now we have RUKHNABAD PLOT TWIST, because Arslan can't draw the sword. And while he's all 'welp, looks like I don't have the right to wield it!' Gieve is absolutely fucking enraged by the fact that Hilmes could draw the sword and yet Arslan can't. Gieve = not the greatest fan of Kaykhusraw's judgement, lmao.

The next section is interesting. After things are briefly disrupted by the tremors of an earthquake that soon dies down, discussion continues, and despite Arslan's recognition that his bloodline gives him no right to the throne, he's not backing down.

This panel... The fact that the (harmless) earthquake started up right when Gieve was trashtalking Kaykhusraw, lmao. Feels like the Hero King's spirit was putting Gieve in his place, ahaha.

The fact that he says this while looking down at Rukhnabad... I think this panel is conveying not only that he's not prepared to give it (and Pars) up to anyone else even if they can wield it and he can't, but also that the sword's function as a (protective) object of importance to Pars is more important than having it in his possession.

Is it possible that he will try and return the sword to Kaykhusraw's mausoleum instead? Sure, Zahhak is out already but maybe it will quell the earthquakes. This would set up nicely for a scene that is the inverse of Hilmes taking Rukhnabad from the sarcophagus, where Arslan instead tries to replace it and in the process of doing so proves himself worthy of wielding it.

And if Team Arslan try to place it in the sarcophagus itself (assuming they can still access it after the big earthquake back then?) they'll see the absence of Kaykhusraw's body and understand it has become a vessel for Zahhak.

(I feel like I want that realisation saved for Hilmes, though. He's seen Kaykhusraw's remains before, and I want him to see them again and realise what he's done... Sure, multiple parties can come to the same conclusion but I feel like that would be a great one off moment of 'oh FUCK')

That's the first half of the chapter. You know what, I'm going to split my post into two parts, so stay tuned for the next one.

[xmorguekittyx]

Ever Unlocked

Part 1: Grey Skies and Blue Eyes

Part 2: Caution to the Wind

Officer!Leon Kennedy x Coroner’s Assistant!reader

warnings: none for this part!

i’m hoping to add more parts in the future, this will be a slow burn series and something’s have been changed to fit my story line!

this is my first real fic, i’m still new to this so plz be kind 🖤

Her head snapped up, black hair sliding down her lab coat covered shoulders, grey eyes training on the dark oak door to the Coroner’s Office. “Come in.”, her voice was soft and a little raspy from not having spoken much in the past few hours, or taking a sip of the water she’d let all the ice met from. Her eyes caught the blond fluff of hair, one she’d spent minutes watching. Her cheeks lighting up slightly from the thought. “Officer Kennedy.”, she greeted the young man, he was near her age, a fresh rookie from the academy, a nice mellow age of 21. “yes, ma’am.”, his boyish face lit up at her greeting, she was the only one to call him such, other officers just spoke to him as the rookie. which he was, he couldn’t complain but he did enjoy the formality, he loved his job, the career he had chosen and dedicated years to training for. “Do you have the autopsy report for a-“, his hands flipped open a case folder, his baby blues scanning the inked words, “Stacy McGrath?”, his brows furrowed, darkened by confusion. She couldn’t help but watch, her eyes drawn to the charm his boyish looks held, an air of innocence and eager willingness wrapped around his tanned skin.

“McGrath?”, her finger tapped at her chin, “didn’t she just come in yesterday, i’m not sure Rebecca got to her yet.”, her eyes filtered up to the god awful popcorn ceiling. “i can check really quick if you don’t mind the wait.”, she offered, her eyes meeting his. “yes, ma’am. i don’t mind at all, Chief Irons sent me to collect it, perhaps he hadn’t been informed she wasn’t seen yet.”, he rambled slightly, a nervous quiver to some of this words, his hand brushing his blonde locks back. “perhaps not, Rebecca called out today. She would’ve done it today or i could’ve but it’s been so backlogged today.”, she sighed, eyes drooping in an expressive way, lips curved down. “i heard we’ve gotten an increase in bodies.”, she could hear his tone become sympathetic, the rustling of his jacket sounding out as he shifted closer to her. “must be hard on you and her.”, his hand brushed her desk, her own brushing against the set of Ms, “i’m not seeing a report on her, i don’t think we got to her yet.”, she curled her fingers, “i’m so sorry, Officer Kennedy, maybe- could you come back tomorrow?”, it was already so late, Kitty could only finish typing her latest report.

“tomorrow.”, his head tilted into a slight nod, lips stretched into a shy smile. “i can come back tomorrow.”, his legs shifted, moving his weight from the desk to stand erectly. a tiny roll of his shoulders, alleviating some knot in his muscles. hand reached back over his shoulder to touch the aching spot. “hey.”, his eyes lit up, looking down at the girl, “it’s pretty late, when we’re you going to leave?”, his eyes were expressive. waiting expectantly for her answer. “probably around 11, i was just going to finish typing out this and then head out.”, she whispered, hands held in front of her, clasped together and wringing. “can i wait for you? i’d like to walk you out. Can’t let a pretty girl get blown away in the wind.”, his lips were parted in a cheesy smile, his eyes half lidded aimed at her.

———

She couldn’t focus on anything but him in the remaining hour, his little taps, boots hitting the floor in some tempo only he could hear. She’d told the officer that she would need to finish up her report before heading out into the storming weather and thus to her car and then the shitty apartment she had the joy of calling a home.

her eyes couldn’t help but flicker to the man, his chin down to his chest, his radio poking into his tanned skin as he crossed his arms over his RPD vest. his face tilted to her, unbeknownst to her he had fallen asleep watching her, he had been going on about “i can’t leave a woman to walk to her car this late at night alone.”, “what kind of man would i be if i didn’t offer to walk you to your car?”. it had made her giggle, her eyes crinkling as she let the airy sound fall from her lips.

now she sat, having been done with the report near 20 minutes ago. she didn’t want to wake the man yet, he had stayed later than he needed to just for her. the soft ticking of the clock was near drowned completely out as she watched his unconscious face, her eyes ghosting past the blonde locks that brushed his forehead. the lashes that sprouted from his closed eyes, the bridge of his nose down to his plump small lips and cleft chin. she felt a bit creepy- what if he woke up and thought she was some creep or something? she wanted to see those baby blues once more, to be stunned into the awkward mindset, afraid to move or speak in front of him.

thunder rolled, more so than it had earlier, Raccoon City was under a severe thunderstorm warning, a tornado watch and a flood warning. Leon didn’t want her to be caught in it alone, at least, if he was there with her, he could make sure she got where she needed to be safely, if she didn’t feel comfortable driving in such severe weather he was willing to drive her home. willing to do whatever she was going to ask. His eyes cracked open, during a particularly loud crack of lightening, one that lit up Kitty’s form, his hazy eyes catching hers on him. “oh-“, his arms tensed, stretching in that crossed position across his chest. “i didn’t mean to fall asleep, i’m very sorry.”, his gaze catching her, still in that propped up position at her desk. “you’re okay, i just didn’t want to ruin that beauty sleep.”, her tone playful and soft, eyes squinting as she smiled. “beauty sleep?”, his lips pulled back into an amused smile, eyes looking away from her. she would be able to pull that kind of expression from him. “i needed it.”, he nodded, legs stretching out, boots thudding against the wood flooring. “you done yet?”, his eyes moved to the black computer screen. “been done, actually.”, she admitted with a sheepish look, her hand rubbing up her opposite arm, the fabric bunching up at her hand. “like i said, i didn’t want to wake you up.”, she whispered, a content look to her, his presence was warm, despite the cold air of the police station.

“you should’ve-“, he was cut off by another loud strike of lightening. “seems like it’s gotten worse out there.”, his eyes danced across the dark office, to the window that illuminated with the remanence of the lightening. “under a few warnings.”, she informed, eyes on her now lit up phone screen. “we should probably go before it gets worse… i hope my breaks are good enough to work during this.”, she muttered, seemingly annoyed at the storm for stressing her drive home. “i could always take you home.”, Leon’s words left his lips before he could think about them. he wanted to make sure she was safe and it would give them more time… more time without the other officers or Rebecca interfering.

[trekscribbles]

The Bushwhack Job: Chapter Four

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three

(Disclaimer: This is a relatively rough draft and subject to change when I post to AO3. I'm just overly excited and want to share what I have.)

Three bodies had been recovered from the destroyed LanCast building.

It took several hours to discover that much. Nate had insisted they leave the hotel as Eliot instructed, falling back on one of the contingency plans the two of them probably talked about when they were alone in the bar. Parker didn’t ask. She didn’t want to think about worst-case scenarios.

Once secured in a new hotel across town, Hardison had done whatever he usually did to get their information, and came up with a police report of the accident.

Three bodies. No identification. Awaiting coroner’s report.

They took the news in silence. They climbed into Lucille in silence, they drove to the morgue in silence, and they entered the cold building in silence. Hardison and Parker donned their FBI disguises, with Nate and Sophie wearing the appropriately stricken expressions of worried loved ones. It was late, but the badges got them in, and an assistant met them at the door and led them to the lab where the autopsies were being performed.

“Special Agent Thomas,” Hardison said, flashing his badge to the medical examiner. “This is Special Agent Hagen. We’re invistigating the incident at the LanCast building.”

The medical examiner, whose nametag identified her as “Dr. M. Morton”, glanced at Nate and Sophie. “We haven’t been able to identify the victims yet. Are you hoping to find someone? I can only speak with immediate family.”

“Our son,” Sophie said in an unsteady voice. “He may have been inside the building when it—when it…”

Nate put a hand on her arm, and Hardison cleared his throat to bring the doctor’s attention back to him. 

“What can you tell us about the victims?”

“Not much, I’m afraid.” She gestured at the three bodies, which her assistant had hastily covered in white cloths. “The remains were badly damaged by the fire. They were all male, all aged late-twenties to mid-thirties.”

“Anything else?” Parker asked, her stomach dropping. “Height? Clothes? Anything they may have had on them?”

“These two are around 6’2”, 6’3”. This one is shorter, maybe 5’7”.” Dr. Morton indicated the body in the middle and frowned when Sophie gave a little gasp of dismay. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Does that match the description of your son?”

Sophie nodded, pale-faced and trembling.

Dr. Morton gave her a sympathetic look and lifted an evidence bag from the tray at the body’s feet. “We found this on him,” she said, holding it out to Sophie. “Do you recognize it?”

They all leaned in, and Parker felt the heat leave her body in a rush.

Eliot’s necklace.

Sophie’s knees gave out. Nate caught her as she fell, but she sank to the ground with her face in her hands, shaking. “It’s him,” she sobbed, her voice muffled. “He’s ours. It’s Eliot.”

A strange, distant buzzing sound filled Parker’s ears, and for a moment, it was all she could hear. Hardison spoke beside her, and Sophie went on crying, but the words were lost to the static hum inside her head. The doctor asked them something, and Nate stared straight through her as if she didn’t exist. He wasn’t old enough to be Eliot’s dad, but suddenly he looked it.

They can’t handle it, said a cold, detached voice in her brain. They’re falling apart. Who’s going to hold them together?

Eliot. But Eliot was gone, and Eliot couldn’t be gone, and it didn’t matter whether he was gone or not, because he wasn’t here.

Parker was.

She blinked, and all the noise slammed back into her, and her brain caught up to what Dr. Morton was saying.

“—so sorry I have to ask, but it would help if we could get a DNA sample to verify his identity.”

“Yes,” Parker said. “A DNA sample. I’ll just—this is a shock for them. I’m going to take them out and give them a moment.”

Dr. Morton nodded. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”

Parker glanced at Hardison, who was blinking at the body under the sheet, his eyes wide and wet. She put her hand on his shoulder to turn him away. “Sir,” she said to Nate. “Ma’am. Let’s go. We can talk outside.”

Nate looked at her, but there was a strange emptiness in his eyes that made her feel tiny and hopeless. “Sir,” she repeated. “Please come with me.”

“Sophie,” he murmured, breaking eye contact with Parker to crouch at Sophie’s side. “Come on, honey. Stand up.”

“I don’t want to leave him,” Sophie said, her voice thick and broken. “Please, he can’t stay here, not with these men. Please, can’t we—?”

Parker took Sophie’s elbow and pulled her gently to her feet, guiding her toward the door. Nate and Hardison followed, but Parker didn’t look back. She had to get them out. 

Eliot would get them out.

She brought them to the van, and took the driver’s seat after getting them safely inside. Hardison was crying now, too, but Nate sat in absolute, unmoving silence. She drove to the hotel, parked, waited for someone to open the door.

No one did.

“We don’t know,” Hardison said after a few minutes. His face was dry, but his voice still sounded uneven. “He could have lost the necklace. It doesn’t prove anything.”

Sophie shook her head, but had to try twice before she could get her words out. “He would have called. He would have found us if he wasn’t…”

Dead. The word slammed itself against the inside of Parker’s skull, over and over again like a security alarm she hadn’t accounted for.

Dead, dead, dead.

Adapt to the situation, the voice in her head said. First things first. Take care of your team.

She opened her door. Hardison followed her, helping Sophie from the back, but Nate stayed where we was in the passenger seat. Parker moved around the van to open his door, but he didn’t look at her.

“Go inside,” she said, her voice low and steady. “We’re not done.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said.

“Lancaster knew about us,” she said. “He set a trap for Eliot and me. We have to finish this, or he’ll keep coming after us. After Hardison and Sophie.”

He looked up then, his eyes still hollow, his hands loose in his lap.

“This is what Eliot would do,” Parker said.

Nate lifted one hand and set it over his face. He took a breath, two, and exhaled so heavily that his shoulders shook.

“What would Eliot say if it was one of us?” he asked.

Parker shook her head. “It wouldn’t have been anyone else.”

“What does it say about me that I couldn’t stop this?” Nate asked, and Parker heard the unspoken again in the way his voice hitched at the end.

“I don’t know,” Parker whispered. “But we need you. Lancaster is going to try again, and we need you.”

Nate nodded, dropping his hand once more. He stood unsteadily and followed the others across the parking lot toward the door.

Parker watched them go, slipping her hand into her pocket to remove the evidence bag she’d taken when Dr. Morton's back was turned. She opened it, picked out the necklace, and clasped it around her neck, tucking the cold metal charm under her shirt so it laid flat against her skin.

Then she followed what was left of her team inside the hotel.