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halcyone-of-the-sea · 6 months

Note

Congrats on 5k!!!

I love little off-duty tidbits about the 141. What they get up to when they’re not on a mission, what do they do for fun on base, what do they do in their private time etc.

—Count The Hours

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Collection of what the One-Four-One do on their down-hours with their Lovers] ❞

John Price: Reading ➺

It was no secret that John liked to indulge in quiet time whenever he got the chance. Always surrounded by soldiers and hurling orders eventually got to even the most skilled Captain—he was no different even if he’d been at this for countless years.

On the days when the silent sounds of the house were able to be appreciated for what they were: the running of the laundry, the small creak of the kitchen cabinet that needed to be oiled, and the sound of your soft humming, it was a sacred turn of events. Such mundane, and normally labeled nuisances, were an excellent backdrop for the words on the page of his book that flew from the paper. Scenes unfolded from times and places long past; everything was separate. A perfect way for the mind to unwind.

You pass by silently as John reads, kissing his forehead when he grunts in pleasure. The man lets his fingers brush your thigh as you move off to do whatever you wish. He knew you’d join him eventually.

Reading was good, but nothing quite beat the perfect distraction that was you.

John flips a page and absentmindedly itches at his beard.

Simon Riley: People Watching ➺

“I bet she works in a cafe,” you mutter softly. “Look at her clothes—those are cafe clothes. Gorgeous.”

Brown eyes blink at the woman in a long skirt and a neat blouse, coffee cup in hand as she walks the ground before disappearing around a bend.

“What are bloody ‘cafe clothes’?” Simon grunts, giving you a strange look from over his balaclava. The bench you two sit on is far removed into the trees of the park, and you smile as you lean into the man and intertwine your fingers with his, stealing his body heat.

“I can’t explain it,” you wave your free hand as Simon chuckles lowly. “Your turn.”

“Pick one for me,” he grumbles. You point to a man dressed sharply from across the path, bending down and tying his shoe as a child plays with their mother near a picnic basket and blanket. Your lips twitch into a smile.

“Accountant,” Simon says easily, squeezing your hand as he blinks slowly, casual with his guesses. “Child’s birthday—he’ll ‘ave to go in soon.”

“Really?” You chuff under your breath. Simon hums, vision sliding about as his thumb runs over your knuckles. “I guessed a hitman.”

The man at your side looks down once more. “You what?”

Johnny MacTavish: Hiking ➺

The both of you are covered in dirt and sweat, lying on your backs with your packs about a foot or so away; lungs working inside of your chests as you smile like fools.

“Remind me to let you carry me back,” you pant, chuckling as the form beside you rubs at his face—pushing back the grime. Nature is all around you two, the grass behind your bones and the open sky above your heads. Johnny and you rest for a short while on top of the hill, the wind picking up from the East but not so to an unmanageable degree.

It had been on a whim to come out here on such short notice, but it didn’t mean that it wasn’t enjoyable.

Johnny always made hiking trips enjoyable.

“Aye,” he laughs. “Don’t worry, Dearie, I’ll manage.” A moment of shared smiles passes between you two—you reach out and push at his cheek teasingly.

Johnny chuckles and grabs at your wrist, bringing it back and laying a firm kiss on the palm that leaves your already hot cheeks burning.

“Ready to keep going?” You’re asked delicately, those cobalt eyes crinkled with love.

“Oh, if I must,” you tease.

The man kisses you once more before standing, offering you a hand without a second thought through a gentle smirk.

Kyle Garrick: Cooking/Baking ➺

Kyle’s rolled-up sleeves are pushed back even more as he hums under his breath, the gentle jazz filling the room to mix with the scent of fresh bread and stew. You rest your head on the island table of your shared flat, watching as the man glances back at you and your arm pillow.

He chuckles.

“You don’t have to watch, Love.”

“Want to,” you mutter, eyes soft. The man’s smile turns sheepish as he glances away.

The man adds what he needs and says over his shoulder cheekily as you blink. “Well come on then, I’ll need you to taste test. Tell me what it needs.”

You chuckle and stand, walking over and sliding up beside him as Kyle takes a spoon and brings some of the broth to your lips. Your hand cups under the utensil, sipping it down.

You hum under your breath, glancing at him.

“It’s delicious, Kyle,” your fingers go to steal the spoon, but it’s moved away from you swiftly with a teasing tsk of his tongue.

“Ah, ah—it’s not done,” the man beams, kissing your cheek and putting the spoon down. “Patience, Love.”

“C’mon,” you lean into him, looking up into his face.

Instead, a kiss is pressed to your lips, making you melt as a hand comes to circle your waist.

Kyle leans back, smirking as he licks his lips.

“More salt,” he mutters, pulling back and disappearing into the pantry as you gape after his tall form.

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the-slasher-files · 6 months

Text

PLEASE DONT TAKE MY SUNSHINE AWAY

JOHNNY "SOAP" MACTAVISH FT. SIMON "GHOST" RILEY

Ok yall, here is the fic that fixes it lol. Ignoring canon with a passion and throwing this in it. Also im very obsessed with the sunshine nickname lol. Warning: heavy angst, inaccurate medical, soap almost dying... hope you enjoy 🔪🤍

MASTERLIST

The lump in your throat hadn't ceased since you received that phone call hours ago. Hands shaking, you packed an overnight bag that had become more Johnny's things than your own. He would need his favourite body wash- the one that would finally ease him as the sand flowed away. Johnny would want that stupid hair gel you had gotten as a sample. He said it made his mohawk withstand the Scotland wind and rain like no other. Your smile curled as a tear fell down your cheek when you piled in his favourite hoodie- "Y'know I've had this since I was 21, if I ever lose it, a piece of me will die, Bonnie" His thick fingers pulled slightly on the drawstring. Cobalt blues shifted from the SAS logo to your eyes with all the love in the world. He was your world, and all you could do was wait.

"Love," Ghost's timber trembled over the plane engines, "We are transferring him to Glasgow now-"

"T-tell me..." Your breath caught with a deep inhale as you tried to form a sentence, anything. "Tell me he'll be ok"

You were met with silence for a few beats before a sigh shook on the other end of the line. It held your shattering hope.

"Just- P-Please wait for me to text you with the details, okay?"

"Si-"

"Okay?" His voice was harsh with a grunt becoming the cold Liuentent, giving you the order to follow knowing just how much it hurt. He didn't mean to- he would never mean to.

"Okay..."

Rushing into the hospital, you saw him there. Shrouded in black under the blinding white, standing outside a door with arms folded and brown eyes lined red, looking into the abyss that was nothing. Lost somewhere in his mind, your voice broke him away. "Ghost!"

Like a shield, he became almost robotic in nature, functioning on fumes and fight or flight, protecting himself in and out— He couldn't lose the best man he's ever had. This was his fault and he could still feel the blood on his hands, the reak of copper, and the bits of brain matter that wanted to force their way out, only to be stopped by a dead man's hands.

Hollow eyes met yours, quickly looking away to look beyond you, not wanting to face the love of Johnny's life in this circumstance. It was like he didn't know you, pushing it all down even though Simon had become something of a brother to Johnny and a brother-in-law to you. You placed a gentle hand on his broad shoulder.

"He's stable, outta surgery, and sleeping. He won't wake for a while. " He breathed methodically, reaching out a gloveless hand to have you take Johnny's shining tags with a sick stomach. He left out the part where the doctor said that anything could happen. 'Stable for now' 'the swelling is a concern'

Sliding your hand down to meet his, the metal clicked between your shaking fingers, almost dropping them until Ghost curled your fingers delicately around the cold steel.

Your voice was barely above a whisper as you tried it out, "C-can I go see him?"

Simon nodded, still unable to see your pleading face as he turned the door knob allowing you inside. Adrenaline shuffled your feet inside the dimly lit room with Simon slowly slipping in behind you, an arm outreached in case your knees gave out, which they threatened to do.

Your eyes adjusted to the dark. Only one lamp and several monitors illuminated the small space. Lighting up Johnny's tan features; Swollen and bruised, his head was propped up on white pillows that had been stained with his blood before the guaze was changed. Mohawk obscured in white wrapping and blue eyes held shut, one starting to leak bruises beneath the soft lashes that lay on his under eye. You were unsure how your body carried to you to your husband's side, but your fingers carefully lingered, hesitant to touch, to break what had already been. After moments of hovering and your breathing held, your fingers lightly grazed the dark stuble on his strong jaw. Eyes flashing everywhere they could to gather and collect an inventory of what you could fix.

"Si— Simon, help me get him c-cleaned up." You sniffled, hands fluttering around each bandage looking for anything that you do. Pulling down the light sheet, taking in the scrapes and discoloration on Johnny's expansive chest, your breath increasing with each inhale— Panic setting it.

"I-I have to," you studdered, feeling a large body begin to pull your body away softly. "Simon. I—Help me clean him up, please—He, he has blood on hi—him, I"

"Love." Caring and warm hands turned you towards him, feeling your panic and trembling frame within his grasp. He knew too well what ran in your head.

"Simon, please. He's—He needs"

"Ssshhhh, I know, love..." Simon tucked your head against his chest, "I know... I'm sorry"

The flood came in your eyes, spilling onto Simon's hoodie as you began to sob. Months apart, promises, future endeavors, memories, and seeing a man so full of life laid out helpless made you break. "Ghost, he— Johnny needs to come home. He promised me, " You whined, gripping and beating on Simon as he stood still, hushing you with brown eyes firm on his brothers body.

Both of you lost track of how long you held each other in the dark. Just the sounds of slow, steady beeps, rain on the windows and soft breathing filled the space until a nurse came in. Without a word, the masked man grabbed a chair for you, placing it beside Johnny's bed and he hovered over the nurse intently. Every touch, every breath was protected.

"He is doing well so far. The body just needs time," The nurse spoke softly with a sympathetic smile, nodding to both before making her way into the labyrinth that was the hospital. And Simon followed, taking your keys to give you a moment alone and for him to get the bag you packed.

Your body released a sigh, one that you felt had been stuck for hours inside your burning lungs. It was just you and your husband. 8 months. Way too long without the love of your life by your side.

Whispering his name, you smiled with silent tears streaming your flushed cheeks. Grapsing his large hand in yours, it looked so small, even now with his fingers twitching slightly but muscles lax. Tracing every scar and vein, you picked away at the dirt lightly as you watched Johnny's face. So peaceful, calm under the bruises and bandages, the world seemed to cease to exist around you as you took in every twitch, every sweet inhale and breathy exhale. You were just thankful for him to be alive, to hold on just a little longer so the time would come, if it had, to hold him as you did.

You recall the memories gazed into pure azure pools, the room painted in honey as the morning sun graced you both in tangled sheets. His lips floated on your soft skin, the delicate nips to your collar bone left breathy moans falling from pouted lips. Promises he made to you as he worshipped "I'll always make it home to you." "I'm gonna be 'ere to protect you" "Never worry about me. I will fight to always be next to you"

"Come on, sunshine... Please" You pleaded to any god that was listening as you traced his knuckles with gentle kisses, tears following in the path.

"I'm 'ere." Blue eyes met yours with his signature smile.

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angelasscribbles · 19 days

Text

Behind Closed Doors Chapter 1: The Invitation

Series: Behind Closed Doors

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings for this chapter: Riley x Max, Liam x Max (he hopes)

Word Count: 916

Rating: R for mature themes

Warnings for this chapter: sex is alluded to

A/N: I teased this one a long while back. Finally had some inspiration for it, so here's the first chapter!

A/N2: This story explores a bit of relationship anarchy. Here's a link if you want to learn more.

Series Premise: Six people come together in a kaleidoscope of shifting boundaries.

My other stuff: Master List.

Riley’s eyes widened as her mouth fell open. “Wait…you want me to go to the palace with you?”

“Yeah,” Max nodded, “I need a wingman, Riley, and you’re really good at it!”

“But—”

Max took in her hesitation and a startling thought occurred to him. “Oh! Is this awkward because we…because of…”

“Oh, good god, no!” Riley threw her head back and laughed. It was a full-throated belly laugh. Her hand landed on his bicep as she leaned forward to catch her breath. “I love you, Max. Truly, deeply, madly, but as friends! You know that!”

“I know.” His fingers scratched at the freshly shorn hairline along the back of his neck as a flush raced across his face. “I just wanted to be sure…after what happened last month…”

Riley stepped closer and traced a finger across his lips. “I don’t regret it if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He shivered as her touch sent a sliver of desire sparking through him and, without much conscious thought, his arm shot out to pull her in even closer. “Does that mean we can do it again sometime?”

She laughed again as she gazed up into the cobalt-blue eyes that were as familiar to her as her own emerald-green orbs. Max had been her best friend since they met in a ridiculously overpriced private kindergarten.

Neville Van Couer, big for his age and just as disagreeable then as he was now, had yanked Max’s stuffed octopus from his arms and was holding it above his head, taunting him with it.

“Please give back Sir Inks a Lot.” Max’s trembling voice betrayed his fierce determination not to cry. “My mom gave him to me.”

“Oh, are you going to cry, little crybaby? It’s just a stupid toy. I tell you what—”

“Give it back.” A firm, uncompromising voice cut in.

Neville spun to find the interloper. His malicious grin widened when his eyes fell on the slight girl with the wispy brown hair. “And what are you going to do about it if I don’t?”

Without warning or preamble, the girl moved. She darted forward so quickly that Neville had no time to process what was happening. A sharp blow to his stomach sent him pitching forward, grabbing his midsection as the toy was ripped from his grasp.

“Here.” The girl thrust the plushie out to Max.

He wiped the moisture from his tear-streaked cheeks with one hand as he reached out for his beloved Sir Inks a Lot with the other. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She gave him a bright smile that washed all of his sadness away. “My name’s Riley. Want to play with me?”

“We can do it anytime you want.” She assured him. “It’s not like we’re not good at.”

Max smiled at the reference to their romantic and sexual past.

They had lost their virginity to each other in high school and spent six months exploring everything the other had to offer. Then Max had confessed to being bisexual and wanting to explore with other people. Primarily men. His relief when Riley had agreed to break up romantically but remain friends had been overwhelming. She was and remained the closest friend he had.

A month ago, they had gotten drunk and fallen into bed together. It had felt good, comfortable, and familiar. He loved her.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t in love with Liam and that’s why he needed her support at the upcoming Beltane Ball that the palace held every year.

His arms tightened around her. “So to be clear, you know I love you and you’re okay helping me try to get Liam’s attention?”

Her grin widened until her cheeks hurt. “Boy, yes. Did we or did we not discover relationship anarchy at the same time?”

Giddiness crashed through his chest. The idea that you could love people but still remain autonomous was brilliant enough. Add in the deconstruction of things like relationship hierarchy and mono-normativity and, well, it had been paradigm-shifting.

“Okay,” he nodded as relief washed over him. “I would never do anything to hurt you, Riley!”

“I know.” She leaned up and kissed him softly on the lips.

He melted against her for a moment, then drew back. Because he had to know for sure everything was okay between them. “Then why the hesitancy when I asked you to go to the ball with me?”

“Because I’ve never been to the palace, silly!” Her family was insanely wealthy, but not noble.

“Oh, yeah!” Max tended to forget the difference in their social status. Mainly because it didn’t matter to him. People were people and titles like Duke and Count meant nothing when it came to what kind of person someone was. After all, Neville was noble.

“Oh, yeah! I mean…what do I even wear? Do I need to know how to curtsy? What if—”

Max cut her off by jerking her back into his embrace. “Don’t worry, padawan. We have two weeks. I’ll teach you everything you need to know!”

“Great!” Riley bounced on her toes, excitement swirling through her midsection.

The palace! What an exciting adventure!

She threw her arms around him. “We could make a week of it! Go into the city. Shopping, dining, museums, the theater….”

He dipped his head toward her, his lips bare inches from hers. “Can we share a room?”

“Oh, we’re going to share a lot more than a room!” she assured him just before their lips crashed together.

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lawsend · 11 months

Text

Murder at Vista Heights Chapter 1

Series: Law’s End

Episode 1: Murder at Vista Heights

Fandom: The Royal Romance (loosely, there’s not much canon in here. I've just borrowed the names).

Pairings: None yet

Word Count: 2,524

Rating: MA

Warnings for series: adult themes, any given chapter may contain murder, violence, language, drinking, drug use, etc.

A/N: Thanks to @harleybeaumont and @karahalloway for prereading and bouncing ideas with me.

“Riley! Riley! Come here!”

Riley Brook’s head jerked up from the keyboard she’d been furiously typing on, her lush auburn brown curls bouncing freely, her deep emerald eyes wide. Her gaze darted from the source of the interruption, who was standing on the other side of the room waving his arms at her, to the coworker sitting at the desk across from her who looked completely disinterested as he lifted a shoulder and brought a sandwich to his mouth, lettuce and mayonnaise falling onto his desk.

Gross. That’s what the break room was for.

She carefully closed the lid of her laptop before walking across the newsroom. Goddamn if she was going to let any of these vultures scoop her story or copy her work.

“What’s up, Max?” she asked as she approached the over-exuberant freelance photographer who often hung around the office.

His cobalt blue eyes sparkled with excitement as he ran a hand through his short, russet brown waves and practically danced in place, “You told me to tell you if anything interesting came across the police scanner!”

Riley grabbed his arm, her fingers sinking in almost painfully as she glanced around the newsroom in panic. Dragging him into the empty breakroom, she glared at him, “Keep it down! It’s not a scoop if everyone knows!”

“Sorry! Sorry!” He lowered his voice and leaned closer to her, “The seventh precinct was just called out to investigate a homicide!”

“The seventh precinct?” Her eyes widened, “That’s Liam’s beat! Did you get the address?”

“Of course!” He dangled the keys to his midnight blue Chevy Tahoe in front of her, “We can take my car!”

She deftly swiped the keys right out of his hand, “Fine. But I’m driving!”

“But-“ he tried to protest but she was already striding for the door. He quickly gathered his equipment bag and stumbled after her.

Sliding into the passenger seat of his own vehicle, he glanced over at the woman in the driver’s seat, “It’s my car, Riley…”

“Don’t be a baby,” she admonished him as she put the car in gear and flew out of the parking garage, “Besides, I like to be in control.”

“Yeah….” His eyes tracked across her face then dipped down her body, a flush creeping across his cheeks before he turned toward the window, “Just try not to sideswipe anyone this time.”

“That wasn’t my fault!”

“Which time?”

“Any of them!”

Max wrapped his hand around the grab handle above the window and held on for dear life as the Tahoe careened around a corner, “You know the murder victim isn’t going anywhere, right?”

“I want to get there before that asshole Neville! He’s not scooping me again!”

“Okay….” Max squeezed his eyes shut and said a quick prayer as his vehicle jolted over a curb.

The Tahoe skidded to a stop in front of the Vista Heights apartment complex. Riley hopped out and made a beeline for the crime scene.

“Are we really going to just leave her in the middle of the street like that?” Max yelled after her.

Riley answered him over her shoulder without slowing down, “No one’s going to tow it right now. The cops have bigger fish to fry. Come on!”

He hesitated only briefly before grabbing his camera and scurrying after her. He glanced back at the SUV doubtfully, but the sight of Riley’s retreating back spurred him on. He could always bail out a towed vehicle. Riley never waited for anyone or anything.

He kind of liked that about her.

By the time he caught up to her, she was leaning over the caution tape as she tried to get anyone’s attention, “Excuse me? Excuse me?”

“Stay behind the tape!” a uniformed officer yelled at her.

“I know that…” she muttered as her eyes scanned the area until she spotted a familiar face, “Liam! Liam!”

Detective Liam Rys turned his gaze toward the crowd as a voice he knew all too well screamed his name. Shaking his head, he strode over to the caution tape with his lips pressed firmly together, “I’m at work, Miss Brooks. How can I help you?”

“Sorry, detective,” she gave him a look that was half repentant and half teasing, “I was wondering if I could get a comment, or at least the name of the victim.”

“You know better than that, Riley. This is an active crime scene.” There was a slight edge in his voice as his eyes flicked over her shoulder to take in Max as well, “You both need to get out of here. Wait for the press release, like everyone else.”

Riley tipped her head back to look up into his face. At five foot seven, she was tall for a woman, but he had a couple of inches on her. The tailored suit he was wearing fit him perfectly and gave away his family background of wealth and privilege. He wasn’t buying Armani suits on a detective’s salary. His raven hair was cut short, not quite military short, but close. His onyx eyes held several emotions, the primary of which was annoyance.

“Are you still mad?”

“I was never mad, Riley,” he glanced at Max then leaned forward so only she could hear him. His breath tickled her ear, “But fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. I’m not falling for your tricks a second time.”

Goose bumps cascaded down her spine at the memory, “It wasn’t a trick, Liam.”

“Hm,” he pulled back with a smirk, “Right. That’s why my case ended up on the front page of the Cordonia City Ledger the next day.”

“Coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences so move along.”

“But-“ she watched his retreating back with a frustrated exhale.

Max’s gaze swung from Riley to Liam then back again, “Whatever happened between the two of you anyway?”

Riley shrugged, “Nothing that wasn’t mutually beneficial.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning none of your business!”

“I was just-“

“Max, look!” she punched him in the arm as the body was wheeled out and loaded into the back of an ambulance.

Max brought the Canon EOS Rebel up and started clicking furiously.

Riley’s eyes swept around the crime scene, looking for anything that would help her identify the victim.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here? If it isn’t the scruffy underdog and her mangy sidekick.” The voice was like nails on a chalkboard.

Riley turned with disdain toward the biggest pain in her ass. Neville VanCoeur, the highest-ranking journalist at their rival publication, The Cordonia City Herald. He had curly, dirty blonde hair that he kept gelled so thickly to his head a hurricane wouldn’t move it an inch. His face was fixed in a permanent sneer unless he was on camera, and he’d had it out for her since day one.

Probably because she’d turned down both his sexual advances and his job offer. “Scruffy underdog isn’t the insult you think it is, Johnny Bravo.”

Max erupted into gales of laughter as Neville stiffened, “Who is Johny Bravo?” he sneered, making Max laugh even harder.

“Your long-lost twin, ass wipe,” Riley smirked at him before turning her back to scan the crowd, looking for a neighbor that might talk.

Neville’s response was lost as Riley made her way through the throng of onlookers, hoping for anyone that knew which apartment the murder had occurred in. No one knew anything.

She stomped her foot on the ground in frustration as her eyes fell on the spot the ambulance had been. “Hey, Max, I have an idea!”

Max listened and a mischievous grin spread across his face, “I’m on it!”

He quickly found Neville’s photographer and sidled up to him, “Dude! There’s a delivery entrance open around back! I got some amazing shots!”

“Really?”

“Really!”

The man’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, “Why would you tell me this?”

“Oh, am I not supposed to?” Max acted startled, “I’m new at this. I thought we all helped each other out like that! Isn’t that how it works?”

“Sure, kid. That’s how we do it,” the guy gloated, “Thanks for the tip!”

Max watched the photographer whisper to Neville who looked gleefully around before sneaking around the parking lot to the back of the building. He gave Riley a thumbs up.

Riley waited for Max’s signal, then found a uniformed police officer, “I’m sorry to interrupt but I just saw that reporter go around back. Aren’t they supposed to stay on this side of the caution tape?”

“Yes,” the man was obviously annoyed, “Thank you ma’am, we’ll take care of it.”

“Any time, officer,” she smiled disarmingly at him.

Riley and Max ran back to the Tahoe, giggling the whole way.

“That should keep him busy for a while!” She laughed as she climbed back into the driver’s seat.

“So, we can get to the coroner’s office first, I presume?”

“Of course!” She started the car and threw it in reverse.

“Be careful with Estelle!” Max yelled at her as the car went up onto the sidewalk.

“Sorry, sorry!” She put it in drive and made her way carefully away from the crime scene. Curbs were one thing, she didn’t want to hit a pedestrian, and the street was now full of onlookers.

They drove in silence until they were clear of the crowd. Max relaxed into his seat with relief, but it was short lived as Riley gunned it the moment they were back on open road.

“Jesus, Riley! I want to get to the coroner’s office as a photographer, not a body!”

“Have I ever killed you before?”

“No…but there’s a first time for everything!”

Riley was quiet for a moment, then her tone turned serious, “Can I ask you something?”

Max’s face lit up at what he thought was a change of subject, “Sure Riley, you can ask me anything!”

“So, I’ve been wondering….Why did you name your car Estelle? That’s an old lady’s name, isn’t it?” She took her eyes briefly from the road as he answered.

Max gave her a flirty wink, “I like older women.”

Riley rolled her eyes as she returned them to the road, “Grandma old?”

Max’s face fell, “No…no, that’s not what I meant!”

“How old are you, Max? Twenty? Twenty-one?”

“I’m twenty-three, Riley. I’m a grown ass man.”

“Sure you are.”

“I’m only five years younger than you, you know.”

“Only,” she snorted, “Five years is an entire college career and then some.”

Max let out a frustrated exhale as he shifted in his seat, “Whatever.”

They pulled up in front of a small, nondescript building situated behind a UPS hub and across from a warehouse in the industrial district. It was a squat, one story structure made of faded brown brick with a row of tiny windows stretched across the front and a red windowless door in the middle. Actually, the door was just off center, a detail made her want to knock it down with a wrecking ball.

“This building is depressing,” Max muttered as he climbed out of the Tahoe.

“You always say that.”

“It’s always true!”

“Considering what it is, that seems appropriate,” Riley responded as she made her way into the building and down the hall to the morgue, bypassing the reception desk which was thankfully empty.

“Come in!” a voice called in response to her knock.

“Hey, Dr. Lee!” Riley greeted the woman with the lab coat.

“I told you to call me Hana,” the doctor was shorter than Riley, with warm caramel colored hair falling to her shoulders, deep brown eyes and an upturned nose.

“Sorry…Hana…I was wondering if you knew anything about the murder at the Vista Heights apartment complex earlier today.”

“Just brought him in,” Hana swept her hand toward the body on the table, “the cause of death seems obvious, but you never know. All homicide victims are autopsied, as you know.”

“Who is he?” Riley craned her neck trying to get a better look. The man on the table looked to be in his mid to late forties with jet-black hair and sharp features.

Max hung back near the door. He had no desire to see the dead body.

“You know I can’t tell you that,” Hana admonished.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Riley shot Max a meaningful look, her eyes darting from his to a manila folder laying on Hana’s desk, before stepping closer to the other woman. With a slight pout, she reached out and rubbed a hand down her upper arm, “Forgive me?”

Hana flushed slightly as a shy smile spread across her face, “It’s fine, I know you’re just doing your job.”

“And you’re just doing yours. I respect that.” Riley’s eyes flicked over Hana’s shoulder as Max closed the folder and gave her a thumbs up. “You said the cause of death was obvious?”

Hana hesitated, “I really shouldn’t say…”

“I promise to keep your name out of it.”

“I mean…it’s going to be out there soon enough anyway. I don’t think it’s a huge secret that gunshots were fired just prior to 911 being called. That’s all I can really say.”

“Thank you!!” Riley knew about the gunshots because Max had heard that much on the police scanner. It was nice to have confirmation though. “We’ll let you get back to work!”

“Riley?”

She paused on her way to the door, “Yeah?”

“Are you going to be at the bar later?”

“The Beat?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Of course!” she grinned, “There’s been a murder! Where else would I be but the bar all the cops hang out at?”

“Okay, maybe I’ll see you there.”

“That would be awesome!” Riley gave her a wave then exited the room. The moment they were back in the car, Riley turned to Max and demanded, “Well?”

“Well, the victim’s name was Trenton Hayes, he was shot dead in his apartment.”

“Trenton Hayes…Trenton Hayes…” she searched her memory, “Isn’t he some kind of wall street tycoon?”

“Yeah, I don’t really keep up with that type of stuff.”

“Really?” Surprise pulled through her, “You’re a Beaumont.”

“Not a very good one,” he laughed humorlessly, “My contribution to the family empire consists of spending the money…”

“Okay….” She didn’t know what to say to that. She smacked him on the shoulder as she drove, “Well, look the guy up!”

“I am!” He swatted her hand away as he typed into his phone, “Oh, shit! I’ve seen this guy before!”

“Really? Where?”

“I took pictures of him for this PI I work with sometimes.”

“What? Why?”

Max shrugged, “I don’t know. He pays me to take photos sometimes, or hack into shit. I wasn’t following the guy; I was following the woman he met with!”

“Who was the woman?”

“Katie Sloan.”

“Wait! The wife of William Sloan? As in, the head of Sloan Enterprises?”

“Yeah, that’s the one!”

“Holy fucking shit! Who is this PI? We’re going to talk to him right now!”

“Walker and Son Investigations, it’s on Canal Street.”

“Hold on!” She yelled as she yanked the wheel and skidded into a U-turn, “Canal Street, here we come!”

#trr au #writeblr #maxwell beaumont #liam rys #drake walker #riley brooks #trr fandom #trr fanfic #the royal romance #no canon #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #trr au fanfic #crime drama #angelasscribbles #Law's End #laws end #cordonia city

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dcbbw · 4 months

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Get to Know Me!

Thank you so much for tagging me @queenmiarys, @ao719, @emkay512, @kristinamae093 !

These are going to be the most boring responses, but here you go:

Last song: take yr time, dad sports

Favorite color(s): turquoise, cobalt blue, heather gray

Last movie: Titanic

Currently watching: Bingeing Friends

Currently reading: These WIPs I’m writing

Sweet/Spicy/Savory: Can’t a girl have all 3?

Last thing(s) I googled: “is Pornhub banned in NC?” (researching for a friend)

Current obsession(s): Liam, these boots, Zaxby’s chicken tenders with the spicy Zax sauce

Currently working on: Here we go ….

Posting a completed fic

@choicesflashfics Jellybeans in the ass prompt

DC AU Mashup

Future Liam & Liv

Coronation Night fic (like we don’t have enough of those already)

Riley, The Single Duchess

Part 3 of Leo x Sav

The Trial of Anton Severus

Part 2 of One Night Stand

Part 9(?) of Object of Affection

Birthing the twins

A LOT OF OTHER STUFF

I will tag the following: @bebepac @angelasscribbles @camillemontespan

#not choices but kinda #ask game #get to know me

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fem-the-artist · 3 months

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For people who will be confused upon first, looking at these sketches with the names this is essentially the cast for my spidersona’s dimension

Known as dimension 10313 cause Halloween reference

since I am wrote a whole 24 page Google Docs of her lore, I also drew out all the important characters that show up in it

and because this is technically my own dimension for purely self indulgent reasons, pretty much every character got a design overhaul to suit how I use them in the story, as well as just personal preferences and design so none of them are based off any comic or MCU version of themselves. This is just me taking the concepts and ideas of them and suiting them to my own narrative

My sona being Jamie Stacy/ Spider-Rose

Jay Riley/Cobweb is @energeticpoltergeist

Saffron Parker/Cobalt Blue is @demon-of-lemons

#my art #spidersona #spider-rose #marvel #dimension 10313 #Jamie Stacy

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talonsaga-trash · 27 days

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While I admit to shorthanding the underground dynamic into “Wes and Riley o parenting a bunch of teenagers”, I think the dynamic is much more complicated, and Ember describing Riley as the underground’s “older brother figure” is more accurate. He’s much less a parent and much more the underground’s older brother who scraped and clawed custody out of their parent’s (Talon’s) hands, and he knows he’s underqualified but also knows that their parents are even worse, so he’s going to keep his shit together and try his best for as long as possible. And that’s a much more interesting dynamic, in my opinion.

#the talon saga #talon saga #riley | cobalt #I don’t know where Wes fits in in this metaphor #but then again when the underground is a found family not all metaphors are directly analogous

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moriavamp · 6 months

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Cobalt Eclipse ask for ye: do any of your OCs play video games? And if so what’re their favorites?

There's a lot of them who do so. Country people would probably die of shock at the sight of a computer, let alone a video game. Mana does play, he usually sticks to FPS games or things in that genre, and he plays games like Mario Party with his little sister Vera. He refuses to play any game with his wife because she will destroy him. Feo and Reva watch him play but don't usually play themselves. Mana can and will rage-quit anything and he's probably broken so many controllers I PROMISE HE'S WORKING ON IT. Python and Jackson both play RPGs or MMOs. Aura and Cass would play horror games together while Sadie stews in their own misery. Ophelia and her band like rhythm games, but Ophelia plays calming, quiet games with her wife on occasion. Mervyn likes games like Animal Crossing and Unpacking. Blanc plays shitty quality 2007 flash dress-up games. He really likes Gacha Life too. Liam plays the Sims and if he leaves for two minutes Lucetta will kill every single sim and then apologize when he breaks down. Fizz plays Minecraft. They can only build and Vera will fight for them.

Alyona and Kira play Overwatch together and Kira's actually shockingly good at it. (She's a healer.)

Ezra would only play those weird math games that are "make all the combinations of yada yada". Stef plays cozy games. Riley plays Stardew. March plays Undertale.

#cobalt eclipse #sapphire occultation

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cobaltaverse · 13 days

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Relationship’s In the cobalt-a-verse

Eliza and Nick: dating

Riley and Andrew: dating.

Kayla and Kasey: engaged.

Dave and Nikki: married.

Peter Murdoc and Michael loche: dating.

#cobaltaverse #ships

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 7 months

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Blue Violet

NAVIGATION || NIECE!READER MASTERLIST

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & Niece!Reader (platonic series)

SYNOPSIS: Trust. It was one of the many things that Simon Riley was constantly fighting a war with himself over.

WARNINGS: Angst, talks of death, blood, gore, fires, trust issues, many mentions from Simon's comic backstory, etc.

A/N: You'll need to read this drabble first to understand the plot!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Trust. It was one of the many things that Simon Riley was constantly fighting a war with himself over. Who to give it to—who he could believe wouldn’t put a knife into his gut or a bullet through his skull with little more than words shared.

Washington. Sparks. All that they had done….they’d ruined what little was left of his mind along with Roba’s torture. But Simon had already explained it before.

You can’t break something that was already broken a long time ago.

So, trust.

Trust.

It was easier said than done, but he was working on it. One-Four-One helped somewhat, but perhaps the one person who showed him that he could try to fix his own head was you. Tommy and Beth’s little daughter. Simon’s niece, who was now under his guardianship. You were the only one to survive the brutal murder of his entire family on that cold night, hidden away; a baby asleep without knowing about the blood staining the hardwood of the living room.

How does he explain to you that you were one of the few things keeping him from slipping off that edge? Easy.

He doesn’t.

Simon was never good with words, and soon, the trust of his fellow soldiers was going to be forced to a near breaking point.

“Who’s the guy with the mohawk?”

“Oh, bloody fuckin’ hell.”

You’re talking up a storm to Sergeant MacTavish, asking him what he does, what he specializes in, what he thinks of your Uncle and his horrible jokes—Simon glares at him, looming above your figure like a bear with his arms crossed.

Realistically, it wasn’t Johnny’s fault he was just at the wrong place at the wrong time, but hell if it didn’t make Ghost nervous. No one besides Price knew about you, and for good reason. Simon couldn’t take the thought of you getting dragged into this.

Johnny’s face is tight, eyes darting from you up into Simon’s deep browns every so often as if the Lieutenant was about to snap. Though, you were quick to point it out.

“Simon,” you huff over your shoulder, the man carrying the grocery bags in his arm. “Stop trying to light him on fire.”

“M’not,” his glare doesn’t loosen, and you wonder if he’d even blinked from the moment you had dragged him over to say hello to the Sergeant.

“That’s the same look you give me when I sneak out to the corner store to buy snacks.”

Johnny blinks in confusion, reaching a hand back to itch at his skull while his pack of Irn Bru is still swinging from the other.

Simon grunts. “An’ if you’d stop fuckin’ doing it, I’d stop lookin’ at you like that.”

The Sergeant graciously interrupts.

“Nice seein’ you, Lt.” Cobalt eyes blink as he clears his throat, looking down at you. “And..uh…”

You cheerily give your name, sticking out a hand and adding on easily, “Simon’s niece!”

Trust, Simon reminds himself, jaw clenching from under his balaclava.

Johnny chuckles, lips pulling back in a smile as he gently locks his much larger hand with yours.

“Good to know, Little Lady. Y’can call me Johnny, just like your Uncle, here.” A glance is tossed Simon’s way as you laugh. “You two live around here, then? Haven’t seen you ‘ere before.”

Your eyes spark, excited at the prospect of more friends. “Yea-!”

“Negative.” You blink, confusion poking your chest like a stick. Simon grabs your shoulder and you’re being paraded out of the doors of the Tesco swiftly.

“Simon!” your feet pad, skidding. “What the hell, man?”

The man glares ahead. “What I say about the shitty language?”

You shift out of his grip, flailing an arm with an annoyed huff stuck on your lips.

“You’re embarrassing, you know that? I wanted to talk to someone you work with!” Brown eyes swirl with dull amusement, and you can see his smirk from under his face covering as he continues walking forward down the street. “Why did you do that?”

“We don’t need people knowing where we live, yeah? Bloody give the address away while you’re at it. Only thing worse would be givin’ ‘em the keys.” You know there’s some life lesson hidden in this somewhere—some cautionary tale that you have no interest in learning from a ghost.

But Johnny had seemed nice, and it was hard to make friends when you two were always moving. Much less one of the men who worked with your uncle.

“Simon,” you growl and hurry after, Johnny left alone in the building blinking at the doors. The highly confused Sergeant shakes his head and mutters under his breath with a growing headache.

“Imagine that.”

A shocked chuckle spills out, and he slowly heads to the check-out aisle.

When you and your Uncle get back to your flat, you still have layers of steam coming out of your ears, even as you get told to help put the food away. You grasp the bag of crisps and toss them to the counter, Simon sliding you a side glance as he washes his hands.

Flicking off the water droplets, he huffs.

“You’ll break ‘em.” Your lips stay firmly shut until many minutes later.

“Why don’t you trust people?” By now supper had been started, your body standing in the doorway as you had fought on whether to go to your room or stay here and talk. Your own stubborn nature held out; you often thought you got that from Simon if no one else.

The man in question freezes as he is about to open the fridge, eyes staring blankly at the metal ahead of him. He lets you continue as his chest pulls in with a bit of apprehension.

“I…” you stutter for a moment but push through. “I get it, really. I know enough about the whole thing to understand where you’re coming from, okay?” Your mind tells you it’s better to keep the references vague—you love your Uncle dearly, but there are some things that you have to call out when you see them. And you’d been seeing them for years. “But, Simon, I want to be able to talk to people.”

Simon’s fingers twitch over the handle, and his browns shift to stare at you over his shoulder. He blinks.

“You do. A lot.” You look away, expression tight.

“You know what I mean,” your voice grumbles lowly, losing that confidence as you push out. “I’m not them.”

Simon admitted that this wasn’t a new point that had been brought up. He was protective of you and your safety to the utmost degree. You were his family, after all; you were all he had left through this.

The man sighs under his breath.

“I know that, Kid. Never said you were.” He turns and walks over to you, one of his hands moving out to grasp your shoulder and tilt his head your way. Simon waits until you look at him and he speaks through his gravelly accent when you do—a line in your forehead.

“You’re my responsibility. And I—” You frown and turn away. Simon grunts, “Hey, right ‘ere.” Your eyes lock with his. The man raises a brow and his dead gaze glints slightly. “I’ve got a lot o’ shit goin’ on, you know that. Rightly, I shouldn't ‘ave dragged you into any of it.”

You open your mouth to disagree, but you’re leveled with a stare.

“So you let me make the decisions, yeah?”

“You don’t trust your teammates?” You’re going to be the death of him.

“Never bloody said that,” Simon defects, moving back as you glare up at him as he leaves to get more of the ingredients he needs.

“You implied it.”

“I did not—” You glare, unimpressed as you cross your arms over your chest.

“I literally just asked you why you don’t trust people and you gave me a lecture like an old man.”

Narrowed eyes pierce you, and a growl is uttered. “If you don’t fuckin’ join that debate club, it’ll be a cold day in Hell, you hear?”

The sharp smirk that slashes your face makes him hold back his own, a same mirror image that he can’t overlook.

“Callin’ it as I see it, Unc.” The look you’re given has you scurrying away from the kitchen, chuckling under your breath, but the both of you know that this conversation is far from over.

Yet, even after you’re gone, your words leave Simon thinking as he begins cutting vegetables.

He knew he could rely on his fellow soldiers in the field—knew he could tell Price about you when he had been mulling it over years ago. Garrick and MacTavish had both fired bullets for his safety, just as he had for them. Simon knew that meant something, he wasn’t destroyed enough to not realize that.

But the more people that knew about you, the more in danger you became. Leaving you here alone was already stressful, knowing that something might happen made his hair stand on end like a dog with snarling fangs. And Simon could also admit that he was moving the two of you around more than he had to, never giving you more than half a year in one flat before packing it up.

His knife slows, eyes narrow, and he asks himself the question he thought of often.

Is this what Tommy and Beth would have wanted for you?

The question made his sleepless nights more claustrophobic than the coffin he’d been shoved into. Simon was constantly in doubt with himself about anything outside of a battlefield, and he was sure that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

This would have been so much easier if his mum was here. She’d know what to do. Know what to say.

Simon hums under his breath, eyes far off, and gets back to chopping.

You both eat at the kitchen table, and you instantly bring Johnny up as you take a bite from your fork.

“What’s he like,” Simon’s balaclava is tossed to the side, his scarred face on full display to you. You had stopped being scared of those scars a long time ago, but Simon could still remember the first time he’d shown you them.

Brown eyes look up, the man chewing the last of the food in his mouth.

“Johnny, I mean,” you casually state, but the soldier can see the interest in your eyes. He kept work and home life separate when it came to you. No mention of missions or targets. For you, it left a big black hole in your chest, which was exactly where this was coming from. “He seems nice.”

“Never knows how to keep quiet,” Simon utters, taking a sip from his water glass. “But he’s a good shot.”

You sigh to yourself, putting your chin to your palm as your elbow rests on the wood, fork released with a tiny clink of the plate.

“We should invite them over one time—your team.”

“No.”

“Simon, please—”

“I said no,” Simon’s face was stern, serious. He doesn’t look away as he speaks to you. “We’ve had this conversation.”

Your anger sparks, flaring up at the refusal of something so simple. Why did he seem to think that keeping you hidden was the best thing for you? Did he not realize that if he let the people he trusted know about you, then you’d just be more safe at the end of the day?

Who in their right mind would go against the whole of One-Four-One?

“I want to know who you work with,” you snap, one hand clenching on the table as the other is set down when you move your head.

Simon grunts, continuing to eat as his arms tense. “You will.”

Your head perks. “When?”

“When I’m dead.”

“I’m not joking!” You stand suddenly, eyes glossy and face tight. Simon’s expression changes from mild annoyance to surprise, head moving like a dog to watch silently as you grow more animated.

He forgot sometimes that you were still a teenager.

“I want to know who keeps you safe!” You glare through the sting, emotions finally catching up and tightening around your throat. Did he not see the real purpose behind this? “I never ask what goes on when you leave,” your nose sniffles, and Simon’s eyelids flinch. “I need to know who I have to put my trust in to help you come back. You’re my family, Simon, and every time I try to figure you out it’s like there’s a wall that I have to break through.”

Trust.

Your hands come up to brush along your cheeks as the sound of a moving chair enters your ears, your fingers shake before a firm arm wraps behind your head, pushing you into a large chest.

Simon doesn’t speak as you lightly cry, your emotions that he didn’t even consider existing in this way leaving his heart tight in his ribs. He really wasn’t good at this. Like an awkward statue, he holds you the best he can—eyes staring forward at the far wall.

“Didn’t,” the man starts as you calm down minutes later. He pauses, not knowing what to say. “Didn’t know that was how you felt ‘bout it. You don’t have to worry for me, eh?”

“Shut up,” your nose nuzzles into his shirt, voice muffled as Simon sighs long. “You’d worry about me.”

He can’t argue with that.

“...You know why I can’t let ‘em over.” You shake your head into him.

“You’re making excuses. If you can’t trust them, then who can you?” He’s petting the back of your head, thumb rubbing circles into your scalp as his jaw clenches, crooked nose shifting.

“I do trust them—”

“Then why are you—”

“What I don’t fuckin’ trust is myself.” You stop, blinking quickly as you pull back.

Your hands push away your tear tracks.

“What?”

Simon’s eyes are far away, body tense. “I don’t know if I trust myself to be able to let other people know about another Riley who survived. If somethin’ were to happen to you, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself, Sunshine, you hear?”

You stare, blinking quickly at your uncle and his larger-than-life pedestal that you’d placed him on. Brown eyes flicker to yours, and the man grunts at your red-veined eyes before letting you go.

“I would sooner let the devil drag me down right ‘ere than think o’ that.”

Your mouth opens and closes, struggling to put into words the thoughts inside of your brain. Simon had never been…open with his thoughts about things—he was more of a show-than-tell type of person. Mostly that was due to your age and your separation from all of the more dark aspects of his life. It was good that way, and you’d never complained.

But he was your Uncle—your guardian. In more ways than one, he was the only father figure you’d ever have.

You drag Simon into a hug, squeezing him tightly and wrenching your eyes shut before you can cry again.

“Why couldn’t you have just said you didn’t want the flat dirty,” you wetly laugh, and Simon’s eyes soften down at you, his arms once more curling around you as his lungs push a huff from his nose.

“Still can.”

“Fuck you.”

A squeeze. “Oi.”

“Sorry.” Yet always, you broke the sharp bits of him off one by one. Simon sighs, and in a way, he understands your concerns. They were just like his.

The man gets to thinking about the two Sergeants, not just MacTavish. They had never given him any red flags or internal concerns—in fact, the two men were some of the finest he had ever worked with; they were promising not only in skill but attitude.

To go through what they had and still hold smiles and jokes was a feat not many could achieve.

They were good men.

And in the case of information leaking, he realized with a slow blink that even if that was the case, Simon Riley was officially dead—he had died in a house fire, his dog tags recovered from the body of Kevin Sparks. Of course, only Simon knew that last part. If there was ever something that happened, someone being captured and tortured, there would be no link to you.

To trust was a dangerous thing, and to be worthy of that trust was even more so.

He would do anything to never see you worry.

Simon licks his lips, for once in his life making a decision based on no forethought beyond a few measly moments and the weight of his niece in his arms.

“One time.” You make a noise into his chest in confusion. Simon closes his eyes and grates out, “I’ll have ‘em over one time.”

—

The next day he’s at base, out on the target fields in full gear with Johnny beside him as a spotter. Simon lay on the concrete lookout with the stock of a sniper rifle in his shoulder, the Sergeant kneeling about a foot away.

The Scot speaks unprompted as Simon’s brown eyes blink slowly, gaze steady.

“Jus’ so you know, Lt.,” Johnny’s face is in the corner of his vision, his headgear turned Simon’s way as the man was lining up with the target miles away. “...Your secret’s safe with me.”

Trust was something that Simon Riley fought a war with himself over. It was a mountain of knives and bullets that he knew he would have to climb one bleeding foot at a time. He would do it, of course. Blood had never made him shy away from anything.

“I know.”

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avatarskywalker78 · 3 months

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Some more fics of mine - standalones (well, a few are part of a series but are currently the only entry so I'm putting them here):

of legacies and lies - Jack Thompson's granddaughter Alex, a SHIELD agent, deals with the aftermath of the HYDRA reveal while trying to get back home. Meanwhile her grandparents try and make sure she isn't made into a scapegoat by the authorities.

a god's reflection - a rewritten Loki oneshot set between Thor 1 and Thor 2 as he reflects on his actions on Midgard.

when one door closes (another opens) - Brianna Thawne, the Cobalt Blue of Earth-4 and its 22nd Century, joins her world's Legends after she stops Kate Allen from changing time, an action which caused a rift in Team Flash and left Brianna ostracised.

now we have (the freedom to choose) - Legends of Tomorrow AU, where Carter realises that now he's finally free of the cycle, maybe he doesn't have to be with Kendra.

you've always been (a part of me) - Krypton Post-Canon AU, set decades after the show, where Seg is hit with the reminder of his husband's mortality and doesn't deal with it well

speak (and i'll listen) - MonWinn oneshot, set post the Music Meister, in which Winn stresses out and Mon-El comforts him

to new beginnings - Westhallen New Year's Resolution fic for Polyam Shipping Day in January 2022

doubt (and the bonds of love) - when Mon-El becomes distant, Winn can't figure out why until Kara points out that he's not the only insecure one in the relationship

the future (is ours) - a Flash AU where Iris is the Flash and Barry and Eddie are the ones dating. Eobard has been defeated and everyone's made it out the other side...but Eddie fears for his relationship after finding out Barry and Iris were meant to be together...

right here (is where i'm meant to be) - fluffy, lazy morning Segdam oneshot

to live and rise (and hope again) - focuses on Eliana Kent, the daughter of Clark Kent and Lana Lang from another universe, who was forced to flee her own world with thousands of others after draconian anti-alien measures were enforced. Settling on Earth-38 with her adoptive aunts, Eliana doesn't expect anything drastic to happen...until the rest of her powers start setting in...

Ambiguity - FFN import, written for Stupid Mario Bros and a Mr L centric fic as he fights to fight his host body's brother

the truth (long overdue) - Spider-Man 2 AU where Peter goes back to explain everything to Harry and unknowingly averts tragedy later down the line

one night changes nothing (except when it changes everything) - Krypton fic where Seg and Adam sleep together one night early in S1 but Adam figures nothing's gonna change, because it's not like Seg of all people would return his feelings (hint: he's wrong)

remaining steadfast (accepting your purpose) - Robin of Sherwood S3 AU where Robert of Huntingdon stays the first time around, nervous as he is about stepping into the shoes of a hero

true friendship (becomes stronger over time) - Link & Saria post OOT (child timeline), where an older Link goes to talk to his best friend after feeling out of place recently

we have time (to start over) - X-Men 3 AU where Jean lived and brought Scott back, and now he's trying to figure out why Logan is acting so strange around him (it's the guilt)

i love you (let me show it) - Segdam fic where Seg proposes to Adam out of the blue

i will stand by you (i will help you through) - Angel & Riley friendship fic, in which Angel doesn't act like a dick in 4x20, instead recognising Riley as a young man in pain, and this has a massive effect on things

discussions and coffee (at three am) - Legends AU where Henry Heywood lived and is now a Legend alongside his grandson

#Thirsty Thursday #AO3 #my fanfiction

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angelasscribbles · 5 months

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The Dark Kingdom Chapter 8: Man on a Mission

Series: The Dark Kingdom

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Riley x Max (although only Max appears in this chapter)

Word Count: 1,115

Rating: MA

Warnings for this series: mature themes

A/N: This idea was born from this ask I sent @alj4890. A flicker of an idea sprang into my head and over the next few days it just kept growing, so here you are, Max on fire. Happy belated Birthday!

My other stuff: Master List.

Maxwell Beaumont strode through the palace corridors on a mission. Two years shy of three decades of life, he was ready to settle down and take his rightful place as the heir to Ramsford. His brother would ascend the throne when their father stepped down, leaving Max to pick up the mantle of duke.

Russet brown hair framed a rounded face. Bright cobalt blue eyes that usually danced with good humor were solemn and ladened with worry as his five-foot-eleven frame barreled down the hallways without regard to the servants that scattered and dove out of his way.

He had to get to her.

Having just returned from Ramsford on Beaumont family business, the snippets of rumors and conversations that had made their way to his ears were troublesome at best.

“Maxwell, wait!” His brother bellowed as he chased after him.

The younger man ignored him, laser focused on his destination.

“Max, come on!” Bertrand heaved as he finally caught up. “She’s just run away again, like she’s done before. She’ll be back.”

“No,” his head shook vehemently back and forth, “She would not run away, not now!”

“Max. This wouldn’t be the first time—”

He stopped outside her door and spun on his brother. “I just saw her two days ago, Bert. We made plans! She did not run away!”

“What kind of plans?” Bertrand demanded.

A bit of the fury eased out of him as he replied, “Marriage plans.”

“Marriage?” Bertrand yelped as he stumbled back, “She’s practically our sister!”

“She’s not. And I didn’t grow up with her thanks to our father sending me away.”

“He merely wanted to ensure that you received the best education that—”

“Bullshit! I look too much like our mother, and I wasn’t stoic enough for the old man. I showed my grief and since he couldn’t show his own, he couldn’t stomach mine! That’s why he sent me away!” He turned back to bang on the door. “Riley! Riley! Open the door!”

“I’m telling you, she’s not—”

The door swung open to reveal not Riley, but a skittish young maid, “Your Highness?”

He pushed past her into the room. “Where is she?”

“G-gone, sir.” The maid squeaked out.

He whirled on her. “Gone where?”

She jumped, tears welling in her eyes, “I-I don’t know, sir.”

An older woman with steel gray hair inserted herself between them. “Young master, please, it’s not the girl’s fault.”

Max’s rage ticked down a notch or two as he took in the familiar head of housekeeping. “I know.” His eyes flicked back to the girl. “I’m sorry.” His attention returned to Matilda. “Is it true? Did she run away again?”

Riley had been a troubled child. Max knew nothing about her past prior to his parents taking her in. Riley herself couldn’t remember anything. She had seemed happy enough when Annabelle was alive. A year or so after the queen’s death, something had changed. Everyone chalked it up to grief. Riley had become withdrawn, jumpy and prone to bouts of depression. At thirteen she had run away for the first time.

But she was a grown woman now. A woman that he had fallen in love with. Deeply, madly, head over heels in love with. She had assured him she felt the same. She had agreed to marry him. They had made plans. They’d discussed the future, the colors for the wedding, possible names for their theoretical children.

There was nothing in him that would believe she had voluntarily left without telling him anything.

“You’re wasting your time.” His brother said from the doorway, shaking his head.

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words died on his lips as his eyes fell on the sheets that had just been stripped from the bed. He surged over to the pile of laundry and snatched a pillowcase from the top. “Is this blood?”

“Probably from her hair.”

“What?”

“She pulled out a chunk of her own hair.” Matilda pointed to the trashcan.

Max dumped the contents of the can onto the floor, revealing a hank of bloody hair. He held it up, his body shaking as he demanded, “You think she did this to herself?”

“The king said that Lady Riley is prone to—”

“I don’t give a fucking damn what that old bastard said! She didn’t do this to herself!”

Matilda took a step back. She had been a maid in the royal household most of her adult life and she had never seen Maxwell angry, much less in the grips of a blind rage. “But sir… who within these walls would dare—”

The younger maid whispered, eyes wide, “The Esseri…”

“What?” Max gave her his full attention. “What did you just say?”

“The Esseri, sir…vampires—”

“Don’t be ludicrous!” Bertrand scoffed.

“Shut up, Bert! I want to hear what she has to say.” He dropped the hair and crossed the room to stand in front of her. “What do you know?”

“N-nothing! Just that the soldiers say her trail crossed the partition, but the dogs and horses refused to follow.”

Icy dread clawed at his stomach. It made sense. Who else could get past palace security? Who else could carry a grown woman out of the capital right under the noses of the King’s Guard? Who else could, or would, cross the partition? Turning in horror to his brother, he uttered, “They took her!”

“Max, we don’t know that!”

“They took her, Bert! No one saw or heard a thing! The dogs tracked her to the partition! What more proof do you need? Send a detachment into the Black Spire Mountains, now!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That would break the treaty. Based on absolutely nothing! She ran away, gave them the slip—”

“Bertrand.... Please!”

“Even if I wanted to, father would never agree—”

“Fine. I’ll do it myself. Move!” Maxwell pushed past his brother, shoving him back into the wall as he went.

“What? No!” Bertrand regained his balance and flew down the hall after his brother in panic, determined to stop him from undertaking a suicide mission. One that was sure to plunge the country into war, no less.

It was to no avail. He had never seen Maxwell move so fast. He gave up the chase and instead veered off a side hallway that looped back to the wing housing the king’s offices. Perhaps their father could talk sense into him.

But it was too late. By the time the king gave the order to stand down, a detachment of soldiers had already left with the young prince, marching headlong toward the black spire mountains, the Esseri, and almost certain death.

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