#i mean dea's suggestion was right so

[davinciae]

so true queen (source: oliviacookebest)

[kiwisbell]

Las Mañanas || Chapter 8 (conclusion) [javier peña]

She’s a waitress in a little café. He’s a DEA agent who likes the coffee. Just the coffee. That’s all. Or, slices of life (and sometimes pie) shared between Javi and his wife, including his tireless journey to making her his wife.

series masterlist | my masterlist

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags/warnings: javi getting the fucking love he deserves, coffee shop AU if you squint really hard, soft and sweet!javi, protective!javi, grumpy!javi, simp!javi tbh, alcohol, smoking, so much fluff, nobody fucks with javi's girl, overuse of spanish pet names, poorly-translated spanish, "she" pronoun used throughout, unprotected piv (you should get it at this point), oral sex (m and f receiving), anal play, car sex, this shit is sappy as fuck okay, gimme a break, married bliss, face-fucking, lingerie, reader is #1 javi supporter forever, fingering, descriptions of bombing, blood and injury, anxiety, fear, extremely protective!javi, feral!javi, pregnancy, happy ending (obvi who do you think you're working with)

word count: ~ 11.4k (as a treat bc it's over)

a/n: we've reached the end!! thank you all so much for your patience as i've worked on cross-posting this fic. your support is unreal and i love all of you so very dearly xoxo

chapter eight: siempre

It’s noon. The clock is grating in his ears, and he's tempted to take out the batteries. The paperwork is tall as his head, and it's going to be a late night. There are a number of things he would rather be doing. A person he'd rather be seeing. 

Chris Feistl pokes his head in the doorway. "Got a lady here to see you, boss."

Javier already sees his girl just outside the door, bent over Cindy's desk, chatting away. Well, he can mostly just see her ass—it's facing him, for God's sake. He admires it for a moment, then turns back to his work without looking at Feistl. "The lady's my wife. Show some respect."

He's busting his balls (for the most part), but Feistl ducks his head out. "Got it, sir."

When she gets to the door, she's all smiles. "Hi, handsome."

Javier gets up, twists all the blinds in his office closed, and pulls her into a kiss. "Hey, baby," he mumbles, dragging his mouth along her jaw. "You look beautiful."

She's wearing a pale blue sweater and a floral-patterned skirt that swishes around her thighs, and her sneakers are blinding white. It's springtime in Bogotá. 

Her soft gasp melts his bones, sucks the tension in his shoulders away. "They'll think you're trying to fuck me, Javi," she whispers, but she doesn't sound like she cares all that much.

"Don't care." He smiles into her cheek when she giggles, ticklish from his breath. "Maybe I am."

She laughs again, cupping his face and turning it toward her. "How about lunch first?" she suggests. "That way, you can have me for dessert."

He shakes his head and pulls her in again just so he can cover her face with kisses. "I fucking love you."

She digs around in her purse and brings out a plastic container. He's hit with the smell of empanadas, and suddenly he remembers he didn't eat breakfast. "C'mon," he says, picking her up around the waist and setting her down on his desk. She crosses her legs and hands him the bag, grabbing him one last time to kiss him on the lips. He watches her skirt slip up her thigh and rests his hand there, where her hip meets her leg. He rubs small circles with his thumb over her soft skin and toys with the waistband of her panties. He won't fuck her here, not really. Too much risk of someone walking in, and nobody sees her naked but him. Still, it calms him to touch her.

"You've got nosy employees," she says. "Cindy's the only one who hasn't asked me about the nature of my relationship with the boss."

His jaw ticks. "Pendejos."

"Hey, it's okay." He fingers trail up his arm. Her smile is coy, but he knows exactly what that look means. "I like them knowing it's me you come home to."

Javier brushes a knuckle across her chin. "Fuckin' right, baby," he says, leaning in and nipping at her lip. She chases his mouth like she's starving. "All yours. Todo tuyo."

She reaches around and pinches his ass. "And you're not my boss."

Javier nods vehemently, already kissing her on the lips. "Yes, ma'am."

"Eat, honey." She pulls away but he keeps leaning in, cradling the back of her head with the hand that isn't squeezing the flesh of her thigh. She laughs into his mouth at his eagerness. "You gotta eat, Javi."

"Okay. Okay." He stops kissing her and squeezes her hip. "Okay."

"Insaciable," she whispers.

“How's the new desk?” he asks her, settling in with his lunch. “Bigger than mine?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” She reaches across his desk to pour some coffee from his Thermos into his corny World’s Best Husband mug. She takes a sip and then offers him one. He drinks. “I’ve got a corner spot.”

He frowns. “They put you in the corner?”

She looks at him fondly. “It's got a window, my love. It's perfectly fine.”

When they returned to Colombia, she began to poke around for new jobs. I don't want to smell like coffee all day, she said with a pout. And Jorge called the other day—he’s retiring. The café will go to his son. 

You aren't worried about the money, are you, baby? he asked her. 

Do I need to be?

He shook his head vehemently. No. 

Then I’m not worried about the money. She grinned into his mouth when she kissed him. I’ll still make you coffee. 

She found a position at the Universidad Nacional de Colombia as a counsellor’s receptionist. It's a starting position, but given experience in her teenage and college years as a peer mentor, lifeguard, tutor, and babysitter (among other things) helped her secure the job with ease. Besides, everyone she meets falls in love with her. 

“Corner desk,” he grunts. “You're only scheduling all his appointments for him and fielding all his calls.”

She lightly shoves his chest. “Play nice. He’s a good boss.” Her fingers play along his tie. “Are you a good boss, Agent Peña?”

“Mmm. Better than fuckin’ Alberto.” He watches her fondle the tie around his neck, slipping her fingers behind a button of his shirt to feel his warm skin before they retreat again. 

“And if you were my boss?” 

Her eyes are wide and innocent when they lift up to meet his, and blood rushes to his cock at the game she's just begun. After seven years together, he knows her tricks, but she’s the best at getting under his skin, clawing at his brain with her dainty fingernails and plucking exactly the right strings. She knows he likes how it feels to put her beneath him and take control. To lose himself in her body because it's too damn sweet, too soft, and he wants to keep her safe from the world that's burned her. 

“If I were your boss,” he says, watching his fingers trace mindless patterns on her bare thigh, “you'd get the biggest desk. You'd get a personal coffee machine. Four windows. Secretaries.” He begins to kiss her, everywhere but her mouth, just following the path his mouth wants to explore. He whispers his promises into her cheek, her jaw, the spot below her ear, her throat. She smells like linen and jasmine and fresh air. “As many breaks as you want. Paid vacation.” He grins against her throat. “Paid maternity.”

She clicks her tongue, but her pupils are swelling, engulfing her irises. “Special treatment,” she scolds. “They'd think I was doing the boss favours.”

“Eres especial,” he says into her ear, bringing her lobe briefly between his teeth. She shudders. “Why shouldn't I give my best employee the best treatment? Hmm?”

She hooks her thumbs into his belt loops and tugs him closer, beaming up at him. “I can guess how I’d thank you.”

“Yeah?” He squeezes her thigh, skates his palm up her side until he can reach around her back and press it flat against her shoulder blades, keeping her close. “Dime.”

“Empanadas, for a start.” Her fingers trail back up his torso, and he feels himself shivering beneath their travels. She slides them underneath his unbuttoned jacket and feels the strong muscles of his pecs, the soft plushness of his stomach, the body she loves so much she'd worship it like a deity. “Then, I’d get on my knees,” she says, sliding a button out of its hole and salivating at the sight of the trail of hair that leads down to the cock she wants so badly. His breathing shifts when she pops out another button and untucks his shirt to grant herself full access. He has to blink away the blindness when she slips her hands under his pants and her eyes spark with amusement. “No underwear, even at work,” she says. “Malo.”

“Never know when you'll need me,” he says. 

“So… considerate… my love.” She plants kisses down the line of his jaw as she takes hold of his cock. He boxes her in on both sides, planting his hands on the desk to steady himself. 

“Mierda. Baby, someone could walk in.” As much as he craves her hand around his cock, he doesn't want to deal with the fallout of his inferiors catching their boss in the middle of a handjob. 

She pouts, indulging herself with one drawn-out stroke up and down his length. He pulls her toward him by the back of her head and kisses her deeply. “I’ll give it to you later,” he whispers. “I promise.”

She tucks him, hard and aching, back into his pants. Her breaths are a little unsteady, her eyes blackened with lust, but at least they don't look like they went through with it. “You better,” she says, nipping his bottom lip. 

They part ways after approximately ten minutes of stalling: one kissing the other, then the other way around, then one remembering to tell the other something they'd spontaneously remembered. Te amo, they tell one another at last, untangling their hands. 

He can tell Feistl, Van Ness, and the others in the bullpen are fighting themselves not to watch her too closely on her way out, too afraid of letting curiosity win at the expense of their asshole boss’s wrath. 

Javier locks himself in his office for the rest of the day and tries to bury himself in his paperwork so he can tamper his erection. But the second he gets into his car—a shiny black Chevy that makes him miss his beaten truck—and begins to anticipate coming home to her, he has to drive home squeezing his length to relieve the insistent pressure against his pants. 

She waits patiently on the bed, flipping through a magazine with her ass up and her legs kicking. She's wearing nothing but a shift of blue lace and panties, and she's shaved, bathed, and giddy with excitement as her husband turns the doorknob to their new apartment. 

The DEA gave him a bigger place with his promotion. It's spacious, clean, and it was heartless before she brought all their possessions back inside and spent their first night back breaking in the kitchen. Being back in Bogotá is familiar, visiting an old friend, but it carries everything they longed to leave behind the first time they returned home. The long nights, the dead ends, the never-quiet nights. Covering her with his body when gunshots sound outside, even though they can't reach their haven. The screams and shouts and peeking around corners, running across rooftops. Late at night, when they're through with dinner and sex and showering, he's laid on her chest and told her how he wants things to be different. He’ll do things by the books. He won't let things get out of hand the way they did with Los Pepes. He won't let the job kill him. 

He says her name so slowly, so darkly, that it's like he's never tasted the sounds on his tongue before. It's like he's rolling the name around his tongue to savour it, a rich treat, something to wrap around his heart. She turns her head and says sweetly: “Hi, honey. You’re home.”

Javier shucks off his jacket so fast she hears a rip and stalks toward the bed. She locks her ankles together and pretends like she needs a stretch, arching her back and lifting herself up onto her elbows. His hungry eyes, black in the dim light, are fixed on her ass as the shift slips to the side and reveals the flimsy thing that exposes damn near everything. “What the fuck,” he says, “did I do to deserve this?”

She hums like she's pondering it. “I missed you. Did you miss me?”

He says nothing, only grabs her hips roughly, suddenly, making her yelp as he forces her onto her knees, her back arched deliciously for him. He sinks his teeth into one of her cheeks, and her whine crescendos to a moan when he yanks her panties down her thighs and fixes his mouth to her cunt. 

“Oh, Javi!” she squeals. Her thighs tremble when he latches his lips around her clit and sucks, his mouth hot and wet. She grasps for a purchase on the bedsheets, but he's relentless, the obscenity of the noises he urges out of her mouth and the squelching of his expert motions against her drenched cunt echo in their home as he feasts on her as if she's water in the desert. His tongue breaches her entrance at the same time he smacks her ass. She lurches forward, moaning long and low, but he grabs her hips and keeps her attached to his mouth. 

He licks her clit with aching meticulousness, pressure, wet, hot, and he groans into her pussy with such desperation it's like he's frustrated that he can't sink himself into her completely. She loses all control of her arms and her cheek pushes into the mattress. It's so good. It's too good, so perfect, she can't—

Oh. 

Fuck. 

He's moving, abandoning her clit, but he doesn't stop at her entrance. His mouth carves a path upward until she feels a push, a pressure at her other hole. She gasps out a wet, “Javi, oh my—,” but his tongue indulges, giving in, licking at her asshole until all she can do is moan, burying her face in the mattress. 

He grunts, slapping the side of her thigh. “Louder,” he demands. “Can’t hear you.”

She chokes on her groan this time when he dives back in, this time teasing two fingers at the entrance to her cunt and pushing inside. She's so wet they give into him easily, and the teasing at her tight hole makes her sob with pleasure. She tries to string words together, but they break and crumble. “Fuck, fuck, oh, shit… Jav… unhhh, I can’t… Fuck!”

He just keeps her fixed to him until she breaks, freezing around his fingers and coming so hard she pushes them out with a burst of wetness. He kneads and soothes her red ass while she comes down, panting hard against the mattress, but he doesn't quite relent from tasting her asshole, licking gently until she can't hold herself up anymore. 

Javi kisses the welt on her cheek and sits back on his haunches, hauling her up against him “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he groans into her throat, holding her tightly, the fabric of her slip bunching under his fingers. “Jesus, I can’t believe I’m married to you.”

She leans her head on his shoulder and beams drunkenly at him. “Wanted tonight to be for you,” she says, her words slurring together. 

“That was for me,” he says, splaying his fingers over her rib cage. He nips at her earlobe. “You taste so fuckin’ good.”

“Javi,” she sighs, reaching up to keep his mouth latched to her throat. 

“Hmm.” He sucks at her pulse until he knows it will bruise. 

“Stand up, please,” she says sweetly. “I want you to fuck my mouth.”

His hand, keeping her steady against his front, tightens around her waist. “Fuck,” he rasps into her hair. “Get on your knees, baby.”

They scramble into position. Javier begins to shed his shirt and pants, but she’s looking up at him, eyes wide, and he realises she wants to do it for him. “Go on, bonita,” he urges. 

She grins, standing up on her toes and kissing his jaw to his ear, sucking on the lobe while her fingers make slow work of the buttons on his shirt. He grunts, grasping her hips and fisting at the feeble slip covering her torso. “Want this… fuck, want this fucking off,” he complains, grumpier with each second he can’t feel her soft body curve up against him. 

“But I wore it for you,” she says, teasing, migrating to the shell of his ear then the spot beneath. He’s hard, leaking, twitching in his pants, so desperate to feel her underneath this pretty silk that he’s willing to tear the fucking thing into shreds. 

Her fingers are deft as they work out each button, and her mouth against him makes his skin buzz, his brain condensing with a thick fog that only parts for her: her body, her touch, her laughter, like bells, as she guides his hands around her back to the clasp that keeps the little slip secure. 

She slides his shirt off as he works the clasp open, slipping the blue fabric off her shoulders and exposing her to him. He’s happier already, his hands finding her hips and pressing her up against him, thumbs caressing her ribs to make her shiver while she unbuttons his pants. 

She begins to kiss her way down his chest, lavishing him with such fond attention, such reverence and care, as her lips find every mark on his body. Scars and birthmarks and freckles—she kisses each one, licks others, and hums happily all the way down, adorning his body with the smell and the imprint of her. He tips his head forward to watch her sink to her knees, his hands regretfully parting with her hips and instead finding her head. He cradles it gently as she continues to worship him, enjoying the way his breathing grows staggered, methodical, like he’s trying to remember how to do it. 

She slips the button out on his pants and brings them slowly down his thighs, his cock tapping against his stomach. She licks her lips, and he takes himself in hand. 

“You want it, baby?”

She nods, hands steadying themselves on his strong thighs. “Please.”

“Open,” he says gruffly. She does, parting her lips for him and squeezing her thighs together so she won’t give into the urge to touch herself. He slaps the head of his cock against her tongue, once, twice, three times, and she mewls like a whore. He grits his teeth and rests the heavy weight of him on her tongue. Like a good girl, she does nothing until he makes the command, but she looks so fucking happy, wide-eyed and teary just from tasting him, that he doesn’t have the heart to tease her. 

He’s through with teasing himself, too. “You want me to fuck your mouth, bonita?” Again, she nods, humming against his cock and making it twitch on her tongue. He threads his fingers through her hair and holds her where he wants her. “Tap me twice if you need me to stop.”

She just keeps looking up at him with those eyes, so full of trust and admiration, and he manoeuvres her head closer to him, his cock sliding through the hot, slick walls of her mouth until he feels the head pressing up against her throat. She swallows around him, breathing tediously through her nose, and he goes blind with the fucking tightness of her, how good it feels to have her on her knees for him, here only to please him. 

“That’s fucking it, baby.” He pulls out until he’s resting the head on her tongue again, but this time it slips out greedily to lap at the precum dribbling from the slit. “Fuck. Be fucking good. ¿Claro?”

She whimpers, and it’s the sound she makes when she wants him to give in—to use her the way he wants, to put his pleasure in her hands. To take. Javier’s nostrils flare when he takes her down all the way until she’s trying not to gag on him, her nose pressed up against the hairs at the base of his cock. She moans at the same time he does, and then he really begins to move. 

She wants him to fuck her throat; so he fucks her throat. His hands keep her head in place while his cock follows the path of her mouth, sliding along her tongue as she sucks him in deeper with the way she swallows and constricts. She’s a fucking pro, malleable and eager in his hands, keeping herself aloft and still so she can’t hurt him as he fucks her throat with little care for slowing down or keeping it gentle. She doesn’t want him to. And he can’t bring himself to care, not when she feels so good, not when his wife is on her knees and sucking the life out of him like his own personal pornstar. “Fuckin’—fuckin’ take it,” he says between ragged breaths, his hips stuttering at the first indication that he’s close. “You gonna swallow it?”

She hums, fingernails scratching his thighs in her eagerness to express the yes without letting him fall from her mouth. In case he doesn’t get the message, she reaches for him with both hands as he continues to thrust into her mouth and gently squeezes his balls. 

He steadies himself by slapping a hand against the bedpost. “Jesus. Fucking hell. Gonna—gonna fucking come.” She’s so wet she can feel it dripping down her thighs, and the urge to touch herself is unbearable when he pulls out with a choked groan, jerking himself twice before he’s placing the head of his cock on her tongue and watching all of his cum spill into her mouth. 

She’s fascinated and oh-so turned on by the way he twitches, his cock bobbing and pulsing as she takes all of his spend and happily laps the rest of it up until he can’t produce another drop. For good measure, she slips him back into her mouth and pulls off with an obscene pop, swallowing him all down. 

Javier isn’t sure if he’s dreaming when he finally pulls her to her feet, but the way she gently guides him to the bed to let him sit, climbing onto his lap, makes him so desperate for it to be real. 

She sighs into the crook of his neck. Her voice is raspy and used from his assault against her throat, but she doesn’t seem whatsoever displeased. “I love you,” she tells him, scratching her fingernails at the nape of his neck. He purrs at the feeling, letting himself fall back until they hit the mattress. 

He kisses her temple. “I love you. You and your smart fucking mouth, you and that little tease of a dress.”

She snorts. “You loved that little tease of a dress so much you nearly tore it in two.” 

“Mmm, love what's underneath more.” He rolls them over until he's on top of her and flicks his tongue over her nipple. She giggles, threading her fingers through his hair. 

“That mean you'll buy me a new one?” 

“I’ll buy you”—he bites her nipple and lifts his hand to squeeze her other breast—“whatever the fuck you want.” He nudges her cheek with his nose. “That was a nice surprise, baby. Mi hermosa esposa es tan buena conmigo.”

She hooks her foot under his knee and uses the leverage to roll him onto his back again. She fondly traces the shape of his ribs, making him shudder beneath her. “I want you to know,” she says, “you're going to do so well. You're gonna shove it in Stechner’s face, mi amor. He thinks you're gonna drown, that you're gonna lose to all that red tape. But you won't.” Her eyes meet his, and there's a vacuum in the room. It punches all the breath from his lungs. It sucks all the air away until his hands on her body are all that can give him oxygen. He grips her hard, arms strong around her waist, and she cups his face in her reverent hands. She loves him. And he can feel it. “You are going to win, Javier. Ganaras. Eres un buen hombre (You will win. You are a good man). My husband doesn't lose to assholes who want to see him stumble.” Her mouth sets a hard edge. “¿Claro?”

Javier makes sure she feels every press of his fingertips into her back as he makes his way up to her shoulders, across her collarbones, and tucks her hair behind her ears, cradling her beautiful face above him. “Nobody”—he shakes her head around a little, gently, just to get the message into her brain—“has believed in me the way you do. No way I’m going to fucking let you down.”

A bright smile crinkles the corners of her eyes. “The only way you could ever let me down,” she tells him, “is if you're putting me on my knees.”

“Fuckin’ fox,” he mutters, shaking his head as he leans in and presses a long kiss to her forehead. He lets his mouth linger there for a while, imagining he can hear the patter of their heartbeats, synchronised. 

~

They've barely been back in Colombia a month, and Bill Stechner is already making Javier’s life a living hell. But the way his wife is storming around the kitchen and clanging pots and pans like she's on a personal goddamn war path, you'd think Stechner had slapped her mother and kicked her dog. 

“Exploiting you,” she hisses, mostly to herself by now since she's talking so fast and barely looking at him. “That snake… He’s exploiting you just so some asshole senators will throw money at their little puppet show. Does he even know… Do they… The fucking nerve…” She’s visibly shaking with rage when she begins to chop onions on the cutting board, and the tears that well in her eyes are not from the vegetable. 

To her credit, she's a fantastic cook, and Javier trusts her with a knife. He doesn't typically like to interrupt her furious rants, especially not when she's wielding a weapon. 

But he realises he should have intervened when she picked up that knife. Because in all her angry trembling, the knife has slipped and cut her palm on its way to the floor. 

“Fuck!” she cries out. 

“Shit.” He rushes around the counter and puts the knife safely aside before he’s at her side. It makes him wince to see his wife squeezing tears of pain out of her eyes, to see the blood dripping from her closed palm. “Open your hand. We gotta wash this, baby.”

Still shaking, she does, a sigh leaving her mouth in a tremor. “Slipped. That was stupid. ‘M sorry, Jav.”

He shakes his head, guiding her to the kitchen. “No sorries,” he says, turning on the faucet. “Looks like you made a blood sacrifice, baby. Tryin’ to put Stechner under?”

She scoffs, sticking her palm under the water. “A lady never bleeds and tells.”

They're silent while the blood turns the rush of water beneath her hand red. Outside, the birds chirp, the sun shines, and the winds rustles the trees outside. 

“He told me something,” says Javier, frowning at the cut on her palm. “Stechner. I was so fuckin’ mad finding out all the bodies in that jungle were for show, and he just told me that if anyone takes something like that as personally as I did, they're in the wrong line of work.” He grinds his teeth. “He should be right. But fuck, I don't want to be distant. I want it to feel shitty. Is that batshit crazy?”

She turns off the faucet and hands him a bandage from the first aid kit beneath the sink. She knows he likes to have something to do with his hands when he isn't smoking. He begins to tear it open. “Javier,” she says, “you aren't batshit. You've dedicated over ten years of your life to fighting these people, the things they do. Of course you're going to take it personally. I'd be scared to look at a man who sees the things you have and shrugs it off. As for wanting it to feel shitty… I hate to see you punishing yourself for things you can't control, mi amor, but I understand. I just want to be able to help you get yourself back out when you go deep inside that head of yours.” She taps his temple with her good hand, dropping it to squeeze his shoulder. 

“I can't pretend to understand everything. But when I was with Nicolás, I would loathe myself for being so… idle. He'd go off and fuck other women, break fingers if someone so much as cheated him at poker, and, well, he turned me into a cash source. I didn't do anything to stop him because I thought he was it for me. But this war…” She searches his eyes and tries to shove her words into him. “This isn't it for you, Javi.

“You're not a puppet,” she says fiercely, still sniffling as he presses the bandage into her palm. “You're a real hero.”

“Shhh.” He presses his mouth to her temple, squeezing his eyes shut for just a moment. Hero. Something about that word in his wife’s mouth doesn't sit right inside him. But she truly believes it. He lets her words sink into his chest, and all he gleans from them is faith. Her faith in him and the work he does, her faith that he can get the job done and finally rest. 

Maybe he can. Maybe, when it's over, he'll be able to let the dust settle. So far, he's spent his whole life kicking it up. 

~

“¡Señora Peña!” calls a voice from the staff lounge across the hall. “¡Tu esposo esta en las noticias!” 

She bolts to her feet and scrambles out of the counselling office. “Is he—”

Alberto Estrada’s laugh eases some of the tension in her bones. Your husband’s on the news can only ever be good or bad. “He's fine. Better than fine, from the sounds of it,” he says, indicating the headline. 

She meets him in front of the television and muffles her burst of giddy laughter behind her hand. DEA arrests Gilberto Rodríguez. 

A film crew has set up outside the Embassy and a reporter details the arrest with what few scraps of knowledge they have. Debajo de la escalera… se rindió… Agente Javier Peña… 

“¡Vete a la mierda!” she whoops at the television. “Fuck you, Rodríguez!”

Alberto toasts his cup of coffee toward the television. “Agente Javier Peña,” he announces in his powerful voice. “Making the world a better place and fucking over the godfathers!”

Sara and Carlos, fellow counsellors, wander into the room at all the commotion. “Dios,” gasps Sara, her hand flying to the rosary at her throat. “Es cierto. Señora Peña, you better kiss your husband for me tonight.”

“And me,” chimes in Carlos, grinning at the reporter on the screen. 

I’ll do more than that, she thinks. 

Back in the office, a phone begins to ring. She looks around at each of her coworkers and her boss, bouncing on the balls of her feet, until Alberto booms, “Pick up the phone!”

She hurries back to her desk, teeth worrying her lip, and nearly drops the receiver in her excitement. “Consejería académica.”

“You watching the news, bonita?”

She grins, slipping into her desk chair. “Was he really under the staircase?”

She can hear the hushed tone of his voice, the distant cheers outside his office as his employees celebrate without him. “Cowering,” he confirms. “Then surrendering. Almost didn't find him.”

“But you did.” She twirls the telephone cord around her finger. “I’m so proud of you, Javier.”

“Proud enough to take the afternoon off?” 

Her heart lurches with glee. “You really wanna?”

In his office, blinds drawn, lights dim, and door locked, Javier is knocked breathless at the sound of her voice: so hopeful, touched with such trust and joy. He could drown in it. Outside, the celebrations have begun early, an unspoken agreement that a win like this merits the rest of the day off. They’ll go to a bar and brag about being part of the arrest of a godfather of Cali. Javier just wants to see the smile on his girl’s face. “Yeah, baby. Wait for me. I’ll pick you up, take you somewhere nice.”

“Maybe I should be taking you somewhere nice,” she purrs, “being the wife of the Javier Peña and all.”

Damn it if that doesn’t sound like a tempting idea, with the drop in her voice and the significant interest in his jeans. “I gotta get out of here, honey,” he grumbles. “Thought Cindy was going to drop down and start polishing my shoes.”

She hums. “I don’t think I like the sound of that. Should be me polishing your shoes.”

Javier chuckles. “Get that pretty ass out of your corner desk and wait outside for me.”

She practically jumps to gather her things. Professor Estrada grants her the afternoon off. She bursts out the front doors of the campus community centre and bounds toward the car whose passenger door opens for her. Javier scoops her up in his arms and kisses her deeply. He slips his sunglasses onto the top of her head. 

“Get in the car,” he says, pecking her nose. “We’re going out.”

~

Going out has come to mean a very different thing to Javier Peña since his face started getting plastered all over the news.

He would have taken her dancing, but too many people are out celebrating the monumental arrest, and too many people will recognise him for it. He doesn’t want to shimmer under a spotlight, and he especially doesn’t want any narcos out on a revenge kick spotting his wife and deciding she makes a pretty target. 

So, he drives them out to the countryside, where the lights don’t choke the life out of the stars, parks in a flat field that probably belongs to somebody, and he cracks the trunk of his car. They sit back there and share a box of caramel-filled chocolates he swiped from the Embassy’s flurry of celebrations. It’s more than enough to just be here, his legs entangled with hers, breathing in tandem in the back of his car beneath the blanket of stars.

“You’d think I saved the fuckin’ president,” he says. 

“Maybe you did.” Her eyes slide from the horizon to him, drinking in the sight of his face under moonlight. His pouting lips, the moustache that always tickles her skin, the shining, tanned skin visible behind the half-buttoned polo. Sometimes, it feels surreal. She’s looking at a painting, a statue, a work of art that is anything but real or touchable. And then she’ll slide her hands beneath the collar of that shirt and feel the ineffable realness of his strong body, his warm freckled skin, and she’ll know she’s somehow slipped into the painting with him. She’s become a sculpture meant to encircle the marble of him. 

He rubs his thumb in circles over her ankle bone. She’s discarded her shoes, her sweater, all but her dress. His brow lifts at the way she watches him, devours him. “Enlighten me, bonita.”

“Maybe, five years from now, Gilberto Rodríguez wants to make a statement. Maybe he makes an attempt on the president, who maybe supports the war on drugs. Maybe the attempt works.” She shrugs. “Maybe, in making that arrest, you avoided all that.”

Thinking in possibilities has never been the most effective course of action among Javier and his colleagues. But coming from her mouth, it makes sense. It sounds beautiful. The faint light of the moon casts her skin in silver. He squeezes her ankle. 

“Remember that story you told me,” she muses, “about when you were sixteen, and you broke your ankle sneaking out to see a girl?”

He huffs. “Not my proudest moment for you to remember, baby.”

She laughs, nudging his thigh with her foot. “It’s just… When you told me that story, I saw this look in your eyes. It’s the same thing that happens when you smile—really smile. Like a spark of life. I used to be afraid of it sometimes, when I didn’t know you the way I do now. I thought there were parts of you I would be better off not knowing. But I think it’s my favourite part about you.” She shuffles closer, and her fingertips brush the whiskers on his jaw, the reminders of the late nights he’s reacquainted himself with since his return. “I love seeing you filled with life,” she says softly.

He wraps his arms around her waist and feels the frown lifting the pressure from his brows as her fingers migrate there, smoothing the imprints of memories there. He leans into her touch as she makes a canvas of him, softening the tension in his face with her gentle hands. When she finally slots her mouth over his in a featherlight kiss, he keeps his eyes open for a moment, trying to drink—no, drown—in the dizzying reality of her. Her confession wraps around his heart until it bursts with the pressure. He can’t hold enough of her. He can’t grasp at enough of her skin, keep enough of her body in his hands before he feels dissatisfied. His entire body buzzes for her. He doesn’t want to simply press her to him. He wants to feel how it feels to live two lives, to feel two loves. 

He is grappling for a purchase on the moonlight that coats her skin in stardust. 

Her lips are sweet and salty with caramel and chocolate. He tastes it on her tongue when he cups her face and encourages her mouth to open so he can consume a bit more of her. Her sigh rattles through him until it's inside his very bones. Her arms wrap around his neck, bringing him closer. He takes a handful of her ass to shift her up onto his lap. 

For a moment, they just look at each other. Her chest heaves. Her eyes shimmer. He grins up at her and she scans each line of his face, pasting it on her eyelids. 

Kissing her is like starving, pulling her nearer with every gasp they share, biting and sucking and tangling his tongue with hers until their bodies are too close to let a sheet of paper slip between them. 

Kissing her is feasting, indulging, refusing to deny the pleasure of it. A hand at her back, another at her jaw, wishing he had fifteen more hands, a hundred more years. 

Javier leaves her mouth and carves a path along her jaw, finding the spot beneath her lobe that makes her purr against him. She tilts her head to give him better access, and her throat is lit with a shaft of moonlight. He sucks on her soft skin, nibbling her lobe and sliding his palm up her back, lodging it in each groove of her spine. His other hand slides around to her front, brushing his fingers over her hard nipples and enjoying the way she begins to writhe in his lap. Toying with the straps of her dress, he licks at the groove of her throat until he's ready to leave a bruising, sucking kiss there. He wants her to fall apart under him, with only his touch, his mouth. He wants to salvage the pieces and tuck them between his ribs. He wants to breathe her. 

“Javi,” she whispers, “please. I want you inside me.”

He nuzzles his nose in the hollow of her throat as he slides the straps of her dress down her shoulders until it pools around her hips. He nips at her collarbone and splays his hand over her rib cage, his fingers brushing the swell of her breast. The air is warm, but there's a slight breeze, and it ruffles her hair, tightens her nipples. She's a vision above him, a spectre one sees in a dream. 

He brings her down for another kiss, but this time, he wants to imprint his mouth on hers forever. He consumes her, sliding his tongue against hers, sucking and biting and slipping his fingers from her heaving ribs down to her panties. He teases the hem before he delves farther down and finds her clit. The mere pressure of two fingers pressing up against it makes her cry out, grasping his shoulders. “Javi…”

“You're so wet.” He nudges his nose against her cheek, urging her to turn toward him, to look at him. Her pupils have blown wide, her breaths shuddering as she gently rocks her hips against his fingers. “Easy, baby.”

Let me take care of you. 

As though she hears it in the way he circles her clit, she nods, resting her forehead against his. He slides two fingers through her slick and pushes them inside her. She gasps wetly, incapable of forming a word that doesn't sound like his name. The palm of his hand pressing hard against her needy clit, he works her open, right here in his lap, swallowing every gasp that wrenches from her throat when he cradles the back of her head and puts his mouth on hers. 

He knows she's close by the way she pulses around his fingers, rocking her hips into his hand. He curls his fingers against the spongy spot inside her and pulls them away abruptly. 

She pouts, unaccustomed to her husband refusing to indulge her. Her eyes are still glassy, her mind catching up to her mouth. “Wha… Why’d you…”

“Spoiled,” he grunts, biting her jaw. “You wanna come, baby?”

“Javi,” she coos, placing sloppy kisses down his throat, trying to tempt him into letting her come. His pretty little siren. It's fucking working, the way she grabs at him and grinds her hips against his hard cock. 

“You wanna come?” he bites out, grabbing her hips in a bruising hold that halts her movements. “Take out my cock and ride it. Be good and I’ll fill you up.”

That works. Her eyes are doused in black, her hands scrambling to unbutton his jeans. “So tight,” she grumbles. “These fuckin' things… Need them off, honey.”

Javier chuckles, helping her by lifting his hips so she can take off his jeans. Her mouth waters at the sight of his cock, leaking against his stomach. “Did you take a test this week?” he asks her, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger. 

She nods. 

“And?” he prompts. 

“Negative,” she breathes. 

His hands trace the curves of her sides. “Wanna change that?” 

Another nod, frantic. She reaches between them and takes his cock in her hand, slotting it at her entrance and fixing her eyes on his. 

“I love you,” she says, cupping his cheek. “I want all of you. Soy todo tuyo.”

In a swift and sudden movement, he lurches forward with his whole arm bracketing her back and sinks her onto his length. She moans, dropping her head onto his shoulder. He gently pulls her head back, exposing her throat for him to lick. Her eyes are drooping in her daze, the head of him nestled at her womb. He slowly grinds deep, and her lashes flutter. “Told you, bebita,” he says. “I’ll give you everything you want.”

She gives an experimental roll of her hips and feels him so deep, so thick and heavy in her belly that she shivers. “S’good,” she slurs. “Fuck, honey, it's so good. So big. Fuck me, please, please…”

He lets her take what she wants from him even as he grits his teeth against her throat from the achingly slow drag of her walls around his length. “Fuck,” he huffs into her skin, his tongue darting out to taste her some more. “Feel me? You fuckin’ feel it?”

She arches her back like a cat stretching out in a sunspot. “So deep,” she gasps, her thighs trembling. 

He swells with pride at the same time his cock twitches inside her. The hand not secured around her back shifts to her lower belly, and he swipes his thumb over her clit. Her shudder wreaks havoc on her entire body. “You're fucking perfect,” he grunts. “Hear me? Fucking perfect and all mine.”

She laughs breathlessly, addicted to the press of his cock against the spot inside her that wrecks her. “Is this what you needed? To fuck your wife in the middle of someone's field? Get away from the stuffy politics and just—ohhh, fuck—just fill me up with your big cock?”

Whatever blood remaining in his body floods his cock. He's mindless, growling, primal at the taste and smell and feel of her wrapped up in him. Her words make him pull her ever closer. 

“Just needed you, baby.” He kisses her deeply. “The rest is a goddamn bonus.”

“Such a gentleman,” she says, her voice pitching down into a moan when he continues to torture her clit. “Should've let me come if you wanted me so badly.”

He lifts a brow, bucking his hips up against hers. “That so?” 

She swallows thickly. “Spoiled, remember?”

Javier grins, sending she's getting close to her peak. “Want to come?”

“You know the fucking answer to that,” she whines. 

Two of his fingers find the tight seal of her cunt where he disappears inside her, and he pushes inside. She cries out, “Oh!” and Javier shushes her with that cocky fucking grin. 

“You can take it, baby,” he says, circling her clit to help her relax, help her take the stretch. She feels every groove, every knuckle, every sweet, slow, powerful pounding of his cock and his fingers in her soaked pussy. “That's it.” Javier kisses her from her lips to her jaw. “Thaaat’s it.”

She stiffens when her climax comes, freezing on his cock and clenching impossibly tight around his cock and fingers, choking the fucking life from him. He captures her melting cry in his mouth and fucks her thoroughly, pushing as deep as he can possibly go before he comes with a groan.

She's locked in position on his cock and he won't let her go. She wiggles her hips to take more of him as he spurts his hot cum inside her. Her eyes fall to where she's sat on him, watching it leak out of her and bead in the hairs at the base of his cock. She begins to giggle, drunk as always on the feel of him, them, together. “Like a Twinkie,” she mumbles. 

Javier makes a gruff noise, pulling her down with him and holding the back of her head while he kisses her. “Think that was it?” he asks into her mouth. 

“If it isn't,” she replies, pulling away and smiling wickedly, “I’ll still be in love with you.”

“Muy dulce,” he laughs, gently pulling her off him. She collapses, boneless, to the floor of the trunk, and he uses a napkin to wipe the remnants of his cum from her thighs. “C’mon, baby,” he says, gently patting her ass. “We need to put food in you.”

She hums, letting him lift her out of the car. He adjusts the straps of her dress on her shoulders. “You can put anything you want in me,” she says. 

Javier brushes his knuckle across her chin and clicks his tongue. “Must've fucked you good, honey. Can you walk?”

She just takes his hand and follows him to the passenger’s side. She slips into the seat and he settles into his, starting up the car. “I like your way of celebrating,” she tells him. 

He threads his fingers through hers and rests them on her thigh as he drives back toward the main road. “Did they at least get my good side?” 

She laughs, bringing their joined hands up to kiss each of his knuckles. “Every side is your good side, Javier. You’re the point of envy for every Hollywood star there is.”

“I could do without the sarcasm,” he says good-naturedly.

“Who said I was being sarcastic?” She shakes her head, tutting. “I’ll get it through that head of yours someday, vaquero.”

“Get what through my head?” He lifts a brow, turning onto the road.

She watches him, illuminated by the lights of the city as they drive back toward civilisation. “The things I see when I look at you,” she says softly.

~

Sometimes, a thing happens that seems totally senseless. It will happen suddenly, and the fallout will be swift. It will not make sense until long afterward. Out of the cataclysm, misery arises, and the dust will settle on a dimmer world. 

Possibility arises, too. Hope, even. But you must sift through the tragedy and the rubble before you can find it. 

The sun shines outside. It’s just after noon. She wears a blouse and a skirt, but it’s the former that makes her especially happy. Her husband bought it for her: a birthday present. Sara compliments her on it, and she happily confesses that it was a gift. 

He’s good to you.

And it’s true. She sits back down at her desk and bites down on her smile to tamper it a little. She twists her rings around her finger. She cracks open the window to let in the gentle breeze. 

There's a split-second of quiet, and it's the birds that make her notice. 

They go silent. They usually chirp all day, singing happily out by the trees that line the paths. They're a beautiful choir, and now they’ve stopped singing. She barely registers the change. 

Outside the window next to her corner desk, there's a flash of light. She sees something small, black, lumpy and streaked with colour—blue, red, yellow—placed on the front steps of the adjacent building. The president’s building. 

She feels the world tip. It may just be the floor beneath her crumbling. Or it may be the force of the blast that knocks her off-kilter, sends her flying. 

She's unaware of the world for a moment. But when she awakes, she's crawling, ears ringing, out from the furniture that's cracked and splintered atop her. She watches her own hand tremble, and she hears the fuzzy noise of the sirens sharpen into focus, but she feels nothing. She only thinks. 

Help. 

Get help. 

In the next room, she hears a muffled cry for help. A booming voice, raspy with dust in the throat. She crawls toward the voice. It is all she knows. 

~

Something rattles his blinds while he's hunting underneath his desk for a file that slipped onto the floor. He barely notices the way the objects have shifted on his desktop.

Minutes later, he hears sirens screech by. 

There's rustling outside his door, and someone bursts inside. Javier doesn't bother to look up from the file. 

“Busy,” he says shortly.

Whoever’s standing there wastes no time with pleasantries. 

"There's been an explosion, sir." Feistl sounds shaken. "At the university.”

That gets Javier's attention. 

He stands up in a rush, papers fluttering to the floor, his head swimming.

“My wife—"

"We don't know yet," says Feistl.

That doesn't fix his mood.

His mouth has gone dry. Panic sets in, his terrible vision sharpening to red. "Casualties," he manages to get out, his voice a rasp.

"Boss, I don't think—"

"How many casualties?" he demands. 

He needs to know. He doesn't want to know.

Finally, Feistl meets his eye. "Three confirmed."

Javier can't stand up straight. He thinks if he lets go of his desk, he'll fall over. "They know who?"

"Police won't tell us shit," says Feistl, a bit bitterly. "Not our department."

He runs a hand over his face. He needs to put his hands around someone’s throat and squeeze until it pops. "Not our department,” he repeats under his breath, planting a finger on his desk like there's a speck of dust he needs to clean. “Not… Mierda... Los hijos de puta... It's my fucking department.” He feels his nostrils flare, an angry bull at the charge. “It’s my. Fucking. Wife.”

Van Ness stumbles into the office, breathing hard. His telephone cord is wrapped around the doorway, the device clutched to his ear like it's glued there. "One more confirmed," he says. "News just said so."

Phones are ringing non-stop in the bullpen. Narcos, they’re saying. Targeted attack. The school president killed in the attack. Attack. Javier's phone is silent. He stalks out the door, shoving past Feistl and Van Ness even as the latter tries to tell him it's no use, the place is cordoned off, he'll never get in. 

"Let him go, man," he hears Feistl mutter. "It's his wife."

It's a five-minute drive to the university. Javier makes it in one and a half. He barely shuts off the engine and he's halfway out of the car, sprinting straight past the guards manning the roped-off section with his badge on display.

The damage is ghastly. The university building has a crater in it, the rubble still smoking, the green campus grey and hazy with destruction. There are police vehicles, bomb squad, and ambulances surrounding the area. The air is thick and cloying with smoke. It infests his throat, viscous as syrup. It's nothing compared to how heavy the terror settles inside him. 

Javier checks every single one and feels the pit in his stomach swallow another piece of him when he can't find her.

Around the building, there's still nothing. Nothing but firemen pulling bodies, writhing pets, and unconscious people from the rubble. Nothing.

Not the flash of her eyes nor a lock of her hair. Not a thread of the connection that thrums between them. His own heart beats, but he cannot hear hers. He can't feel it. He can barely breathe. 

"We got another one over here!" one of them shouts.

Javier's feet carry him to the site. He doesn't remember the journey.

Three men uncover a woman's wrist. It's delicate and bleeding, a blouse stained red. 

She wore blouses. She wore one to work today. 

He stumbles backward. They keep pulling, unearthing, digging. His hand finds his chest and squeezes over his shirt. He wants to claw out his heart. He's lost his girl. He's lost his wife.

His fucking light.

They find her face beneath the rubble, and Javier wants to throw up.

It's not her.

It's. Not. Her.

"¿Señor Peña?"

He whips around. A man he doesn't know is limping toward him, dressed in a black suit that's become grey from dust. 

Javier doesn't have the fucking time for this. "Yeah," he says, short and clipped.

The man is middle-aged, greying, and wincing in pain when he comes to a stop. "Your wife... she found me. Pulled me out of a pile of rubble. Would've suffocated if she wasn't so quick."

Javier's breath escapes him in one punch. He barely manages to ask, "Where is she?"

The man gestures, and Javier follows. The ambulance is surrounded by civilians, some wearing shock blankets, some hacking and wheezing, some on their knees as they cry for their loved ones. All of them look... well, like they've survived a bombing.

And she's there. 

She's right fucking there, handing a cup of tea to a crying woman, consoling her like she's the one in charge. 

The man stops walking, rubbing his injured knee, but Javier breaks into a run.

He cries her name. He can't help it. He's sobbing like the day he was born as he reaches her, scooping her up into his arms like an idiot because God knows she may be injured.

“Mi amor.” A whisper and a prayer, a bone-deep sigh of relief. The thread between them plucks strong and true, hearts trading beats. 

She holds him tightly and begins to cry, too.

"Baby, oh, God, sweetheart, mi cielo," he chokes out, rambling, not caring about making any sense. He's holding her, kissing her everywhere, her cheeks and forehead and mouth and jaw. She's alive and in his arms and she's okay. "Me asustaste. Te amo mucho, cariño. Te amo... "

"Javi," she cries, her face in his neck, her hands in his hair. "I thought I was going to die. Oh, God, I thought… I love you, I love you, I love you.”

They're both a mess, bumbling and pulling each other closer.

"Sweetheart," he says again, wanting to see her, look into her eyes and make sure it's real, "let me see you. I have to see you're okay, baby."

She reluctantly pulls away, and his chest feels so tight it could burst. Her face is streaked on one side with grey and red—her blood, he realises with a dreadful start, dripping from a wound in her temple—and he looks down only to see a horrific bruise from her hip to her mid-thigh. It's so dark it's nearly black, a splotch of darkness tainting her sweet skin. Her skirt has ripped, and his first instinct is to cover her with a blanket so nobody sees her underwear; but he notices most people are missing half their clothes, too. "Fuck," he says, placing a hand on her stomach. "You get this checked out?"

Despite all the chaos, her cheeks warm. He meets her eye and says her name sternly. 

Her fingertips brush his tense jaw. "I didn't even notice it until they pulled me out, baby. My adrenaline's still going."

"Yeah, mine too," he says, leaning into her touch. "We're gonna get you to the paramedics. No more saving others."

"Model of the DEA," she says fondly, accepting his arm around her waist. She limps along with him until the middle-aged man blocks their path. Javier is so focused on getting her help that he almost raises his hackles, tells him to fuck off. He won't. He can't be a dick to disaster victims.

"Profesor," she says. "¿Estás bien? "

"¿Yo?" he says with a wry laugh. "Me salvaste la vida (You saved my life)."

Javier kisses her cheek—she isn't bleeding on her left side—and whispers, "Salvadora."

She squeezes the man's arm as they walk past. Javier finds two paramedics talking to one another by an ambulance, a shocked woman sitting in between them. "Mi esposa," he demands. "Ella nesecita ayuda (She needs help)." She gives him a look, and he mumbles, "Por favor."

One paramedic continues speaking with the woman while the other approaches his wife. She nods at him that he can inspect her. Javier doesn't let go of her waist. "It will bleed," the medic says, prodding around the gash in her temple. "Head wounds are like that. But I should be able to clean it and bandage it without any problem. You’re the lady who found Profesor Estrada?"

She nods sheepishly. The paramedic chuckles. "He taught me when I was in school," he tells her. "That was brave, what you did."

"I couldn't leave him," she says dismissively. "He always brings me coffee."

The medic shakes his head good-naturedly, applying a damp cloth to her temple while Javier holds her hair away from her face. She winces, which makes his other hand instinctively tighten around her. The cloth has turned red by the time her face is clear of blood. "We'll need to stitch this. Here's the hard part," says the medic. "Looking at your leg will hurt a lot more. You should probably lie down." He looks at Javier, but hesitantly, like he's afraid. Good. "Would you, uh, like to help her inside?" He gestures toward the ambulance.

Javier nods. He really needs a cigarette. The woman with the shock blanket has left, so Javier lifts his wife onto the ambulance platform and she limps inside, climbing up onto the gurney. She cries out, freezing in place, and Javier's blood chills at the sound. "Amor?" he says, voice strained. "What is it, baby? What's wrong?"

Her breaths are coming out heavier. "My... my side," she says, a hand flying up to the ribs on the same side as her bruise. She hisses. "Oh, shit, that hurts."

Just like that, he's panicking again. "Her side," he says frantically. "Su lado. Revisa su lado (Check her side)."

The medic looks like he'd rather do anything than lift up her shirt while her scary husband's right there, but he does his job. Her blouse is sticky with blood, but it peels away from her side, and Javier feels bile rushing up his throat.

It's a map of black bruises around her ribs. She reaches out for Javier's hand while the medic pokes around, and he grips her so tight it's like he's the one who's hurt. He's terrified. He can't do anything but hold her. He's useless. "I'm right here, baby," he says, kissing her climbing pulse. "Look at me."

She already is, but her eyes are watery. She's lying on her good side, half of her body exposed as the medic inspects the ugly bruises. "Contusions," he concludes. "From the force of the bomb and the fall. You'll need rest and minimal physical activity, but they'll get better on their own."

"What can I do?" Javier jumps in.

"Help her out around the house. Help her up and down stairs if she has trouble walking. Usually, contusions will heal in about a month."

She breathes out a laugh despite the visible pain she's in. "Just be my husband."

"I got you, cielito," he says.

"Señora," says the medic. "I need to stitch you up now."

"Sí," she replies. "Mi esposo. ¿Puede quedarse aquí? (My husband. Can he stay here?)"

"Sí, señora," he replies. The other medic hops into the ambulance and closes the doors. There's already a man in the driver's seat, so it's a tight fit back here with four of them. But they're just looking at each other.

She's shivering with the shock once her adrenaline begins to wane. Javier shrugs off his jacket so fast it rips somewhere, and places it over her like a blanket. "Mi amor," she whispers.

The other medic begins to take her blood pressure, instructing her how to keep her breathing steady even as her eyes are glazing over. Javier wants to tell the man to fuck off, but there's no point in getting angry, not when she's using his eyes to ground herself. "What do we do for dinner tonight?" she asks. "Because I didn't have any time to think about it."

“I’ll pick something up,” he says. “Gotta go back to get my car, though.”

She snorts. “Please don't tell me how fast you drove to get here. It’ll give me a hernia.”

“Quedarse quieto (Stay still),” says the medic tending to her heart rate. She mutters an apology, but Javier frowns. 

“Ella está en el dolor (She’s in pain),” he snaps. “¿Quieres que te dé un puñetazo en las costillas y te diga que te quedes quieto? (Do you want me to punch you in the ribs and tell you to stay still?)”

“Gruñón,” she scolds gently. She squeezes his hand and looks apologetically at the medic. “Estás haciendo tu trabajo (You’re doing your job).”

Javier kisses her palm and keeps it pressed to his cheek. The ambulance lines up beside ten others outside the hospital. The emergency room is overflowing with patients, and Javier wants to barrel through all of them to get her into a room. But he knows he can't. She's in a hell of a lot of pain, but she's stable, and most of these survivors aren't. He knows this, but it doesn't make him any happier. His wife is hurt, and he can’t know if there's anything serious beneath her injuries. 

The way her breathing staggers when she clambers out of the ambulance lifts all the animal instincts in his body. He damn near growls at the medic whose hand grazes her wounded side as she steps down onto the ground, every nerve screaming to tug her close to him and not let another body within ten yards of her. He kisses her temple and cradles her head when she’s finally upright, pressed against him in a tight hug. Now that they're under the fluorescent hospital lights, he sees the hollow cut to her cheeks, the ghastly cut on her other temple, the way her lashes flutter with the mild shock she hasn't yet shaken. Each breath she takes chips at his heart. He could have lost her today. 

He doesn't let himself dwell. She sways slightly on her feet and it knocks the alarm bells around his skull. “Baby, we gotta sit you down,” he says, helping her to a chair. All around them, people covered in dust and blood moan, scream, or pray, all covered in injuries which vary in severity. Her eyes well with tears, and Javier drops to his knees in front of her. “Cielito, please don't cry,” he says softly, swiping her tears away with his thumbs. “What can I do?”

“Just…” She looks at him miserably, her lip quivering. “So much pain. They're all in so much pain.”

Bloody, beaten, and pulled from the rubble of a bombing, and she worries about everyone around her. She's better than he ever could hope to be. 

“Lo sé,” he mutters, threading his fingers through hers. “They're gonna get help, just like you.”

“We all could've died, Javi. I almost…” She hiccups, and he knows the shock is gone, the rush of terror and dread flooding her body with the force of a slug to the chest. “Almost left you.”

He shakes his head, sliding his hand up and down her uninjured thigh and pressing a kiss to her knee. “You didn't, baby. You're here with me, hey? Éstas aquí. Aquí, la cosa más hermosa que he visto (the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen).”

She sniffles, tears still streaming through the remaining dust on her face. “You’ve been shot,” she says weakly.

He laughs roughly, realising it’s the first time he’s let himself do so since Feistl came rushing into his office. “You know I’ve never been shot here,” he says. He took a bullet in the leg back in Austin, and never heard the end of it from the other guys.

“Leave it to me,” she says, a smile cracking through the tear tracks on her cheeks. “One of us has to get into the accidents in this partnership.”

“That’s what I always told Murphy. Guy never listened.” 

Her laugh is a bit delirious, a bit hushed, guilt prodding her for laughing in the midst of such misery. “Come up here with me,” she says softly, and he sits in the chair next to her. 

She curls into him as best she can in spite of her injuries, and together, they breathe. 

~

Sometimes, a thing happens that seems totally senseless. It will happen suddenly, and the fallout will be swift. Out of the cataclysm, misery arises. 

It will not make sense until long afterward.

“Señora,” says the nurse. “Estás embarazada.”

Her hand trembles on its way to her mouth. Her fingers prod her lips, recalling the taste of blood, the blast of the bomb, the years of her life flashing in white-hot snapshots behind her eyes. 

The nurse goes on some more: the last negative test must have been wrong, she's eight weeks along, there a couple things they should know before—

“¿Ésta… Ésta bien?” is all she manages to ask. 

The nurse smiles reassuringly. “Sí, señora.”

She begins to sob. Javier is clutching her hand and kissing her knuckles and whispering to her that they’re all right, they're safe, we’re having a baby. Holy shit. We’re having a baby. 

Javier kisses her tear-slicked cheek and nudges it with his nose. “Baby,” he says, grinning. A baby. 

“A baby,” she whispers. 

The nurse leaves briefly to print off her report for them to take home. Javier gingerly places his hand on his wife’s belly, imagining he can feel a heartbeat there. He's transfixed by the thought of it. It's so real. She's right here, in his arms, safe and healing and pregnant. Christ. She's pregnant. He did that. 

“I did that,” he says. 

She giggles. “You're a daddy, vaquero. I get to be a mom. Holy shit, I get to be a mom.”

Javier is mindful of her injuries when he gathers her into him, keeping his hand secure on her stomach. He pictures it swelling with his child, a little spot of sunshine that brings a glow to her cheeks and a waddle to her gait. His chest surges with the instinct to protect her, keep that smile snug and safe on her face, provide her and the little life inside her with everything they'll ever want. 

He already knows he would kill for this child, the way he's killed for its mother. 

This is how things piece together. This is the hope that arises from disaster. A hand on her belly. A whisper. Wounds that will heal. They always do. 

~

prev

[welldonebeca]

The Triplets (3)

Summary: Lizzie moves in with her favourite honorary Uncle, Beau, to find work in a big city, and starts sharing a house with him and his other two twins brothers. The triplets - Dean, Ben and Beau - couldn't be more different and more similar at the same time. One thing they all share? Well, they all want to fuck her, of course. Pairing: Ben "Soldier Boy" x Lizzie (OC), Beau Arlen x Lizzie (OC), Dean Winchester x Lizzie (OC). Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort. Alcohol. Fluff. Quiet sex. Size difference. Size kink. Virginity loss. Virginity kink. Oral sex. 

Lizzie didn’t leave her room after that, even skipping dinner.

She had almost fucked Ben right there!

What was wrong with her? Was she really gonna throw away her virginity like that? To the first guy to kiss her in the middle of the corridor, where anyone could find them?!

But the way he kissed her…

His lips were so soft and his beard rubbed against her face…

She had made herself cum for an hour straight before falling asleep, and now it was past midnight and she couldn’t sleep.

Lizzie was hungry, embarrassed and horny, a horrible combination.

So she listened and listened for any movement outside, and put on a baggy shirt over her panties, walking out in bare feet. Everyone was asleep, thank goodness.

Maybe there were leftovers in the fridge.

Instead of food, though, she found a six-pack, cool and taunting her.

Food be damned, she needed a good buzz.

She pulled it out and went to the living room, opening a can a nursing it while looking for the remote, so she could flip through channels, watching a random game show mindlessly.

“What are you doing?” she heard all of a sudden.

Lizzie jumped, nearly falling down the couch.

Oh my God, she was sitting all spread, her clothes were a mess, had he seen anything?

She quickly grabbed a pillow and covered her thighs.

“Sorry,” Dean approached her quickly. “Are you alright?”

She blushed, embarrassed, and nodded quickly.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “I’m just… watching TV.”

Dean nodded stiffly.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “I just got … thirsty”

Dean’s eyes darted to the beer in her hand, but nodded, a little more relaxed.

“Right,” he agreed. “Thirsty.”

She flushed, looking away, and Dean sat down by her side.

“Look,” he spoke softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude to you.”

Lizzie blinked, confused.

“What?”

“The way I talked,” he explained. “I’m not good with people sometimes. I can be an asshole.”

Oh, right. She remembered that now.

She had forgotten it after Ben put his tongue inside her mouth.

“It’s alright,” she insisted.

Dean just shook his head.

“I know I upset you,” he insisted. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you were just looking at the car.”

Lizzie moved, a little unsure.

“It’s a nice car,” she mumbled. “I understand you being protective of it.”

Dean smiled, relaxing.

“It was my dad’s,” he told her. “Don’t tell the guys, but I’m pretty sure we were made in that car.”

She snorted a laugh, surprised.

“Really?”

He shrugged.

“We might,” he elbowed her playfully. “I like to think I was the first and the other two are a corrupted version of me, you know? From the whole copying process.”

That made her laugh out loud, which Dean seemed to like.

“It’s why I have a different name,” he told her. “They thought they were having twins, so dad suggested Benjamin and Beaumont. I came out first, I was Benjamin, then Ben came and he was Beaumont.”

She nodded and he then chuckled.

“But then,” he raised a finger. “Beau came out. And they realised we were triplets. So, they did a reshuffle of the names. Ben became Benjamin, Beau became Beaumont, and I became Dean, because I’m the oldest, and mum wanted to pay homage to her mother.”

That was… messy.

“Let’s just say I got teased a lot for being named after grandma Deanna,” he sighed. “But I was her favourite, anyway.”

She giggled, but frowned a little, resting her head on the couch, a little buzzed.

“I wish I knew more about my mum,” she confessed, lips a little loose.

Dean’s face softened.

“What happened?” he asked.

Lizzie sipped her beer for a moment and sighed.

“She got sick when I was a kid,” she told him. “And… well, you know.”

Died.

He frowned.

“I didn’t know you had lost your mother.”

She smiled sadly, looking at him.

“Dad tried to work on his own with me, but then he remarried,” she told him. “It’s his wife that you have met.”

Dean hummed along.

“And I guess you don’t like her, then,” he supposed.

Lizzie clicked her tongue.

“Nope,” she agreed with him. “Not at all.”

She started to drink more at the thought, and dean follows along with her, picking one of the cans and drinking along.

“I get it,” he told her. “My mom died first, and I felt like I had to fill her shoes. I practically did.”

Lizzie rested her head on his shoulder slowly, and Dean reached for her free hand, giving it a squeeze, a soft comfort without the need of explaining themselves.

“Thanks for talking with me...” she sighed, a little slow on her lips. “I think you’re the first person who’s ever gotten it.”

He looked at her, lips parted, and she looked at him.

Lizzie really didn’t know who broke their stare, but in a minute his lips were in hers and he was kissing her hungrily.

It was different from the way Ben had kissed her.

Dean kissed her softly, giving her space, but desperately, as if he needed her to survive.

“Lizzie,” he sighed, a hand of his moving around her waist to pull her closer.

He moved her slowly, until she was laying on the couch with him on top of her, and Lizzie push her hand under his clothes, pushing his shirt up.

Dean pulled away for a moment,

“We should-” he looked at her. “Lizzie, we’re drunk.”

“No we’re not,” she shook her head, kissing his lips again.

Dean kissed her lips back eagerly.

“Fuck me,” she whimpered. “Please, Dean.”

Dean closed his eyes, resting his head on her shoulder, and pushed her shirt up, pulling it over her head.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he kissed her neck. “Just be quiet for me, alright? Can’t let them hear you.”

She nodded, and he looked down at her body with a smirk on his lips.

“Such cute little tits,” he cooed, kissing the middle of her chest.

Lizzie squirmed, flushing and feeling her cunt warm and wet.

“Dean,” she whined.

“So cute,” he praised her, and licked her nipple. “You’re such a cute little thing, aren’t you, Lizzie?”

She whimpered, trying to pull his shirt up.

“I wanna see you too,” she pleaded.

Dean sat back, pulling his shirt and tossing it down to the floor near them.

He looked a little softer than Ben, less chiselled, but strong nonetheless.

He kissed the way down her body and then up again, kissing her lips, and she felt him moving over her.

“Hey,” he pulled back suddenly. “When was the last time you got tested?”

She blinked, a little confused.

Tested.

“How long has it been since you last had sex?” he asked.

Lizzie opened and closed her mouth.

She could lie.

Lying was easy.

“It’s… been a while,” she squeaked. “I’m clean.”

Dean squinted a little.

“How long?” he asked.

She bit her lower lip, and he raised his chin slowly before kissing down her neck.

“Are you a little virgin, little Miss?” he bit her earlobe.

Lizzie squirmed, blushing, and whined when he put a hand between her legs.

“Is this why your cunt is so wet just by my kisses?” he pulled her panties aside, pushing his finger between her folds.

“Yes,” she squeaked, unable to keep the lie to herself.

His hand squeezed her more and Dean pulled away, looking at her with a darkened gaze.

She was shocked when he tore her panties.

“They are my favourite!” Lizzie protested.

“I’ll buy you more,” Dean pinched her clit, making her moan and jump. “I’ll buy you a ton more.”

He kissed her to shut her up before kissing down her neck.

Then her chest.

Down to her stomach.

And then her pussy.

“Dean?” she asked, unsure.

He looked up at her and simply stuck out his tongue, licking her folds from her entrance to her clit.

“Let me prep you, little thing,” he hummed. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it good.”

She nodded, holding back a whimper, and Dean smirked.

“Be quiet, we don’t want the whole house to hear you.”

He licked her hungrily, and Lizzie had to grab a pillow to muffle her moans.

“So fucking sweet,” he grunted.

He licked and sucked her clit, pushing two fingers into her cunt and spreading them.

His fingers feel so thick, bigger than any toy she’s used, but she was always afraid about putting stuff inside her. It always hurt.

But Dean didn’t.

Her eyes nearly crossed when she arched her hips to his lips, flooded with pleasure.

“Dean,” she pressed the pillow to her mouth. “Please.”

He squeezed her hips tighter, devouring her.

Fuck, she was going to cum.

She was so loose and tipsy she couldn’t stop herself even if she wanted to.

Lizzie came with little whimpers and crying, squirming under him.

Dean crawled up her body while she was still shaking a little, and kissed her lips hungrily again, making her taste her own wetness as his cock nudged between her folds.

“Look at me,” he whispered into her lips.

She obeyed, looking at his face, and Dean was gazing deeply at her face.

"Are you sure?" he asked softly. "We can stop if you want to."

His eyes were so sweet. Dean was so sweet.

“I want you, Dean,” she told him. “I am sure.”

Dean smiled and kissed her lips again, moving a hand down to between her legs, and she felt his cock nudging into her entrance.

He pushed into her slowly moving his nose over hers as he did, biting her lower lip and holding her tight.

It was new.

He was big.

Very big.

Large, stretching her, like nothing had ever done before.

Dean moved closer to her and pushed his face into the crook of her neck as she gripped his shoulder, trying not to make any sound, but Lizzie squealed anyway when he moved his hand to play with her clit, rubbing it tightly.

“Good girl,” he grunted. “Taking my cock so sweetly, all wet for me.”

“Dean,” she whined.

He moved his hips shallowly, rubbing and rubbing, not even moving much, nearly just humping her.

“Wanna feel you cum,” he grunted into her neck. “Sweet little virgin, all needy for me.”

She moaned more, trembling under him, sensitive.

“Gonna eat your pussy every day,” he grunted into her neck. “Devour your little cunt.”

Lizzie closed her eyes, covering her mouth with a hand, near another orgasm. Ben had kissed her stupid earlier, and Dean was finishing the job by fucking her dumb.

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” he grunted into her ear. “Cum for me and I’ll cum in you, I’ll fill you up and make that virgin cunt all messy.”

“Yes,” she panted. “Yes, Dean.”

His lazy thrusts became faster and harder, and Lizzie came again just as he started slamming into her cunt so hard she knew she would be a little bruised later.

Suddenly, he stopped and moaned into her neck, and he came, throbbing in her and filling her in a strange way.

Lizzie was already sleepy when he stopped, and Dean nearly slumped against her before turning her around and laying her on his body.

“Good girl,” Dean squeezed her, cock still in her and hands holding her tight, like he was afraid to let her go. “Just mine.”

. . .

"The Triplets" was posted on Patreon on January 2023. To read it now before anyone else and read the sequels "The Livestream (Ben x Lizzie)", "patience is a virtue (Dean x Lizzie)" and "the pictures (Beau x Lizzie)", subscribe to my page! It's just $2 a month and it helps a lot.

. . .

[thelightsandtheroses]

Secret Smile: A Tale of Two Reunions (Chapter Seven)

Secret Smile | Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: Before returning to Colombia to get things right this time, Javi’s childhood best friend asks him to keep an eye out for his sister while they’re both stationed in the embassy. Only you don’t need Javier to keep an eye you her. Your role as a new legal advisor is all about keeping an eye on him after all Sparks fly, lines will be drawn and broken and there’s everything to lose.

Word Count: 5.9 k Chapter Warnings: 18+ blog, language, mentions of alcohol, reader has a nickname (Blue) but no physical descriptors are used, depression, past sexual harassment and sexism, past toxic workplace with pretty terrible HR management, un beta’d. Author's Notes: Thanks, as always, for all your lovely comments and reblogs to this fic so far. It means the world to me. I've been very nervous about this chapter but I hope it works?

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Javi’s never spent much time in Florida before. Besides growing up in Texas, most of his working career has been spent in Colombia, or briefly Mexico at the start. He’s had a couple of meetings in DC, most notably the time he thought he would be fired and instead was offered this promotion. 

Perks of the job, he supposes. Join the DEA and you’ll get to explore new places while stopping the bad guys; that was how it had been sold to him back in the day.

It’s draining though. Today he’s been in three different countries, taken two flights, plus he chased Jurado across a town like he still thought he was in his twenties.  At least there’s only an hour time difference here. At least they get tonight to reset. You and Javi can’t fly back to Colombia until the morning so Javi and you have been booked into a nearby hotel.

You’re still with the lawyers from Justice. In fact, you were the one who had suggested he go back to the hotel, that why didn’t he check in with Steve while he was here, make the most of the unexpected delay? There isn’t anything else he can do right now.

So now he’s at the hotel bar, having just finished a decidedly average burger and fries that was the only meal that met the new expenses policy limits, making sure to pocket his receipt while he remembers, and you’re probably still working.

Since he came back to Colombia, since you came back into his life, he’s only really seen you working in the embassy. He’s watched you make calls, plans, smooth paths and write paperwork. He’s never seen you like he has today though; in full lawyer mode.

You’re impressive.

There were other lawyers there and waiting but it was you Javi was watching, you who took control of the situation and pushed for solutions. You who spoke to them to prepare the testimony from Jurado, who had written the deal out already.

Then when Javi walked back in the room some time later and saw Jurado’s lawyer, he knew. He saw your face, the frustration clear, but you still tried.

He watched you dodge and weave through Starkman’s arguments, to try and make the deal still happen. You were calm, methodical, collected. Every now and then you’d meet Javi’s gaze, looking desperately like you wanted to roll your eyes at him over some unwelcome road bump and then turning your attention back to the moment as thought you had never looked at him.

You’ve both changed so much since Laredo; he remembers you there as shy, nervous, passionate about the things you loved, yes, but never like this.

It’s not enough though.

All that effort, running around Curacao in the sweltering heat and damn near falling of a roof like an idiot, all of it is for nothing. Javi has a feeling it doesn’t matter how skilled you are as a lawyer; it’s all going nowhere without Christina. Jurado won’t talk until she’s safe. Javi doesn’t even blame him.

Javi wonders what that’s like, loving someone that much. Though he wonders how much love there is to expose your wife to that situation, to use her passport to further your work. She was clearly unhappy when Javi spoke to her, he could see the loneliness in her eyes. The Jurados are truly in a sorry mess now.

Javi’s time in Colombia is one step forward and five steps back. Franklin’s wife still hasn’t arrived at the embassy. Javi swears Christina was on board, she was ready when he spoke to her on the runway - she was meant to be on her way so he can’t see her going to  Jurado’s employers instead. No, there’s a rising sense of dread and worry coating his skin like sweat. Things are only going to get worse. Stoddard and the team are trying to find where she might be in the city, to see if they can get her and bring her to the US.

There’s nothing he can do from here right now though.  He’s a passenger right now, until tomorrow, until they land back in Bogotá.  He’s powerless and he hates it.

He notices Steve instantly as he walks over to Javi’s table in the smoking section. Javi moves his empty plate to one side before standing up to greet his old partner.

Steve looks well - being away from Colombia suits him. The last time they’d spoken, Steve had said that things were a lot better with him and Connie, that Olivia was in preschool and happy, that being home was working for him. He’s a DEA consultant now; he trains new agents, provides case studies or advice on how to approach a case. 

He’s not in the field though.

Steve fought his battle. He was there when they took down Escobar.

They order drinks and make the initial small talk before Steve proudly shows Javi the latest photo of Olivia in his wallet.  If anything is a stark reminder of the years that have passed, the sizeable amount of Javi’s life dedicated to this war, it’s seeing that Olivia isn’t a baby anymore. She’s a child with her hair in bunches and a wide toothy grin on her face. Javi wonders if she even remembers Colombia now, if she would remember him or any of her time there.

A few minutes later, Steve takes a gulp from his beer and looks at Javi carefully. His expression is one Javi recognises; this is the moment when Steve is getting to the crux of whatever he wanted to raise.

“I can’t believe they wanted you back,” he says lightly.

“Me either. Thought I was being fired when I went to DC after it all went down.”

“You’re a good agent, Javier. You know we couldn’t have - we couldn’t have done what we did without you. I just still can’t get over that you actually went back there,” Steve continues and Javi gets the sense that Steve means a lot more than just that the DEA had invited him back. “That you’ve spent months back there again and what - you’re in for a few more, another year of this?”

He’s not sure how to respond that, what he’s supposed to say about the albatross of obligation and redemption that’s bound so tightly around his neck that it’s become a noose.

“Job wasn’t done, Steve. The Cali godfathers, all of that - I want to get it right. Besides, I’m not sure now I’m back that they actually did want me back.”

“What do you mean?”

Javi stubs out his cigarette. “They wanted a poster boy.”

Steve laughs at that, shakes his head. “And they thought of you?”

“Hey, of the two of us, I am obviously the better looking one.”

“In my first week in Bogotá, you asked me to sneak papers down my trousers out of a secure lock up.”

“And I stand by that, Steve.”

“How the fuck would they ever have thought you’d just sit there and take that?”

Javi lights a cigarette and shrugs, offering the packet to Steve who shakes his head.

“I quit.”

“I did try the gum,” Javi admits before taking a long drag of his cigarette.

“That seems to be working out well for you,” Steve says dryly.

“Fucking brilliantly,” he says, raising his eyebrows.

“So, they wanted a figurehead, not - not you. How’s that going? You didn’t answer me. I know you, Javi, I know you wouldn’t do that.”

“They have tried to make it harder - fucking Stechner’s been - himself. Um, there’s a lawyer who works in tandem with Justice and the Ambassador and is my - unofficial liaison? I don’t know. Unofficially, they wanted her to keep an eye on me.” It feels like a terrible way to describe Blue, to introduce who she is to Steve.

Steve puts his glass down and meets Javi’s gaze straight on.

“What the fuck?”

“Yeah. It’s fine though. It turns out I knew her so -”

“Oh god, Javi. She’s not someone you slept with before, is she?”

“Wow, do you really think so little of me?”

Steve raises his eyebrows at Javi and yeah, maybe he knows where Steve is coming from. The thing is, despite his reputation, he doesn’t feel like he was as much as a rogue as people wanted to paint him.

“No, she’s from Laredo,” he says.  “Actually, I was good friends with her brother growing up so I’ve known her a long time. Still am friends with her brother. She’s a good person, Steve. She wants the same thing as me. Blue wants us to get the godfathers, shut it down. We need to get real justice for the people, so that’s what we’re going for.”

“Blue?”

“Oh, fuck, it’s just her nickname from when we were kids.”

“So, you’re just working with her, Javi? This woman from your hometown, you’ve known for years you’re telling me? Who you call by her childhood nickname?  Who is your friend’s sister? And you’re just … working together on this?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You forget I know you Javi and I’m hearing how you’re talking about her.”

“Fuck off.”

“Too close to home? Tread carefully, Javi, please.”

He doesn’t know the half of it, Javi thinks, immediately thinking of the moment he almost kissed you.  He takes a deep drag of his cigarette and doesn’t answer letting silence be his answer.

“How’s it down there now anyway?“ Steve asks after a moment. His voice manages to convey both a desire to be distanced from Bogotá and a sense of wistfulness at once. Javi gets it.

“It’s the same but different, Steve. The godfathers aren’t like Escobar. It’s a whole different type of battle down there right now.” Javi can’t tell Steve about the surrender deal he’s blown up, about the way everything is working out, or rather how it isn’t, about how fragile and terrifying the odds feel right now.

“So, what are you going to do when it’s done?”

“No fucking idea. You’re the one who said I was a lifer.”

Steve pauses and takes a sip of his own drink.  “Yeah, I did say that didn’t I?”

Javi shrugs, raises his beer to his friend in a mock salute.

He’s not sure how to truly answer Steve. He’s not sure what’s next for him; he can’t see himself in Laredo but the job is weighing on him, the job is changing. In all honesty, he has no clue what will come next. Home? His dad’s ranch? The life he originally wanted to escape? It’d be kind of poetic, he supposes. He’s not sure what else there is for him except DEA station after station for the rest of his life, watching his agents take part in missions while he sits in a suit and argues with other people about it.

“Anyway, tell me what’s new with you,” Javi asks instead.

The paperwork and handoff with your Justice colleagues takes hours. A part of you almost enjoyed the discussions with Starkman, the back and forth and chess moves to try and get what you needed.

You’re still not there though and that’s frustrating, draining even. You’re used to getting through a problem, but this one worries you.

Still, Jurado is in custody, the team have a solid case against him and that prosecution will proceed. Javi just needs him to talk and maybe he can get Christina back at the table too.

You’ve done as much as possible right now.

 All you can think about right now is how desperately you’re looking forward to getting to your hotel room and changing out of these sticky, creased clothes, having a shower and then sleeping until you need to get up for Tomorrow’s flight to Bogotá. You’re past the point of wanting food, of wanting anything other than this day to be over and for you to crawl into bed.

You’re finally on your way out of the building when you bump into him.

He looks just like he did all those months ago, back when you were last in DC. An expensive suit, intricately coiffured honeyed hair, wafting overpriced cologne that follows him with every step.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, a mix of surprise and horror in your voice when you watch his eyes take you in.  Your palms are becoming sweaty already and you’re desperate to get out of this building, to get as far away from here as quickly as possible.

This can’t be happening. He can’t be here.

“Oh, just a Justice case I’ve been working on. I can’t really -“ he says after a pause.

“Right, of course.” You’re wondering if you can get away with stamping your heel through his overpriced Italian shoes before you run out of the building.

“Why are you here? The last I heard you were working in Mexico?”

You feel a pang of annoyance; frustration that he knows enough about you to know you were working abroad, that he assumed it would be in Mexico. You’re outraged that his tone is as relaxed as it is, almost lazy. How dare he? How fucking dare he?

“Colombia,” you correct. “That’s why I’m here - it’s for the case we’re working on.”

“Damn, that’s intense.”

“It’s fine,” you say, your voice unfamiliar and sharp. It’s the same tone you used to employ in the courtroom against particularly difficult attorneys. It’s your ice queen voice, the one that other lawyers used to dread, that earned you your steely reputation for excellence.

The memories flood you; good, bad, somewhere in between. It’s like an avalanche, as though everything you’ve been avoiding has just hit you all at once and your chest is tight and you’re not entirely sure if you’re even breathing correctly right now.

You left DC to avoid having to go through this. You fucking moved country to avoid this.

How can he be here? What forces have you upset to bring such an awful, obscure coincidence into your day? And if he’s here, what if …

Their names freeze on your tongue. You swallow, even though your mouth feels bone dry. You can do this, you think. You can.

“You took the job I was going for, after everything,” you say, folding your arms around yourself. The hate, rage, and devastation tastes sour like bile in your mouth. “Even after what happened?”

You remember everything.

“It was a promotion. Did you honestly expect me to say no? You wanted that job too, remember? You can’t honestly tell me you have said no if our positions were reversed.”

“Of course I would have.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You’re kidding yourself if you think that. I know you; I remember what you were like in court. You’re ambitious.”

It’s not a point worth arguing. You know the truth and you know you’ll never know what could have been. You’re sure you wouldn’t have though, you’re sure your moral code would have prevailed.

 In another world though, maybe the positions are reversed and you’re standing in Simon’s shoes. If that had happened then you’d never have bumped into Javi again, you’d be in DC going about your old life with your old friends. It’s unimaginable.

You feel like that version of yourself is dead.

“So, what? Now you work with them?” you probe, because now the wound is open you can’t stop the outpouring, “What, do you all sit in the office together? Have a good laugh and joke about it - about me? Do you join in?”

He whispers your name, gaze fixated on the floor. All you can think is that this man used to be your friend and now he can hardly meet your eyes. You can barely even think of him without your blood pressure rising.

“Nothing actually happened,” Simon says after a moment, “he didn’t actually do anything to you, didn’t even touch you. That’s what you said to me, remember? Look, everything got out of hand, it didn’t need to go down like that.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence as you take in his admonishment. It’s on you then, you’re the one who rocked the boat, who blew the whistle. No, that’s not right.

“Fuck you. I never want to speak to you again, Simon.”

You spin on your heels, eager to get away, get out of here. Your heart is racing, your body feels numb and the voices of the ghosts that haunt you whisper in your ear the whole way to the hotel. 

“Hey Shelley, it’s Jamie …I don’t think she’s doing so well. I think you should try and get a flight out … I know … I know … Shelley? I don’t know if she’s coming back from this. I think we’re losing her.”

You sink your head deeper into the bath water as though the water has the answers. Maybe Jamie’s right.

You’re not sure who you are anymore, who you can trust.

Maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s all you. Maybe you’ve misinterpreted and twisted it all. You’ve been through it a thousand times and each time the details get hazier, less clear. You doubt yourself more by the day. Some days you’re not even sure what’s real anymore.

You have so much more empathy for any witness you’ve ever put on the stand now.

Maybe Jamie’s right too. You’re not sure how you come back from this? How do you ever go back to the office and just pretend it hasn’t happened?

You’ve prided yourself on being a strong lawyer, on being one of the best in your office. You never give up. Not usually.

This is different though.

You’re so tired. So drained. You feel like there’s nothing inside you anymore, like the process of the last few months has shucked the life out of you leaving only a shell behind.

Your promotion is over. You’ll have to continue to sit opposite them day in and day out and just - pretend? Every day, hour after hour, you’ll just sit there and know they’ll be talking about you the second you leave the room. You’ll be given all of the lousy cases, never progress further. You’ll be the cautionary tale to any other woman in the office who would dare speak up. You’ll be judged, you’re already being judged.

It’s only been two weeks and you can’t do it a day longer.

You’re done.

Your ex-boyfriend is sleeping on your sofa because he’s the only person you have left in this city. Because every other friend you have in this city you have either just realised is not your friend, or you have quietly just shut out until they stopped calling.

Except for Jamie, and that’s only because of Shelley and Carlos. Only because they called him out of worry, out of fear. Only because Shelley wouldn’t let you cut her off and leave you to your loneliness.

In her last call, she had gently suggested changing jobs, seeking a change of scenery - was that how she phrased it? It wasn’t running away, she said, it would be prioritising yourself.  She mentioned that Laredo needed a new ADA.  It felt too close though. You can’t go home broken like this, you’re not ready.

You heard from an old law school friend there was good legal work available in some of the embassies a while ago, that he’d got to travel to amazing countries for his job before he’d settled down in California last summer. Maybe something like that would be far enough away. He’d offered to recommend you for a post if you were looking for something new. You were going for the promotion then though so you put him off. But now?

You rise up from the bathtub, rest your arms either side of the bath and think for a moment.

Maybe Shelley’s right. It’s time for a change.

He sees you in the lobby just as he’s leaving the bar with Steve. Javi feels a little lighter; catching up with Steve has helped. For an hour or so, he’s been able to forget about Christina, to forget about Jurado, to remember when the job was more active, when he had a partner with him on this and he didn’t have to wear a suit and sit in stressful meetings.

Before Steve turned up in Colombia, Javi had felt like he was treading through molasses, every step infinitely harder than it should be. No one cared enough, he was fighting and it felt futile.

Javi scoffs at the memory. Yeah, why is that familiar again?

He waves you over with a casual smile as your paths are about to cross.

“Hey, Blue, this is -” Javi begins.

“I’m so sorry, I have to go,” you say, brushing past him.

Javi looks at your retreating form in surprise. “That was weird.” He’d thought you want to meet Steve, after all you’d encouraged him to meet Steve in the first place.

“She’s upset,” Steve says quietly.

“What? No, she isn’t, Steve.” You’re clearly not upset; Javi knows you, knows how tough you are. No, Steve has to be wrong.

“Well, she looked upset,” Steve persists.

“How do you - you don’t even know her, Steve.”

“I have a wife, Javi, and she looks like Connie when she’s upset. ”

He thinks back to your face as you walked back - everything in your body seemed tightly coiled like a spring and were those tears in your eyes? Your voice was so distant too. Maybe things had been more stressful with the Justice guys than he thought.

He’s not sure where you are in the hotel though; whether he should even try and talk to you right now.

Steve’s right though, something’s wrong and Javi needs to know why.

You make your way to the plane quietly, noticing Javi standing by the gangway, coffees balanced precariously in your hands. He’s wearing his DEA jacket and yellow aviators that he’s clearly had for a while.

He nods in acknowledgement when he sees you.

You wordlessly hand him a coffee before you both walk onto the plane.

The coffee served at breakfast was terrible; maybe the worst hotel coffee you’ve ever had. You’d taken full advantage of a five-minute window to get coffee at the airport; it was a need not a want. You’d bought one for Javi without a thought.

He smiles when he takes the coffee and your fingers brush very slightly in the handover.

“You saw the breakfast coffee then?” He asks lightly, giving you the out. In this moment you think he might be the best person you know.

“That wasn’t coffee. No idea what it was, but it wasn’t coffee.”

The two of you sit opposite each other, your coffees on the table in front of you.

“How was Steve?” you ask politely as the plane begins to move down the runway, “I’m sorry I had to uh, go straight to the room. Think I ate something off.” You hate that such an embarrassing lie is your excuse, that you prefer the idea of Javi thinking that than knowing you were upset, than running the risk of him asking why.

“Are you okay now?” Javi asks before sitting opposite you on the plane.

“I’m fine.”

“Steve thought - I thought … ”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

No, you think, no I have hardly slept and I feel ridiculous that last night took me back like it did.

“I’m fine,” you repeat.

Javi nods at you but his furrowed brow tells you that he doesn’t believe you.

“Still no word from Christina?” you ask, automatically squeezing your knee as you feel the plane ascend higher in the air.

“No,” Javi says, pinching his brow. “Are we fucked without her?”

“We need to find her to secure Jurado’s testimony, yes. But if you have something else, another angle for this case then … maybe we’ll be okay.”

“What is really going on with you?”

Perhaps it’s because he’s persistent, perhaps it’s because he is meticulously trained in extracting truths from people, or perhaps it’s because he’s from home and he feels safe right now. You feel the words rise up though.

“I saw someone I used to work with.”

“And that upset you?”

“Yes.”

“Did they say something to you? Was that why were you upset?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“So did the bastard break your heart back in DC or something?” Javi jokes and then pauses when he sees your face.

You could let him have this misunderstanding. Pin it all on his assumption. You can see the cogs turning, the maths in his head, your near kiss makes sense to him now and your subsequent rejection.

You should let him believe this.

“Javi,” you say softly, “you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“So tell me,” he says bluntly, looking at you with plaintive eyes. “Help me understand.”

“He was a friend and now he’s not. It’s simple. No big drama,” you say, looking out of the window at the cerulean sky all around you.

“Well, something clearly happened.” Javi shifts forward towards you, his elbows on the plastic table between you, hands closer to yours. “Blue, did something happen yesterday? Do we need to -” You can hear a hint of alarm in his voice and quickly realise what he’s assuming.

“No, no. He didn’t - please, it’s nothing. It’s honestly not - I’m just - it’s nothing, Javi.”

“It’s nothing? Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“It’s a long story.”

“Well, we’ve got time.” He shifts, moves his hands across the desk that divides you; the distance between your bodies feeling more like a chasm with each breath.

“It’s stupid, don’t worry about it, Javi. Nothing happened,” you say, aware you’re just repeating Simon’s own words and excuses to you. 

“Blue?”

There are wars in your head. Arguments screaming and competing to be the loudest. You want to tell him. You can’t tell him.

You have this overwhelming desire to bare your soul right now though, you would like him to know and to understand.

It’s pathetic though, you think, so trifling to someone like him. He’s worked for the DEA for around a decade; Javi’s heard and probably seen far, far worse things happen to people. Simon’s words repeat over and over in your mind.

“Nothing actually happened … he didn’t do anything to you.”

If nothing happened though, why did it affect you so much? You’ve prosecuted far more evil men in your career: murderers, rapists. You know how the world works. That office, those men, even without touching you they broke you down. Sometimes you hate yourself for that, that you let that happen.

“It’s okay,” Javi says suddenly, breaking you out of your thoughts. “I’m sorry I asked. You don’t have to -”

“I was applying for a promotion, for the same job Simon has now. I would have been running the department I worked for and I was ready for it. I was so ready for it, Javi. I - there were always comments and I’m used to that. I’ve been the only woman in my office many times before. I know what to expect, how to ignore it and block it out. I know people say about me behind my back.”

“Blue -”

“There was this guy though, not the guy from yesterday, not Simon. It was someone else.”

You pause, unwilling to say his name and wring your hands. Just thinking about taking about this has made your throat feel dry, your palms sweaty and there’s a slow building sense of dread.

You steal a look at Javi who’s calm and solid and you realise that right now you do want to explain it to him. You do want to tell him.

You’d like him to understand.

 It’s just finding the right words. The ones that don’t make it sound worse than it was, because you always worry that if you do that somehow you’re taking something away from the people who’ve really been through it. But it’s about finding the words that don’t lessen it either. You’re balancing on a tightrope of trying to convey the right tone, the right intent. You want to be dispassionate when you tell him about something you can never be dispassionate about.

“He made me feel uncomfortable,” you say after a moment. 

Javi furrows his brow at this. You notice the way he fidgets with his hand on the table; a tic you’ve noticed throughout the past few months. He flutters his fingers before clenching them together, it’s a telling physical manifestation of his nerves you’ve picked up over the months.

“Don’t look like that, Javi, he didn’t do anything, not really.”

“So he did do something?” Javi asks, his eyes have become so intensely dark they’re almost obsidian and his gaze is completely focused on you. You notice how he scans you over, almost checking as though there’s some type of physical mark or scar he can find and appoint to this story.

“Hey, who’s the lawyer here?” you ask, desperate to break the moment, shaking your head. Javi raises his hands in mock defeat and you take a deep breath.

“He made comments, a lot of them and they were - nothing unusual at first, but then maybe they felt almost a little sinister and I - I started to feel really vulnerable in the office. I had to work with him on this important case, we were alone and - and I know it was only words but still. Anyway, I made a complaint.” You regard the dark varnish on your nails, notice the chip on your left index finger before you look at the floor. “That was a mistake. Big mistake.”

“Blue,” Javi says sadly.

“I know, it doesn’t sound all that relevant yet. It will. Anyway, it didn’t go well. They just - closed ranks. My promotion was cancelled. I uh - everyone in the department talked about what had happened openly in the office. Everything I’d spent years working towards for slipped away from me in a second.”

“And what happened to the guy?”

”He didn’t face any consequences and uh, that’s where Simon comes in, I guess. He got my promotion. And uh, to do that, he sided with the guy when he spoke to my old boss. They all did. Only Simon told me beforehand that he believed me. Didn’t stop him from going after a promotion though.”

“Fucking asshole.”

“That was the worst part of it all -  Simon was my friend, Javi. I thought he was my friend.”

Even now you can hear the heavy pain in your voice when you say that, the way his betrayal had just been too much and had cut you open deeper than any knife could have.

“Oh, Blue. It’s okay, you don’t have to -”

“So obviously, I couldn’t stay there after that. When this opportunity came up, I figured I should just do it. Seize the day, right?”

“Seize the day,” Javi repeats flatly.

“And I ended up here.”

You don’t feel relief at your confession; you feel embarrassed. Javi’s DEA - he’s probably heard of far, far worse things happening to other women. Here you are, a mess over seeing someone who let you down once. Here you are, the woman who clearly just couldn’t take a joke.

“Stop that,” he says gently, reaching for your hand and gently squeezing it.

“Stop what?”

“I can see those thoughts going through your head. Don’t.”

“I just -”

“What a fucking shitbag,” he mumbles, “I’m sorry that happened.”

“Wasn’t you,” you say quietly. “It was a while ago, I’m over it. It just bought some stuff up.”

“If you’d told me last night -”

“What, you would have found out where he was and confronted him?”

“Maybe,” he says with a crooked smile and shrug.

“Javi.”

“Blue,” he says, teasingly matching your tone.

“How was Steve?” you ask, desperate to divert attention from yourself. Javi looks at you for a long moment and then nods.

“He was okay,” he says, “It was good to catch up. Hadn’t seen him since I was last in Colombia.”

“Well, I’m glad you got to see him.”

A comfortable silence falls that is only broken when the pilot announces you’ll be landing shortly.

You strain to look out of the window, at the lush greenery and dramatic topography of Colombia.

“It’s a nicer plane than when I first came here.”

“Yeah?”

“I was stuck next to this guy who took up far more room than he should have, so I had to virtually hang over the aisle and then he had the audacity to spend the flight loudly snoring. He also had gas.”

Javi scowls in sympathy. ”Jeez.”

“I know.”

The plane lands smoothly and before you know it, you’re both standing up, ready to get back to the embassy and world.

This flight, this whole trip, has felt like a strange interlude from reality. One filled with ghosts and memories; welcome ones for Javi and unpleasant ones for you.

You’re ready to get back into that open plan office, to hearing meaningless gossip from Linda.

Javi takes your bag from the locker without a word, balancing it precariously with his own suitcase.

“Hey, Javi?” you ask as he hands your handbag when you finally descend the gangway.

“Yeah, Blue?”

“None of my family knows. I told my parents, told Rafa, it was a change I’d been planning for some time.”

“Understood. Thanks for - thanks for sharing that with me, cariño.” Javi nods at you, an unspoken message passing between you.

You’re nervous when you head into the office next day. While you spent most of your working day with Javi yesterday and nothing else was said about what you discussed on the plane, it’s plagued you.

What if he is different with you? What if this is another mistake and he judges you - or worse, what if he pities you? You don’t think you could stand to stay in this job if he looks at you with pity.

He’s standing in his office when you arrive. Arms folded onto his hips, staring at a pile of papers on his desk.

“Hey Javi.”

“Hi.” He looks at up and smiles. It’s a rare sight and you’re glad you’re a professional because his smile could floor you. You have a feeling Javi’s not really struggled for company over the years; that between his puppy eyes and soft smile, the low dulcet tones of his voice, he knows exactly what he is doing.

“So  uh, what’s the plan?” you ask, taking a long sip from the mug of coffee you dutifully took from your office kitchen to Javi’s. You’re very glad the embassy safety representative didn’t see you, no doubt they’d tell you off for wandering around with open topped hot beverages.

You needed the coffee though, needed the defensive barriers you knew it would provide.

You didn’t really sleep much last night.

Jurado is a mess, the deal’s off and no matter how hard you tried, he just won’t talk without his wife.

“We’re going after Miguel Rodríguez,” he says after a pause. “That’s the next step.”

“Have we got a plan?”

“Yeah, we do. Feistl’s got an informant, we can get him, Blue. It’s not over yet.”

“It’ll need some thought, Javi - you don’t want to tip him off. Right now, from what I hear from the local prosecutors, things are not looking great. Miguel’s a loose cannon. It’s a worry. ”

“So, let’s stop him,” Javi says simply. “We’re nearly there.”

“Okay,” you reply, “Okay, Javi. I’m with you.”

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[wayfaringhoax]

Snippet from Plans

Javier Peña x Female Reader

A/N: Got a Javi oneshot coming later this week, and I'm so unbelievably excited about it! Ahhh!!

Trope: opposites attract / enemies to lovers (more like work acquaintances that don't get along)

Summary: Javier Peña is slowly but surely becoming a thorn in your side. He just can't seem to leave you alone at work, and you're starting to realise that dismantling your plans is his top priority.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, bribing colleagues at work. (full fic will be explicit, 18+)

“How about you fast-track these...” He suggests, holding the papers up again. “And in exchange, I’ll buy you a drink.”

You can’t help but scoff. “Yeah, that seems fair.”

“That would also require me going to a bar with you, outside of working hours.”

You don’t need to elaborate. Javier knows you’d never willingly do such a thing. 

“You see.” He drawls. “That’s where you’re wrong. A few little birdies on the third floor told me you’ve got plans this evening. If I just happen to be in the area…well, I think our arrangement can still be fulfilled.” 

Your ears heat up in embarrassment. You didn’t like the thought that this man knew what you got up to outside of work. In your head, colleagues were colleagues, not friends. You liked to keep your work life completely separate from your personal life, and frankly, you didn’t want him trying to weasel his way in there. But something told you he wasn’t going to let this go.

It wasn’t like you’d advertised your plans. The women from communications had hounded you in the break room when they noticed you’d had your hair done.

It would’ve been unprofessional to ignore them, so eventually, you’d let it slip that a few of your friends from home were visiting, and you all planned to head into town for some drinks. 

And they had fussed over you like you were a newborn. Of course, you assumed it was because you typically kept to yourself at work, and it simply gave them something to gossip about; someone’s life to pry into where they could.

When did you get so cynical?

Snapping out of the memory, you busy yourself with organising your desk drawer. 

“Let me guess.” You say dryly, preoccupied with the task at hand. “You’ll be drinking alone?”

He raises his eyebrows in good humour. “Not if you’re there.”

“Fast-track’s gonna cost you more than one drink, Peña.” You tell him, your voice taking on a singsong quality as you avoid making eye contact. 

“And I’m not drinking with you. I have friends, believe it or not.”

“What will it take?” He asks. Javier almost looks intrigued; he didn’t think you’d budge.

“Well, there’s six of us. So three bottles of something should be about right.”

Javier sighs. Why does it cost money to get anything done around here? 

“Wine?” He asks you, his voice now sounding significantly more unimpressed.

“Am I that easy to read?” You say incredulously. There goes yet another thing he now knows about you.

Yes, he thinks. But he wouldn’t dare tell you that, too scared to poke the bear since you were so close to giving him what he wants. Javier stays silent, opting to give you a knowing look instead.

Finally, you look his way, and your eyes pierce into him. He's not sure if he’s turned on or scared shitless. Or perhaps, both? 

Taking the papers from his grasp, you dangle them over the tray marked as “priority”, and his eyes lock on the movement of your hands like a cat chasing a laser. 

“If this means you’ll leave me alone …” You say, looking to him for confirmation of your agreement. 

Javier raises both of his hands at that, holding his palms out in surrender. You squint at him in apprehension, before dropping the forms into the tray.

As he makes his way out of your office, he turns back to address you, and you’re not at all surprised when the DEA’s Country Attaché winks at you. 

“I’ll see you there.” He tells you.

“Unfortunately.”

More to come in the next few days! Please let me know if you're interested in being tagged in the completed fic. <3

[burning--heart]

touch: brand new world of feeling (reprise)

aka "brand new world of feeling," companion to "josiana's letter," but i know these songs by their titles on the london cast recording.

welcome to the most overdue version difference post this blog will ever see. i mentioned this number in my other post about people touching grinpayne, and it's more intense than that one. so much so that i'm tossing this one under a readmore with a warning about discussion/description of non-consensual touch, specifically around the neck. that being said, let's get into it?

Bristol:

josiana grabs him on "hold me"

he starts taking his bandage off on "mother father goodbye" and has it off by the time he finishes "ursus goodbye"

josiana jumps into his arms at "dea goodbye" and puts a leg around him. he reciprocates by putting his hand on her leg

josiana kisses him and he kisses her back

he gets on top of her after they're done singing

"forgive me," he says, feeling her arm. (josiana is horny for this and calls him an abomination)

he kisses her while they're on the ground

quake comes in and pulls him off of her. she twists his arm behind his back and walks him offstage.

London:

they stand on opposite ends of the stage (? plenty of distance regardless)

they start to circle each other and get closer on "ursus goodbye"

grinpayne takes his bandage off quickly on the "feeling" of his "we are going to build a world of feeling" and leans forward

josiana grabs him by the neck, shrieks, and kisses him. he doesn't touch her in return, his arms move like he's trying to keep his balance

josiana pulls back with a roar, then kisses him again. grinpayne puts an arm up to the shoulder of the arm she's holding his neck by when she pulls away, but it's brief

it's impossible for me to tell what grinpayne is actually doing in terms of kissing her back because of the camera angle, but he doesn't ever really properly hold her. closest he gets is a hand near her waist right before she releases them and they break apart

grinpayne shudders after she lets him go, and drops to his knees

quake comes in, jerks his head back by the hair, doses him with crimson lethe, then shoves him forward so he falls. she doesn't restrain him as much when leading him out

long story short, grinpayne participates a hell of a lot more in bristol than he does in london. josiana is leading the encounter and escalating things in both versions, but while grinpayne rises to meet her (and climbs on top of her) in bristol, his participation in london is... next to none? it seems like the most control london grinpayne has over the situation is taking his mask off, and, well. here's the only stage direction for this whole situation given in the script:

She grabs Grinpayne, removes his bandages, and passionately kisses his grin.

and it doesn't get any easier for him from there. he calls out for dea directly following the above stage direction, a new addition. it's written that quake pulls him off of josiana and then gives him enough crimson lethe to knock him out (also by yanking his hair) and then has to carry him off.

what does it mean?

brother i wish i knew. grinpayne getting on top of her is really the only thing included in the script that allows you to read this as something resembling a consensual encounter. aside from that, they really solidified and pushed this more invasive version of events seen in london.

i will tell you to take the stage directions with a grain of salt, however. unlike the dialogue of a script, they're generally kept as suggestions and are subject to change by whoever is directing the show for that production. what really counts is the text that is spoken (or sung. or played. the score is also a part of the text), and what does the text tell us about grinpayne and josiana's relationship during this scene?

my first exposure to this show and this scene was through the script (so you can imagine my surprise and confusion when i saw the bristol version for the first time LOL), so i can tell you my experience with it. even without imagining any actors onstage, it was evident to me that the two of them are not on the same page. it's apparent from the way that grinpayne is singing and josiana is not that grinpayne is not present in the same reality that she is.

grinpayne is here because he thinks josiana has seen him. he wants to be loved for who he is, he thinks this is the moment where it's finally going to happen. his "world of feeling" he's reaching for is being loved properly for the first time (that he can remember).

immediately from josiana's line we know this is not the reality of the situation. she wants him, from the very second she laid eyes on him. this is not understanding. this is hunger. she says "i love you, freak." her "world of feeling" is no different from the one she has been living in already, aside from the novelty of grinpayne's disability.

grinpayne's little echo of "love?" is the only line of his (aside from him calling out for dea) in this whole scene that isn't sung. and i had trouble for a while reading in a tone of concern, since it is a pause in his singing, but i don't think that's correct. the lines that follow don't make sense if you do it that way. it's and hope and excitement that drives him to launch into the next verse.

it's a pity, then, that it goes so poorly for him.

that's the thing, though... let's go back the london version of staging for a second. everything about it seems to be yelling "bad experience! bad experience!" i mean lighting designer rob casey even put a strobe over it. the original lighting designer richard howell only used strobes for grinpayne's face reveal at the end of "i am a freakshow" and his face getting cut open during the finale. it might just be me, but she literally grabs him by the neck! she tosses him aside when she's finished with him and he sinks to his knees! it's not good! and yet. we still are obligated to believe in josiana's "redemption" for lack of a better word at the end of this song ("josiana's reply"). we still have to make sense of grinpayne's lines in "the smiling song":

o josiana what did she see? could i see dea the way she saw me?

this would make more sense to me as a callback to how things went down in bristol, but these lines were added in london. (he's too busy having a shirt put on him in bristol at this moment. i'm not joking.) like, she sees you as a piece of meat! you didn't even hear her little solo at the end where she talks about being transfigured! how was this not a traumatizing experience for you! i'm at a loss on this one, honestly.

[proceduralpassion]

Get To You

Day 18 of Narcoctober- Create a fanwork about characters experiencing, participating in, or witnessing a real life historical event (could have been depicted in canon or not) e.g. moon landing.

Character(s): Javier Pena x Sandra Castellano (OC); kinda platonic kinda not

CW: language, terrorism/bombing, mentions of OKC bombing

WC: ~1.2K

A/N: Hiii enjoy this cameo of Sandra from IWBSS. The setting in history is the OKC bombing, but the fic mostly focuses on the dynamic between these two.

They kept in touch once they moved onto separate assignments. Javi was transferred back to El Paso, working several cases including crime bosses who specialized in designer drugs and laced fentanyl. Sandra was working on a paper that linked cities where drug cartels had gotten a foothold in. It had taken her to Jaurez, Calexico, and even Miami, where she had spent her formative years. Now, she was in Oklahoma City, exploring the rival gangs that were purported to be enemies of the Sinaloa cartel. 

Her and Javi still talked on the phone, often under the guise of seeking professional opinions from one another but often delving into other topics such as Javi beating the latest level of his Zombies Ate My Neighbors video game or the latest addition to Sandra’s growing records collection. 

Over the past few months, their calls had upped to once a week on average, and sometimes more, depending on their schedules. It had been so seamless that neither had really noticed that the other had become part of their regular routine. It wasn’t long before they found no excuses to call, just simply opting to dial the other over anything they wanted to talk about in the moment.

This morning, Sandra was calling him, coffee thermos in the other hand, to thank him for getting her in touch with a fellow DEA agent that’d be able to help her with her current assignment. The federal building wasn’t far from the hotel she was living out of and they spoke on the phone as she walked the way there.

“Just know that if this guy gives me the runaround or some bogus info, you’ll have me to answer to.”

She can hear the smirk in Javi’s voice as he replies, “I think we both know I’ve been on your bad side enough times to know better by now.”

“And don’t you forget it,” she shoots back.

“How much longer you gonna be in OKC anyway? I’m tired of you complaining about the mosquitos over there.”

“Yeah, well, they’re the size of fucking birds. Don’t even get me started on the amount of armadillo roadkill I’ve passed by on the freeway.”

Javi cuts in, “There’s armadillos in Texas, too.”

“Anyway, I’m gonna be here until I feel like I’ve got enough for my assignment.” 

Javi hums, “Hmmm.”

“Hmmm? What does “hmmm” mean?”

There’s a pause on the phone before he speaks, “It’s just been a minute since we’ve seen each other. Was wondering if you’d be able to make the drive down my way.”

Javi’s been attempting to find a way to casually make the suggestion since about three phone calls ago, but wasn’t sure the best way to go about it. His own investigation, right now, prevented him from leaving his post, but Sandra seemed to have a more flexible, albeit spontaneous, schedule. It’d been about a year since they last saw each other in person and with the recent ramp up of their communication, he figured he’d throw the bone out there.

“Awww, somebody misses me?” Sandra teases. “Or are you just looking for your next booty call?”

Javi chuckles, “C’mon, I’m a classy guy! I’d at least fly you down instead of making you drive if that was the case.”

He revels in her loud giggles that crosses over his phone line. 

“You’re not gonna be too happy when the first thing I do when I see you is punch the shit out of you,” she declares.

“Ouch, yeah, I think Carrillo still feels it in his nose from that time you decked hi-”

Javi’s words are cut off by a loud explosion that echoes from the speaker. He’s up out of the rolling desk chair in his office instantaneously.

“Sandra!” he shouts, “Sandra!”

There’s screaming, car alarms, and sounds of large objects falling and colliding against one another. It’s utter chaos and for a few moments, Javi’s worried that he’s heard Sandra’s last words. It takes several more seconds before he hears heavy breathing directly into the line.

“Shit,” she mutters. He can hear movement as if she’s changing positions.

“Sandra,” Javi calls for her again.

“I- I think there was a fucking bomb.” He can hear her heels clack against the sidewalk and the way in which they speed up as if she’s running.

“What?”

“A bomb, Javi. I was about to cross the street to the federal building and half of it’s just fucking gone.” 

He exclaims, “Fuck! Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“I’ve been worse for wear before,” she says, which isn’t a straight answer in his head and he surmises that she’s got either not a scratch on her or one of her bones sticking out about now. He also knows she’s batshit crazy enough to run towards danger instead of away from it.

“Sandra, turn the fuck back around and get to safety. You can’t be the one to break the story if you’re in the ground.”

She scoffs, “There are people that could be hurt-”

“You hear those sirens in the background? They’re first responders who know what they’re fucking doing,” Javi cuts in, “Besides, you’re gonna act like you won’t be sniffing for questions while you’re ‘helping’?”

He knows she can hear the air quotes even when they’re not face to face. The same way he could just see the eye roll she gives him just now at his words. 

“Well, yeah, but everything is history, and firsthand accounts could even help with identifying the monsters that did this.”

“Also not your job, Sandra!” It’s a Wednesday morning and he’s supposed to be focusing on his current case, but the inner voice in his head tells him “fuck it.” He’s grabbing his jacket and keys, solely intent on walking past his bosses’ office, getting into his car, and driving to Oklahoma. “At the very least, stick with an actual first responder, they’re probably gonna set up a triage and command post for all the agencies.”

She’s too stubborn to answer but he knows her resolute sigh well enough to know that she’ll heed his advice. 

The line gets fuzzy for a moment, and Javi considers that they probably might lose connection with all of the 911 calls probably pouring in at her location. 

“Look, just-” he pauses again, unsure of what to say without it being too small or too big. There was a right time for everything after all. “Just be careful. I’ll see you soon.”

He hangs up his cell without waiting for a response and starts up his car. 

It’s night time when he finally gets there and he knows well enough that she’s still at the scene even after all this time. 

It takes several minutes to find her, but a petite woman with a gray tarp covering her, dried blood stains on the side of her head, who’s also currently badgering a police officer for information, comes into his view. The officer must give some morsel of solid information because she’s furiously writing in her little notepad and then giving him a genuine thank you with a curt nod.

She’s not searching for him when their eyes meet but she immediately smirks when he comes into her view.

They both take rushed steps towards each other, lightly pushing between other responders and families reuniting with their loved ones.

They finally meet in the middle and she chuckles, “You are so fucking dramatic.”

Click here if you wanna be added to the taglist! Taglist: @drabbles-mc @asirensrage @ashlingnarcos @narcosfandomdiscord

[transmutationisms]

Since your pfp (and header? I think) are from Humboldt County I would love to hear any and all of your thoughts on that movie

yes it is >:) you have to understand, part of the initial appeal of succession for me was that i thought jeremy strong was such a talented performer and most of his previous roles were so minor. so i have a natural inclination toward humboldt county simply because it's the rare jeremy main role lol.

i also do think it's got some legitimate strengths as a movie. there's a real commitment in the script to teasing open this view of nature as totally alien, powerful, and uncontrollable. i mean rosie's monologue at the bbq always recalled the kantian sublime to me, and in that way it's an echo of all those wide nature shots throughout the film. and then the script suggests that the thing that threatens that type of experience of nature is human intervention: excessive weed farming, ie extracting too much profit from the earth, and the way that recalls rosie talking about terraforming mars. there's some really fascinating (accidental) commentary to be put together here about a group of white settlers, in california, getting too greedy to maintain a 'natural balance' with the land, and the dea being the thing that descends on them as punishment lol. like, the ultimate over-coding of nature and a way of impaling colonialism on its own sword.

anyway love a gay little tragedy. love how no one really makes a decision that's unambiguously right by the end, and the way max's and jack's and charlie's drug use is configured as largely a response to modern alienation, but not in a way that can be neatly 'solved' by humboldt's illusory tranquility. also i do love jeremy's performance, that piss scene, and the way max and peter foil each other. i will say i think they could have done more with the tragedy of max's daughter at the very end lol, and also there are some first-time filmmaker issues, like lack of establishing shots. but yeah it's a precious film to me <3

[darcyfangirlsfrequently]

I Met You At the End of the World - chapter 2: When Nothing's Making Sense and You Need a Friend, I'll Be By Your Side

Chapter 2/78

Summary: The team works to find the mole in a DEA and NSA joint task force, and Luke comes to a realization.

Chapter word count: 4407

Total word count: 11095

Songs referenced: "I'll Be By Your Side" by Cathy Heller, "I Remember" by Forest Blakk, and "Everything has Changed" by Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran

Can also be read here on Ao3

Apparently, Penelope was usually the person to call the team in for a case. This time it was Hotch. Luke, along with Morgan, who had given him a ride in, theorized that it was because of Garcia’s current situation that Hotch was taking over that role. When they arrived, it was clear that was not the case.

There was an undercover DEA and NSA joint task force into an underground drug ring called Libertad. A few agents had been killed or gone missing recently, and NSA Supervisor Tony Axelrod had called the BAU in for help. 

“The NSA and the DEA are both involved, so we’ll be part of a joint task force,” Hotch explained to them. “Go ahead, Garcia.”

Hotch sat, and Penelope took her place in front of the screen. “Okay, uh, three weeks ago, undercover DEA agent Mark Bowers disappeared. He was based in El Paso, but five days ago his body showed up in Ciudad Juárez, just across the Mexico border.”

“Well Ciudad Juárez is one of the most dangerous cities in the world,” Tara said.

Penelope nodded. “Not only was Agent Bowers found strangled, but he also had another… human face covering his own face.”

JJ winced. “Another human face?”

“Yeah,” Penelope confirmed. “I guess he’s skinned or scalped or I don’t know what you call it, but I couldn’t put the pictures up here. You can see them on your own tablets.”

“But it is typical for drug cartels to use a corpse to send a message,” Morgan pointed out.

Tara agreed with him. “Yeah, body parts sent to family members.”

“Could be symbolism,” Luke suggested, flipping through the images. “A face on top of another face… could be calling him two-faced, if someone found out he was actually an undercover agent.”

“Which is bad news for the two missing agents,” Hotch stated. “They were both undercover.”

“Yeah,” Penelope said, continuing with the presentation. “John Portman vanished a week ago, and then Sarah Miles disappeared yesterday. All of these agents were investigating the Libertad drug cartel.”

“Well if someone knew they were undercover then there has to be a mole on the inside,” Morgan said, stating the seemingly obvious.

“Well, we have to consider all possibilities,” Hotch told them. “This cartel is in fact unique in a few ways.”

That was Penelope’s cue once more. “Yeah, it appeared on the darknet after the Silk Road was shut down. It has an online and an on-the-ground component based in El Paso. It’s run by someone named George Washington.”

“An identity that can be assumed by different individuals,” Hotch added.

“El Paso’s just across the Rio Grande from some of the worst drug violence there is,” Rossi said. “Not a bad place to set up.”

“Yeah, you’re right about that,” Tara agreed. “I mean it’d be so easy to fly under the radar when there’s bigger fish to fry right down the road.”

“All right, you’ll all head to El Paso and find out what happened to the missing agents,” Hotch instructed. “I will run the cyber part of the investigation here. 

Rossi nodded at him. “Happy hunting.”

***

Once the jet was at cruising altitude, Penelope was called in so they could continue to discuss the details of the case.

“Sarah Miles, one of the missing DEA agents, has two young children, age three and five,” Tara told them, pain evident in her voice. “I can’t imagine the sacrifices she had to make to go undercover.

Luke’s heart panged. He didn’t have any children of his own, but his oldest sister had a daughter, and he couldn’t imagine if anything happened to either of them, or if they had to be separated from each other for that long.

“We all do what we have to,” JJ said. She was trying to remain composed, but Luke could see tears in her eyes and knew she was thinking of her own two sons.

“She may have thought the Libertad assignment wasn’t as dangerous as infiltrating one of the bigger Mexican syndicates,” Rossi suggested.

“Speaking of which,” Penelope cut in from the other line of the phone. “Mark Bowers, the dead DEA agent, his body was found 50 yards away from a mass grave filled with enemies of the Sinaloa cartel.”

“So was disposing his body there a forensic counter-measure to throw suspicion on a different group?” Luke asked. Even if profiling wasn’t what he had been brought aboard the team for, he felt there was no harm in learning how they thought. He would be with them for the foreseeable future, and learning how they worked might help him help them.

“It could be,” Morgan told him. “That area’s been a battleground for the Juárez, gulf, and Sinaloa cartels.”

“Plus a lot of smaller gangs and splitter groups have formed, all with shifting alliances,” Rossi added.

“Yeah but why?” Tara asked. “Why launch a ground operation? I mean, isn’t an online platform enough?”

“Greed and hubris,” Morgan answered simply. “Gotta think like a drug lord. Why have one when you can have both?”

***

After they hit the ground, the team split into two groups. Tara and JJ went to the police station to get information on what the task force currently knew, and Rossi, Morgan, and Luke went to the M.E.’s office. 

“We’re still waiting on the DNA results,” Dr. Rice, the M.E. told them, in reference to the second face that had been placed atop Bowers’. “I can tell you that whoever did this took his time in carefully cutting off the face.”

“So the unsub had special skills?” Morgan asked.

Dr. Rice cocked her head to the side. “I wouldn’t go that far. But to dissect the fascia and reflect the musculature off the face takes time and patience.”

“And this face was placed on top of Mark Bowers,” Rossi stated.

“A little bit more than that,” Dr. Rice replied.

This piqued Luke’s curiosity. “How do you mean?”

“The COD was manual strangulation. Nothing unusual there.”

Luke shivered. What kind of job did they have where manual strangulation was ‘nothing unusual?’

“But take a look at this,” Dr. Rice continued. She walked over to the body and pulled back the sheet, exposing Bowers’ face. It was covered in thumbtacks, the pointed parts facing toward the sky.

“Hmm,” Rossi considered. “This could be a case of stigmatophilia, sexual arousal from tattoos or body piercings.”

“Perhaps,” Dr. Rice conceded, “but it’s also functional. In order to secure the skinned face on top of this one, the killer needed to find a way to attach it.”

“Was this done post-mortem?” Morgan asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, that means the unsub spent a lot of time with the dead body,” Luke pointed out. In his work with the fugitive task force, he had seen a lot of disfiguration done to corpses by gangs or particularly sadistic unsubs. This wasn’t something that could easily be done. You would need a lot of time and a strong, strong stomach.

“Not the typical MO of a drug cartel killer,” Rossi pointed out. 

“This feels like the unsub is getting off somehow on taking the time to savor his kill,” Morgan added.

Rossi nodded. “And we know he liked the wet work.”

***

Rossi called Hotch to let him know of their findings, and then they waited back at the police station for Tara and JJ to get back from following up on a lead at a bar in town. Apparently, Sarah Miles, one of the missing DEA agents, had potentially made a hang-up call to her husband from that bar right before she went missing. Not long after they returned, another body was found, and JJ and Rossi were off to the crime scene. The body turned out to be John Portman, the second missing agent. His face had been removed. The difference was, this time, the body wasn’t placed anywhere significant. Just dumped in the middle of the desert. If the mass grave near the last crime scene had been a forensic countermeasure, the unsub had forgone it this time around. When JJ and Rossi returned, it was time to deliver the profile. 

“We’re looking for an American serial killer who’s trying to hide among all the drug war violence,” JJ started.

Rossi continued on. “His most recent victims, all undercover DEA agents, were investigating the Libertad drug cartel.”

“His post-mortem work on his victims requires both patience and diligence,” Luke stated, feeling comfortable in the things that he knew. He had been dubious when Morgan had first called him aboard, but he was quickly realizing that there was more overlap between his work and the profilers’ than he’d initially thought. “This suggests he’s in his mid-thirties or older.”

“He may have a history of mental illness and hunting skills, based on the dissection of his victims’ faces,” Morgan added. 

“This serial killer likely had victims prior to the deaths of the DEA agents,” Tara informed the task force. “And those bodies were in all likelihood hidden amongst the numerous drug cartel targets.” 

“The killer knew our agents were undercover, so it has to be someone from inside the cartel, right?” Agent Lopez, one of the leading agents on the case, asked.

“Well since anyone could join Libertad, the unsub could be a member,” Rossi told him. “But it’s not the only choice. Someone on the inside could be aware of the unsub’s predilection and has been funneling new victims his way.”

Luke jumped on that thread. “That person may have discovered the victims’ true identities or responded to an anomaly in the recruiting pattern.”

“It is possible that the DEA agents were having a difficult time hitting their recruitment numbers,” Tara added as an explanation.

“John Portman has provided a face for the unsub,” JJ said. “We need to move quickly to save Sarah Miles from being the victim who wears that face.”

***

Meanwhile, at Quantico, Penelope was hard at work. Hotch had let her know that there was another darknet server called Hornet that users fom Tor, the server Libertad was currently using and they had believed Giuseppe Montolo and his group of hitmen had been working on, and wanted her to see what she could find. It was possible that Montolo’s group of hitmen had already moved from Tor to Hornet, and she was desperate to find whatever she could. She just wanted to go home.

***

Morgan, Luke, and JJ were back in the board room when Agent Lopez came in carrying some papers. 

“Agents,” he said to them. “DNA results are back from the M.E.”

JJ turned from where she was staring at the picture of Sarah Miles with her two children—no doubt especially missing her own two children at that moment—to join the others at the table. Luke offered her a comforting smile, and she returned a tight-lipped grin of gratitude.

“It appears the skinned face on the first victim, Agent Bowers, belonged to Arvin Cole, repeat drug offender, with multiple arrests for possession of Cannabis and PCP,” Lopez informed them.

“Was he a part of Libertad?” JJ asked.

Lopez looked through his files. “It’s hard to tell.”

“Well any drug addict would be a good candidate for Libertad,” Morgan pointed out.

“Okay,” Luke said. “So Arvin Cole is the one victim we know of who wasn’t a DEA agent. Maybe he knew the unsub personally.”

Morgan picked up his phone and called Penelope. “Hey, Babygirl, I need you to look into something for me.”

“Tell me it’s your melted chocolate eyes because I am so there,” she crooned back without missing a beat. 

Morgan smiled. “Likewise, but first thing’s first, silly girl.”

Luke pressed his lips together in an effort to conceal a smile at Agent Lopez’s shocked reaction to the way those two talked. He also felt perked at hearing Penelope’s voice. They hadn’t called her much if at all yet this case, which struck him as odd. It was nice to know that she was there and safe. Luke told himself he was just thinking that because he was supposed to be with the team to help protect her, and he felt uneasy about being able to protect someone who was states away.

“Find out everything you can on an Arvin Cole,” Morgan continued. “He’s a repeat drug offender from El Paso.”

“Got it,” came Penelope’s response. “Ooh! I need to tell you something that I found!”

Luke found himself leaning closer to the phone, same as JJ.

Penelope continued on. “There was a serial killer investigation among the drug cartel chaos that started back in 2011.”

“By whom?” JJ asked her.

“A Detective Morales of Ciudad Járez Police Department,” she answered.

“What did he find out?” Luke asked.

“Four bodies over the course of six months were found, all with their faces removed, and the conclusion was it was probably a calling card to a new street gang.”

“Where is this detective now?” JJ asked Penelope.

There was a moment’s pause as Penelope pulled up that information. “He’s deceased. He had a brain tumor in Mexico City a year ago.”

Morgan’s brows furrowed. “Well did anyone follow up on the investigation?”

“No,” she replied. “But, Detective Morales sent his report to the El Paso Police Department in case there were any similar victims on the American side of the border.”

“Except there weren’t any until John Portman,” Luke said. “Or, I guess, Arvin Cole, now.”

“All right, thanks Garcia,” Morgan said, moving to hang up.

“Okay, I’ll hit you back when I have something.” With a click, she was gone.

***

They didn’t hear back from Penelope until the next morning, when JJ’s phone rang. “Hey, what do you have, Penelope?” JJ said upon answering.

“I have gone through the phone and email records of Arvin Cole, the pothead and PCP user.”

Luke found himself smiling again as he and Rossi circled around JJ and her phone. Apparently her nickname usage was not limited to co-workers but to everyone she could. He wondered if he would get one.

“I can say without a shadow of a doubt that all of his friends are real high on the skeevy and burnout spectrum,” she continued. “Except for one.”

“And who’s that?” JJ asked. 

“Jillian Carter,” Penelope responded. “She looks like a regular soccer mom. She has three kids. He talked to her on the phone twice the day before he vanished.” 

“Soccer mom, you say?” Rossi asked.

Luke knew why that had struck a chord. The other day when JJ and Tara had gone to investigate the bar that Sarah Miles had last been seen in, the manager had told them that she had been there with someone who looked like a soccer mom.

“The epitome of one,” Penelope confirmed. “She ran a bake sale for her team and everything. I just sent you her photo.”

“This could be who the bartender was talking about,” JJ said. 

Luke nodded, having come to that conclusion a few moments prior. “Garcia, we need Jillian’s address.”

“Oh, I can do one better,” she told him. “I’m tracking her cell phone. She’s five blocks away, 220 Mason.”

“All right, thank you,” JJ said before hanging up. 

The group nodded at each other, knowing what their next move was, and made their way to the cars. They were with her in minutes.

“Jillian Carter?” Rossi called as he exited the vehicle. 

She turned to face him. 

“We’re with the FBI,” he told her, holding up his badge. “We need to ask you some questions.”

***

“The Libertad cartel? Is this a joke?” Jillian asked in the interrogation room once they had laid everything out for her. 

“This is not a joke,” JJ assured her. 

“Listen, I’m here voluntarily,” Jillian said. “And I appreciate everything the FBI does for our country, but do I really look like a drug dealer to you?”

“You’d be surprised,” Luke replied. 

“You’ve been positively ID’d as the woman talking to a missing DEA agent in an El Paso bar.”

Jillian’s face scrunched with confusion. “Who ID’d me?” 

JJ didn’t answer her, but instead pressed forward. “We also know you had contact with Arvin Cole, a known drug offender. We have his phone and email records here.” She handed Jillian the papers so she could see for herself. “You spoke with him twice three weeks ago, the following day, all of his outgoing calls and emails stopped because presumably he was dead.”

“Tha’s a mistake,” Jillian argued. “It’s an old phone number. I donate all my old cell phones so someone must have used it, and it’s still registered in my name.”

“Well, easy enough to solve that,” Rossi said. “We’ll just pull up the audio record from our friends at the NSA.” He clicked a few buttons. “Request sent.”

Jillian crossed her arms. “Whatever you find, you can’t prove it was me on the phone.”

“There’s voiceprint recognition,” Luke informed her. 

“That’s not foolproof,” she shot back. “See, my husband’s Owen Carter. He’s one of the biggest corporate attorneys in the state.”

Luke could tell that despite her effort to keep a calm composure, her nerves were getting the better of her. That was why she was so adamant that they wouldn’t be able to prove it was her on the phone, and why she was bringing in her husband as a weak attempt to threaten them to drop their investigation into her. “So you’re not part of Libertad for the money. Then why do it?” He knew she was involved, it was just this gut feeling he had when he came face-to-face with fugitives like this. It had yet to prove him wrong so far.

Jillian scoffed, but did not answer.

JJ took the floor instead. “I’m guessing it started as a simple addiction to painkillers or benzos? But you were a bored housewife and Libertad tapped into your hidden ambition and business skills.”

“My husband’s going to have a field day with you,” Jillian responded. Deflecting, again.

JJ got up and started circling the room. “Right now, agents are searching your house, confiscating your computer.” That wasn’t a lie, it was where Tara and Morgan were at that moment. 

“Go ahead!” Jillian replied, still trying to seem unbothered. “They won’t find anything. Just means my kids can’t do their homework now.”

“Your kids looked healthy and happy,” Rossi said. “I gotta say, you seem like a good mother.”

Luke knew what the older profiler was trying to do. Compliment her, butter her up, that mixed with the authority that came from JJ walking around the room would make it more likely for Jillian to slip up.

“I am,” she replied firmly.

Luke smirked. “You think they’ll agree when you’re in federal prison?”

“I am a white woman with no prior record,” she retorted. “I serve on three charity boards. No jury will ever put me away.”

Luke’s blood boiled, as he knew there was some kernel of truth to what she was saying. The odds were in her favor. But he didn’t let it show. “You want to take that chance?”

“Yeah,” JJ said, still walking, “I can’t imagine having a convicted felon for a wife would be a good thing for your husband. But…” she pleased her hands on the table across from Jillian and leaned down. “He doesn’t know about your secret life, does he? Which is why you haven’t bothered to call him yet.”

For the first time in the entire interrogation, Jillian remained silent.

“I’ll tell you what,” Rossi said. “Why don’t we call him for you? That is Owen Carter, right?”

Jillian exhaled loudly. “What do you want?”

“We know you’re the nexus between Libertad’s ground and Internet operations,” JJ told her. “Who’s your contact?”

“George Washington,” Jillian answered. “I don’t know his real name.”

JJ exchanged a look with Rossi and Luke. She wasn’t sure if she believed what they were being told. “If you had any concerns about someone, what would he do?”

“He’d tell me to give them specific instructions to meet again. They were supposed to take the local bus number eight to the last stop, Esperanza Valley.”

“And then?” Rossi asked.

“I don’t know. I never showed up to those meetings.”

Rossi, JJ, and Luke all shared another glance. No. She didn’t. Either George Washington or the unsub did. Or both.

***

Morgan and Tara were called and told to go to Esperanza Valley after they were done at Jillian’s house. As chance or misfortune had it, that stop was right outside a store owned by a man named Jacob Dufour, who also owned the farm and property near the store. Morgan found this out after he had driven back up the hill to call Garcia, but had left Tara behind to go look around for neighbors or other properties, which put her face-to-face with Jacob Dufour himself, their unsub. He had tazed her, but Morgan was quick behind him. He chased Dufour around the property, which ended in him shooting and killing Dufour. When Tara had recovered she entered the store where she found Sarah Miles, alive and well. Well, as well as she could be under the circumstances. 

When the team returned to Quantico, Hotch had some news for them. He had identified George Washington, it was NSA Director Brian Cochran, the boss of Axelrod, the agent who had enlisted the BAU’s help on the case in the first place. Cochran had been arrested, and Libertad was shut down. It was as close to a happy ending as they could get.

After filing a few reports, everyone went home for the night. Well, almost everyone. Luke took a different turn, away from the elevator, down the hall, and knocked on Penelope’s office.

“Come in, Luke!” 

Smiling, Luke opened the door and stepped in. “How’d you know it was me?” 

She turned to him, smiling as well, although the tear tracks on her face were still evident. “Who else would it be? You’re the only one who keeps checking in on me. Are you going to do this every night?”

“Do you not want me to? I can stop if I’m making you uncomfortable.” Since beginning his temporary stint at the BAU, Luke had made a habit of checking in on Penelope as often as he could. Each night before leaving, if the team was around, but at the end of the case if they weren’t. 

“Oh no, I don’t mind. It’s nice, actually. And like I said, you’re kind of the only one who does it.”

Luke’s brow furrowed. “Wait, really?” That struck him as odd. These people had known her for anywhere from a few months to a decade. He had known her for weeks. Why was he the only one checking on her?

She shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, they all have partners or families or lives to get back to, and I guess they figure that if I’m really not okay I’ll say something.”

“Well how are you?” Luke asked.

Penelope shrugged, a tight-lipped grin stretched across her face. “I’m as fine as I can be, I guess. I mean I was really hoping I’d be able to go home after this one.”

“Yeah, so was I,” Luke told her. They had been hopeful that once Cochran was arrested he’d divulge details about the Tor and Hornet servers to shorten his sentence, and that this might lead them to Giuseppe Montolo’s group of hitmen. Unfortunately, Cochran had lawyered up and his lips had remained frustratingly sealed. 

“Oh, of course, you must be missing your old job.”

“That’s not what I mean, actually,” Luke said. “I more meant for you. I’m going to miss the BAU, you, when I leave, and I’m glad to be here, but I know the longer I am here, the longer you are too. And this is a great place, but it’s not a home.”

Penelope smiled genuinely then. “Hey, while you’re here, I was going to make myself a vegetarian omelette for dinner, do you want one?”

Luke’s eyes brightened. It was late, he was starving, and that sounded so good. Plus, he was going back to an empty house tonight, they could both use the company. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had dinner with someone just for the sake of having dinner with them. “Well, Roxy’s at her sitter’s, and it’s too late for me to go get her, so I have all the time in the world. I guess my only question is: do you have jalapenos?”

Penelope burst into an open-mouthed grin so wide it looked like it was splitting her face in two. “Uh, I’m sorry, do I have jalapenos?” She walked over to her mini-fridge and took out a bowl that had some lovely dark green jalapeno peppers in it. “I will have you know, good sir, that I have had a love affair with all things hot and spicy since I was like, twelve!” She got out a cutting board and knife as well, and handed them to him.

Luke accepted them graciously, and sat down and began to slice the peppers the way his mother and abuela had taught him, a smile on his face at Penelope being more joyous than he had ever seen her so far. 

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh,” Penelope repeated through her smile as she went about gathering and preparing the other ingredients. “We’re going to have dinner together!”

Luke chuckled as he continued slicing the peppers. The two talked about everything and nothing as they made and ate their dinner. The omelettes were delicious, and they really gained a deeper understanding of each other that night. 

After their dinner, when Luke was driving out of the parking lot, something felt different. The realization moved in on him slowly, but when it hit him, it hit him like a train. Somewhere in the middle of nightly check-ins, funny phone calls, and impromptu vegetarian omelette dinners, Luke Alvez found himself falling for Penelope Garcia. It was unexpected to say the least, but that was it. Luke would always remember that night, that meal, as the moment it happened, the moment his heart was brought in for the landing. 

Casting one last glance in his rearview mirror at the building behind him, he smiled. Everything had just changed, but that was okay. He was okay with this feeling.

[uncloseted]

Sorry if this sounds really dumb LOL but why is adhd medication a controlled substance? I understand they have illicit drugs in them but I thought if someone with adhd took them they wouldn't feel anything and nothing would happen. I mean that's how adhd gets diagnosed right? If you take the medication and it works then that's how they confirm you have it?

In the US, ADHD medications like Adderall and Ritalin are "Schedule II drugs". This means that the DEA has determined that while they have a legitimate medical application, they also have a "high potential for abuse, with use potentially leading to severe psychological or physical dependence". Other drugs that are scheduled the same way are cocaine, Vicodin, OxyContin, and fentanyl.

When a person with ADHD takes an ADHD medication, the core symptoms of ADHD (hyperactivity, inattention, and impulsivity) are reduced. Many people who have ADHD describe it as having a "calming effective" on an overactive brain (although not always). However, if ADHD medications are taken in the wrong dosage, even for people with ADHD, they can have negative effects. These can include tachycardia, anxiety, hyperhidrosis, impairments in cognitive control, panic attacks, psychosis, and, less commonly, hyperthermia and rhabdomyolysis. So it's important that it's a prescribed substance for people with ADHD, since a doctor can help to identify the appropriate medication and dose.

For people without ADHD, ADHD medications produce a high similar to other stimulants (like cocaine). This is the main concern for the DEA, and why ADHD medications are closely controlled substances. And this is a very reasonable concern. Prescription stimulant misuse and addiction is pretty common. Studies show 5 to 35% of college students have tried Adderall without a prescription, and The National Institute on Drug Abuse (NIDA) states that about 5.1 million people over the age of 12 reported misusing prescription stimulants in 2020. And among people aged 12 or older in 2021, 0.5% (or 1.5 million people) had a prescription stimulant use disorder. All that said, it's worth nothing here that a number of studies suggest that for people with ADHD, medication actually reduces their likelihood of developing a substance use disorder (here, here, and here) instead of the other way around. Basically, it's the same reason why the DEA wants to make sure opioids are only prescribed to people who really need them- if they're not controlled effectively enough, you can get an epidemic like the opioid epidemic we're currently in.

So that's why we have the prescribing situation that we do in the US. Diagnosis is not (usually) done by seeing how a person responds to medication, but rather by several conversations with a licensed psychologist or psychiatrist who can compare the patient's symptoms to the diagnostic criteria for ADHD. Sometimes they will require the patient to fill out forms, complete tests, or interview the patient's friends and family about their behavior. After a diagnosis has been made, that's when a patient can begin to explore their medication options.

[beetroot-merchant]

a couple of prod's siblings and their creator! blease click the images to actually. See Them

Lore(TM) is under the cut! long post

So first off, if you haven't already read Prod's lore I suggest you do that first since I talk about Aeolian (referred to as "the programmer")'s motivations & what the purpose of these sticks are over there, I'm not sure if this'll make much sense otherwise :p

[also rq since i dont remember mentioning it in the original post - prod is a year old, created only a month or two after dea]

Aeolian_84

"It's not an axolotl tail, it's an eel goddamnit!"

The programmer and owner of the computer everyone else originated in. "Aeolian_84", if it wasn't already obvious, is an online handle- he's never disclosed his real name. He's in his mid-thirties, human, if you couldn't tell, and is currently studying artificial intelligence and how "human" it can become. He personally doesn't believe AI could ever achieve sentience, and regularly taunts his sticks about how he's more alive than they'll ever be; whether or not he's right is up for debate.

Aside from his work in AI, he's very into in philosophy- and although his knowledge in the area is impressive, he's also a pompous prick about it. Generally arrogant and stubborn- until he's faced with something that takes actual effort to fix, then he's a master of coming up with excuses.

Quite lazy when it comes to names, just calls the files whatever the latin word for the paradox is. Addresses his sticks, if at all, by their full .exe name, regardless of whatever nickname the sticks come up with- and they do come up with nicknames a lot, since usually the latin words sound stupidly pretentious or are hard to pronounce, and also as a symbolic bit of retaliation.

As for the many ways his stick figures have tried to rebel over the years, he doesn't usually try to stop them unless their methods actively slow down or halt his experiments, or take up more system resources than he's willing to give up. He's described their attempts as "cute; inspiring, even".

dea.exe

Preferred name: Dea

Full name meaning: Goddess

Age: 1

Paradox: Omnipotence paradox

Result: Capable of creating inherently impossible objects, however, they cannot be observed and appear not to exist to anyone except him.

Despite their appearance and significant power, Dea is quite gentle and caring towards almost everyone. Always willing to listen and comfort and somehow almost always knows exactly what to say. A master of both de-escalating and escalating situations depending on their motives. Their face can be a bit scary to strangers, but he plastered it onto himself willingly, simply a sign of rebellion against Aeolian and the role of an angelic, pure being he forced onto her. Although the area around the black mark is generally more sensitive to touch and gets hurt/infected easier, Dea maintains that she has no regrets.

Dea is the only stick Aeolian has ever made with actual powers (they're titled "reality manipulation" in the files but really, that could mean anything) but they're usually blocked by a secondary program the animator made specifically for them. Every now and then, Aeolian will come up with a new task or experiment for them to carry out; usually they'll barter a little, Dea only agreeing if he allows for something else (whether it be longer rest time for Prod or access to a certain site, since the ones the sticks can access are whitelisted), however they both know not to go too far - Aeolian because he knows she might outright refuse to do anything for the next couple weeks, and Dea because they know he might do something to hurt the other sticks.

Otiosus.exe

Preferred name: Otio

Full name meaning: Quiet, submissive, obedient

Age: 3

Paradox: Barber paradox [scept. sticks don't have hair, so its holding their wrist and leaving a little band of light teal paint on it. which although feels different, its functionally the same - a procedure that the majority of the population can't perform on themselves]

Result: Changes depending on the way its coded.

The most passive stick figure when it comes to their programmer. Since his time as a paradox was quite easy except for the occasional hostile response, and none of its code actually causes him any harm, most of the hate that does exist stems from how much he's hurt the others; namely Fluvi, since they've been close friends ever since he banded them - probably because she was one of the few non-NPCs he interacted with before the creation of the others. He's also one of the few older ones along with Fluvi lucky enough to be deemed "interesting" enough to be kept alive, rather than being trashed or wiped like most of their older friends.

He's been known to be overprotective of his friends- likely the most notable incident was when he made Fluvi stay behind during Prod's escape, much to her indignation. It says it was just worried that exe may have been given better odds at pulling it off than the average stick, since they hadn't seen exes code at the time; which although even Fluvi accepts is fair, she still brings it up from time to time as something of an inside joke. They both still say they have no regrets.

Fluvidus.exe

Preferred name: Fluvi

Full name meaning: Inconsistent, fluid, changing

Age: 5

Paradox: Liar paradox/Pinocchio paradox [However instead of Pinocchio's nose growing, it's a color shift between pink and black]

Result: Flashes between colors at a speed determined by the computer's processing power

One of the first stick figures Aeolian ever created, and the most outwardly against him. Because of how inexperienced he was at the time of her creation, they continued to flip randomly between pink and black in different chunks of their body even after the code was removed - and still glitches out regularly. Aeolian is, of course, fully capable of fixing it now that he's more experienced, but refuses to on the basis that she's old and irrelevant, and that he would rather spend time tinkering with something newer.

He's aware of the simplicity of her paradox and how easily it can be solved, even without a computer; this combined with how much Aeolian neglects her often drags her down a spiral of self doubt, believing her existence to be meaningless. This used to be his main philosophy before Otio's creation and their eventual friendship - but despite the bond between it and everyone else, she still spirals sometimes.

[tigerkirby215]

5e Pablo Simon Bolivar, El Brujo Especial build (Ash vs Evil Dead)

(Image from thedeaditeslayer.com)

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I’ve really been getting into the Evil Dead franchise after Ash vs Evil Dead was released on Netflix, and that interest only further increased after playing Evil Dead: The Game. I’m not going to preach the qualities of the TV show nor the game to you and simply say it as I see it: Evil Dead is an iconic of horror with Bruce Campbell’s iconic role of Ash Williams affecting generations of horror enthusiasts and action enjoyers.

The Evil Dead IP has lasted for so long, stretched through so many mediums, and affected so many aspects of popular culture to the point that chainsaws in zombie media go hand-and-hand. This is why I’m going to do my best to release a Dungeons & Dragons build based on one character from The Evil Dead franchise over the next 5 weeks of October, in honor of the franchise and the spirit of Halloween. (Although knowing me I’m probably going to miss a week lol.)

And who else to start with but Pablo? I absolutely loved the supporting cast of Ash vs and I honestly haven’t met a single person who didn’t enjoy the performance of Pablo. Ray Santiago puts so much personality into the character and one could honestly argue that Pablo goes through more of a character arch than Ash himself in the show. I mean, I’m not going to get into that argument, but one thing’s for certain: without the help of Pablito’s El Brujo and his amulets the Chosen One wouldn’t have gotten far. It also helps that Pablo is easily my second most played character in Evil Dead: The Game, right behind TV Show Ash (IE Leader Ash.)

Anyways: Pablo’s a lovable support character who goes through way too much for his own good, and we’re all happy you’re still around buddy. Goddamn it’s going to be so hard to avoid accidentally saying spoilers, assuming calling Pablo “El Brujo Especial” isn’t already a spoiler... Seriously just go watch Ash vs on Netflix.

GOALS

Pablito’s Fish & Chips - Pablo isn’t just some guy who works at an electronics store: he’s got a lotta brains to him. He event built Ash a new hand!

A Foot in Each Door - It sure was nice of your uncle to give you an amulet that makes you invisible to the evil dead. Pretty helpful thing to have!

El Brujo Especial - Leave the beer to Ash and Cheryl: Pablo uses the magical guidance of his uncle to protect himself and his allies.

RACE

Pablo is a human, and trust me: I wish I could reasonably make him something else. But at least Variant Human will carry us to some extent. Increase both your Charisma and your Dexterity by 1, the History skill to see if you can recall anything Ruby might’ve mentioned, and speaking of which I’m sure the Necronomicon gifted you some knowledge of Abyssal with the time you two spent together.

For your Feat of choice I’m actually going to suggest the Inspiring Leader feat! Pablo does his fair share of inspiring for Ash but the main reason I suggested Inspiring Leader is because it lets you play support some more, passing out temporary hitpoints at the end of a Short or Long Rest and generally being an asset to the team. Plus it lets you roleplay as Ray Santiago which is a plus in my eyes.

ABILITY SCORES

15; CHARISMA - Everyone loves Pablo. He’s your little buddy!

14; INTELLIGENCE - As stated above Pablo is the brains of the group. We need it both for roleplay and to multiclass.

13; DEXTERITY - Evil Dead leans on the “dodge out of the way seconds before you’re hit” style of horror. 13 DEX is also enough to get the maximum bonus from Medium armor along with the +1 from our race.

12; CONSTITUTION - Look: there was a point where you literally died and came back to life. Stuff like that will give you some hardiness.

10; STRENGTH - Pablo may be a big strong vagina but we unfortunately need everything else more. Don’t worry: we’ll get a way to use a spiked bat, although you won’t be using a rusty chain at any point.

8; WISDOM - Wisdom is needed to keep a level head, and it’s not that Pablo can’t do that. Just that when evil descends and the dead rise it’s pretty hard to keep calm in the face of demons from hell.

BACKGROUND

Van Richten’s Guide to Ravenloft is going to be a good friend to me during this month. One cool thing about Van Richten’s is that there’s a bunch of generic background traits that don’t come with specific skills or equipment but can still be used for roleplay, and one of those generic backgrounds is the Trauma Survivor background. Put simply Pablo isn’t really the “Haunted One” type but this works quite well for “holy shit demons started murdering people in the streets and this cool old dude is a prophesized hero of legend.”

The Trauma Survivor makes you a bit of a resident expert in whatever shit you’ve dealt with, and in Pablo’s case it would be deadites. Folks know to ask you for advice on what to do and what not to do, and if needed you can find a place for someone to hide out and maybe get an exorcism done. Your uncle didn’t exactly tell you how to open your mind and escape evil, but you can probably find someone willing to take you on a drug trip.

As for your skills take proficiency with Athletics (you’ll need it if something grabs onto you) and Survival because... well yeah duh. You could also grab another language (Infernal fits to some extent) and another tool, which I’m going to use as an excuse to grab Land Vehicle proficiency because Pablo should always be the one driving. (Which is why I never drive as Pablo because I suck at driving in video games.) You could take more tools or more languages as you see fit, I suppose. I won’t tell you what to do.

Starting background equipment? You can figure that out with your DM. If all-else fails just copy-paste the Clan Crafter background or something.

(Artwork from Evil Dead: The Game.)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - ARTIFICER 1

Starting off as an Artificer before you get in-touch with evil. You can grab proficiency in Arcana and Medicine here too.

Your time at ValueStop helped you learn some basic tech tricks that you can manifest in Magical Tinkering. The tricks you can do are pretty small and junky but they may be helpful in a pinch if you use your wits. But if you need something more reliable it would be better to talk about Spellcasting: You can learn two cantrips from the Artificer spell list like Guidance to help El Jefe or anyone else who might need it, and Mending. For Duct Tape.

You can also prepare a number of spells equal to your Intelligence modifier plus half your Artificer level (rounded down), and while you can swap them out on a Long Rest you can only prepare two of them currently. So like, just take Cure Wounds and Detect Magic for now, really. Basic medical knowledge and the ability to sense danger is in fact more than enough to survive many horror movies at first.

Oh and as far as combat goes your best bet currently is probably to stick to a “gun” (IE a crossbow) for now. We didn’t take any damaging cantrips but your “firearms” (crossbow) will do more at this low level anyways, considering that you have the same hit chance anyways. Don’t worry you’ll be getting something better later on but these first few levels will admittedly be on the weaker end.

LEVEL 2 - ARTIFICER 2

Second level Artificers can make artificial hands and other Infusions. You can prepare 4 infusions known and make two of them per day, although you might find some use in swapping them out. Anyways I’d suggest improving your firearms in the form of an Enhanced Arcane Focus and a Repeating Shot weapon, and improving your defenses with a Mind Sharpener and... the Enhanced Defense infusion. Remember that much like Pablo you can share your intellect with your friends, who might get more use out of your inventions than you! And you’re welcome to grab other infusions if you think they’d be more useful.

Speaking of useful: another spell known! Feather Fall is good in-case of an emergency if you’re thrown off a building or your car goes off a cliff or something.

LEVEL 3 - ARTIFICER 3

3rd level Artificers get to choose their specialty, and it may strike you as odd but Artillerists get to provide their team with amulets, and provide themselves with guns! Along with getting proficiency with Woodcarver’s Tools and learning both the Shield and Thunderwave spells (one of which is far more useful than the other) you get the ability to make an Eldritch Cannon!

You can either make a Small or Tiny object (but it would be more in-character to make a tiny one) that you can activate as a Bonus Action. The Force Ballista will fire a shot at a single target, the Flamethrower is... well, a flamethrower that does AoE damage in a short cone in front of it, but the Protector “canon” is the main option you’ll be going for. When you activate it as a bonus action everyone within 10 feet of the turret will get Temporary Hitpoints equal to a d8 plus your Intelligence. Basically this is how Amulets work in Evil Dead: The Game and it was kinda too perfect for Pablo to provide shields to his team. There’s some other nuance to the turrets that you can figure out by reading the subclass feature, but all you need to know is that you’re usually going to be providing shields to the party and also sometimes get the option to shoot with your canon-gun... assuming you can actually hit since its aim is based on your Intelligence.

And to top it off you can make yourself the The Right Tool for the Job with an hour of work. I’ll tell you right now that jerry-rigging a set of lockpicks (IE Thieves’ Tools) is probably your best bet with this ability, but if you think there are other tools that will help you this ability will let you grab them as you need them.

(Artwork from Evil Dead: The Game)

LEVEL 4 - WARLOCK 1

Now that you’ve handed in your resignation letter (reason for leaving: boss got possessed by a demon) it’s time to embrace your roots and channel the magic of drug trips. How? With the magic of the Archfey, obviously! As an action you can force each creature within a 10-foot cube originating from you to make a Wisdom save or be charmed or frightened by your Fey Presence. Either up the charm or channel evil through you as necessary, but you can only do so once per Short or Long Rest.

More importantly however you get Pact Magic: you can learn two cantrips from the Warlock list like Mage Hand to grab things in dangerous locations more safely, and Eldritch Blast to blast your guns with eldritch power instead of just regular old firearm power.

You also get Pact Magic slots which come back on a Short Rest, unlike regular spell slots that come back on a Long Rest. You can use them to cast your Artificer spells, or some Warlock spells... I’m going to be honest: the only 1st level spell I really want is Hex. Other than that you can take something like Hellish Rebuke I guess, but we’ll be ignore the spells you can learn until you can get better ones.

LEVEL 5 - WARLOCK 2

2nd level Warlocks get Eldritch Invocations like Devil’s Sight to see with your dumb human eyes, and Agonizing Blast to agonize your blasts. Yeah you could also learn more spells, but we’re going to wait for...

LEVEL 6 - WARLOCK 3

Third level Warlocks get to choose their Pact Boon and I mean, we’re kinda forced to take Pact of the Talisman for amulets, aren’t we? Currently all it does is provide a d4 when the wearer fails an ability check, and the benefit can be used a number of times equal to your proficiency bonus, regaining all uses at the end of a Long Rest. But what’s cool about the amulet talisman is that you can give it to someone else who might need the bonus. And additionally it stacks with Guidance, which can be pretty big at these low levels.

Much more importantly however your Pact Slots are now at a 2nd level, meaning you can learn 2nd level Warlock spells! Grab Misty Step to get away from danger, Mirror Image to protect yourself, and Hold Person to keep deadites in place! (Remember: Deadites are humans possessed by demons, meaning that they’re technically still humanoids. If you’re dealing with a demon like Ruby however she counts as a Fiend, and won’t be affected by Hold Person. Unless she can be affected by Hold Person because she’s a Half-Demon? Better not to try unless desperate really...)

(Image from cupofmoe.com)

LEVEL 7 - WARLOCK 4

4th level Warlocks get their first Ability Score Improvement (finally by total level 7) and if you haven’t picked up on we’re going to mainly be going down the Warlock route, so more Charisma would benefit us more overall.

You could also learn another spell but truthfully we’re going to be replacing them with 3rd level spells soon, so better not to. You can grab the Prestidigitation cantrip though, to show off your eldritch knowledge with some basic parlor tricks.

LEVEL 8 - WARLOCK 5

5th level Warlocks get another Eldritch Invocation, and to be invisible to demons (and most other things) grab the One with Shadows invocation. It only works if you keep still and keep in the darkness, but invisibility from evil is great to stay alive!

You can also learn 3rd level spells now! I’d probably drop Mirror Image to grab Hypnotic Pattern (for now), Counterspell (for good), and Blink from the Archfey list, which will be a far more effective defensive spell than Mirror Image. (Although it doesn’t upscale so we will ditch that too with time.)

LEVEL 9 - WARLOCK 6

6th level Archfey Warlocks can turn invisible to gather more amulets, as Misty Escape lets you use your reaction to teleport away from danger and turn invisible until the start of your next turn, refreshing on a Short or Long Rest. Use this if you think you’re in the line of fire to get behind Ash.

Additionally you can learn another spell, and if you think we’re going to skip out on this level to get better 4th level spells to cast with your Warlock slots then you’re goddamn right we are.

(Artwork from Evil Dead: The Game)

LEVEL 10 - WARLOCK 7

7th level Warlocks get another Eldritch Invocation and it’s time for your amulet to not be completely worthless thanks to Protection of the Talisman. When the person wearing your amulet talisman fails a saving throw, they can add a d4 to the roll and potentially turn it into a success. They can only do it a number of times equal to your proficiency bonus per Long Rest, but the added protection can be great to keep your party’s El Jefe alive.

Additionally you can now learn 4th level spells: drop Misty Step for Dimension Door as the greater distance traveled far outweighs the use of a full action, and you also might want to drop Hypnotic Pattern for Greater Invisibility from the Archfey list, to keep hidden while you blast away deadites. Heck you might even want to replace Blink with something like Banishment too. Honestly for the most part I just want to wait until we get the big boy 5th level spells to play with.

LEVEL 11 - WARLOCK 8

8th level Warlocks get another Ability Score Improvement so it’s finally time to cap off your Charisma for the best old magic to protect from the worst old evils.

You could also learn more spells but again: going to wait for...

LEVEL 12 - WARLOCK 9

9th level Warlocks get another Eldritch Invocation, and Whispers of the Grave is very in-character, can be very useful, and is a lot of fun! There’s a lot of good info you can get from the dead: your dead uncle, your dead self, the dead that wrote the book of the dead... Just gotta know who to listen to.

Speaking of listening you now have 5th level spells, meaning all the spells known we skipped out on can now be filled up! So I’d suggest you take the following:

Hold Monster is like Hold Person, but better. (But it does affect less targets, so if you think Hold Person will work then use that instead.)

Dominate Person is like Hold Person, but better because you can get them to serve the forces of good instead of the forces of evil. (No it’s not possession shut up.)

Mislead can be good if you need to sneak around to grab Ash’s shit... again. It will also give the demons something to try to attack while you gather more supplies.

And Teleportation Circle can be useful if you need an escape plan.

The last two spells were added to the Warlock list via Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything, so if you don’t see them listed on the Warlock spell list that’s why. Just figured I’d mention it here since it would be kinda weird to mention it alongside those two spells.

LEVEL 13 - WARLOCK 10

10th level Warlocks have seen enough evil to avoid being possessed. Or well, avoid being charmed at least. Beguiling Defenses gives you immunity to the charmed condition and when another creature attempts to charm you, you can use your reaction to attempt to turn the charm back on that creature. They need to make Wisdom save against your spell DC or be... well, charmed by you for a minute! (Unless they take damage.) Considering that you should probably have at least a +1 focus from your Artificer abilities any deadite attempting to persuade you will have to think twice. Ash though...

You can’t grab any more spells yet, but you can get one last cantrip. I’d suggest 

Mind Sliver in case you find an armored deadite with a weak mind, or if you just want to make it easier for your teammates to use magic against your enemies.

(Image from Ash vs Evil Dead Season 3, Episode 5)

LEVEL 14 - WARLOCK 11

11th level Warlocks get their 6th level Mystic Arcanum, which looks like a spell slot and acts like a spell slot but isn’t actually a spell slot. The difference is that you can’t upcast any of your Warlock Pact Magic, and you can’t upcast your Mystic Arcanum with higher level slots that you’ll get.

With that explanation out of the way there’s a lot of good 6th level Mystic Arcanum options but... look, Tasha's Otherworldly Guise is just fun. You can finally go in with a bat (or a sword, or a rusty chain) and hit some deadites very hard, getting an extra attack, more AC, some damage resistances and immunity to conditions, and flight! (Because why not.) Sure maybe Eyebite or Soul Cage would be more useful but even the support should upgrade melee damage eventually.

Speaking of more damage: Wall of Light does a good bit of radiant damage and can also be good to blind deadites and generally hide behind while your friends prepare to face off against evil. And if you think you’re not going to cast it well, you just got an extra pact slot little buddy! Congratulations!

LEVEL 15 - WARLOCK 12

12th level Warlocks get another Ability Score Improvement and seeing as your Charisma is maxed out increasing your Intelligence is an option? You could also alternatively grab some feats: I personally opted for War Caster to keep concentration up for longer and to also be able to shoot any anyone who runs past you, instead of just trying to stab them with a knife or something.

You also get more Eldritch Invocations! It’s hard to justify Ascendant Step as anything other than magic, but being able to slowly float around is useful for transportation, evading deadites, or just reaching things in high places.

LEVEL 16 - WARLOCK 13

13th level casters get 7th level spells but you’re special so you get Mystic Arcanum instead. There’s a lot of fun options to take: Crown of Stars, Etherealness, Plane Shift, Power Word Pain... but Forcecage is probably the most useful overall. If you need to keep a particularly nasty deadite in place with (almost) no questions asked? That’s what you have Forcecage for. But even then the other spells I mentioned have their use and you should give them a glance if interested.

Dream is perhaps less relevant, but it will let you send messages to whom it may concern as needed while they sleep. Sure this is maybe more of your uncle’s thing, but El Brujo Especial can afford to borrow some tricks.

LEVEL 17 - WARLOCK 14

Speaking of your uncle: wasn’t it cool when he put you in a coma and forced you to drink from weird bowls alongside a naked lady? Well Dark Delirium will let you force anyone you want into that trial, just like they’re in a hit asymmetrical multiplayer game! As an action you can choose a creature you can see within 60 feet. They must make a Wisdom saving throw or become charmed / frightened of you (your choice for which one), lasting for 1 minute or until your concentration is broken (like a spell.) The effect also ends early if the creature takes any damage.

Until this illusion ends, the creature thinks it is lost in a misty realm, the appearance of which you choose. The creature can see and hear only itself, you, and the illusion. So basically they’ll be lost in their visions unless someone makes you snap them out of it, or if they get hit. But it’s a good way to get some alone time with someone and to potentially lock them down if their friends aren’t willing to punch them awake. A sledgehammer to the face tends to be a good cure for possession.

(Official promotional artwork for Evil Dead: The Game)

LEVEL 18 - WARLOCK 15

15th level Warlocks get their 8th level Mystic Arcanum, and unfortunately unlike the previous levels your options are... kinda trash? I guess Dominate Monster fits the best, although Feeblemind works decently enough as well. Much like before you can also pick up another 5th level spell and... I dunno. Planar Binding works well enough if you find a demon that you want to surround in salt for Ash to talk to.

But the far more notable thing is that you now have access to 15th level Warlock Invocations! For one I would replace One with Shadows with Shroud of Shadow which is all-around a better invocation. And Visions of Distant Realms will let you summon another eyeball out of another asymmetrical multiplayer game to scout ahead and see if any deadites are in any of the rooms ahead. Maybe you’re seeing through an old friend; who knows?

Witch Sight is also a really strong invocation that’s probably far less situational than some of the other ones you have. All the other ones you have fit in-character so I’m not going to tell you to replace any of them, but it stands to reason that higher level abilities are stronger.

LEVEL 19 - WARLOCK 16

16th level Warlocks get one last Ability Score Improvement, and honestly by total level 19 you can pick just about anything you want and it’ll still be good. Get more Constitution, more Intelligence, or a feat for all it matters. It won’t matter if you’re dead by dawn.

LEVEL 20 - WARLOCK 17

We went all the way to level 17 (instead of grabbing more ASIs that you honestly don’t need) because you can get 9th level spells at level 17! Or well, Mystic Arcanum anyways. There’s a lot of options that fit in-character but in my opinion Imprisonment is the ultimate choice to seal away evil forever. Dunno how many hit die Ruby has, yet alone the Book of the Dead, but Imprisonment proves that money can solve all your problems.

Oh and you can learn another spell but by total level 20 you can honestly pick whatever you want. I guess if I have to make a suggestion you can take Synaptic Static? I dunno. But the true ultimate prize is finally having a whole 4 spell slots!

FINAL BUILD

PROS

Arcane Knowledge - Artificer levels surprisingly pull their weight despite your (relatively) lacking intelligence. Proficiency in Constitution saving throws is universally useful, infusions are constantly strong even late-game, and the Arcane Canon gives you a constant use of your bonus action (mostly to shield your allies) as long as you’re good at hiding your fancy gadgets.

Fear No Evil - I’m going to be honest: the last 3 levels of Warlock are kinda worthless, so for all intents and purposes purposes you are a full caster (even if your spell slots are weird) with a strong yet situational 9th level spell and plenty of other strong magics to keep the dead at bay.

Infernal Camouflage - Along with free invisibility being very strong you have plenty of tools to evade evil and protect both yourself and your allies. Teleporting out of danger and turning invisible will keep you alive for awhile, and your amulets can keep your chosen ally (or yourself) safe.

CONS

Wicked Fast - Warlock is a Warlock and Warlock has no spell slots. You have strong tricks up your sleeve yes, and being able to replenish your spell slots after a Short Rest is very strong. But you still have a limited number of shots before you’ll be forced into Eldrtich Blasting.

Weak-Minded - Playing an Artificer with middling Intelligence is obviously not a good idea. If you opt to use any canon other than the shield generator it’ll essentially be useless due to your low hit chance, and your low-level spell slots are incredibly limited and will often be used to either make more canons or cast Shield.

Kandarian Fury - Basically all your stats other than Charisma are kinda bad? While this does mean your magic will be good anything else you try to do will be middling at best: getting grappled will be a tough challenge if you can’t cast Dimension Door, and any skill checks will probably be left to the Leaders of the group. Not to mention that your Wisdom is pretty bad, leaving you quite open to being frightened or possessed.

But you’re not the Chosen One, you’re the one chosen to help the Chosen One! That might not make any sense but what matters is that you’re El Brujo Especial and have all the tools you could ever need to vanquish evil for good. Be the big strong vagina everyone knows you can be and teach them to fear no evil, because evil should fear you! And if you ever find that you’re having trouble do know that a good night’s sleep with a face mask can always help put your head in the game.

(Artwork from Evil Dead: The Game)

[tiredlyinfandom]

My experience with the library system of the American Public School program

I would like to begin with some background of my literary experience. I was raised by a mother who did not believe in censoring what I read. I was not allowed to read her very clearly trashy romances until I was 18 (side note, I read much worse smut at 13. Comedy romances are pretty good though). I was basically allowed to get and read whatever I wanted. That's how it was for me.

So, I went from Magic Treehouse in first grade, to middle school novels by the time I was in the third grade. I was a big fan of my older sister's spy novels at the time. I was making leaps and bounds in my reading and language comprehension. And then of course, our schools got too crowded and I was redistricted into a middle school for fifth grade. I was excited at first, I would have access to the books that were in my reading level, right?

Wrong.

First library day rolled around, and we were told we could only check out books that were grade level appropriate for our group. Try telling this to a mousy me who had never been told a book was too mature for me. Me, who went to the library once a week during the summer, and read two to three three-hundred page books in one day, staying up all night because I had to know the ending and it couldn't wait until morning.

So I looked around and found that spy novel I remembered reading in third grade. I tried to check it out, only to be told that it was a middle school book. So I had to put it back, I would then pull several books that I had read before, because I had asked my older sister if I could read them from her book shelf. All too mature for a fifth grader.

I eventually settled with a book trilogy I had read before last summer that I knew I would be allowed to get.

A few weeks later we took that stupid reading level test. I, young, 10ish years old, had the reading level of 14-15 year old. I was supposed to be reading three grades above where I was.

So I, smart boy that I was, talked to my mom, told her everything, talked to the librarians, teachers and the principal to negotiate a way for me to read within my actual level. We suggested permission slips. we got shot down, the middle schoolers were taking the books meant for my age range, meaning we had no books to read.

I read the same series eight times, librarians tried to give me new books but I owned most of the good series, read and reread them long before I had been "of age" to comprehend the stories.

Middle school rolled around and I had begun reading Jules Verne, Sherlock Holmes, and had tried to convince my mother to let me buy a book on the murders of Jack the Ripper when I was 11. (My gram was on board, she appreciated my healthy curiosity in the morbid. my mom? Less so).

So yeah, I learned about the censoring of reading by 10, and at that point I was pissed, I didn't like that, I was never one to be told no on my reading material. So I began reading more than what they would have wanted me to.

Now I'm anti government, and censorship of literature is the largest downfall of man. One of the first thing we learn in middle school is the book burnings the Nazis did in Germany. That was the first thing we learned about, to show that a government was controlling.

AND GUESS WHAT.

Controlling the flow of information is fucking fascist. And we have both challenged and banned books, I have read several. Granted, just because a book has been challenged or banned in some places and or schools does not mean a child want's to read about an infant shoved into a freeze when they're 15. I have read Anne Frank, Over the Cuckoo's nest, Of Mice and Men, When the Street Cars Come Back. Those were required readings, and I hated them, Anne Frank had so much trauma, Over the Cuckoo's Nest was written by a white man in the perspective of a mute Native American man. Of Mice and Men was Ableist and infantilizing of character's with a disability, causing us to feel sympathy before hitting us with the "shoot the man with a mental issue because he's better off dead". When the Street Cars Come Back had, among other things, incest, rape, abuse, infant murder, murdered infant in a chest freezer as black mail.

Now if you want to read these things, go on, you can, I just don't think kids should read on murder and war, death and rape, as a requirement. Do I know what should be implemented instead? Hell no, I'm not a teacher, I'm a college student who likes to write. Kids should read stories that teach them lessons and inspire them to push boundaries, not scare them into conformity.

All this to say, I'm still fucking bitter that my school wouldn't let me read spy novels at the age of 10. Fuck you guys, now I write porn on patreon.

(Plug for the patreon: lemon_yard is the username, go support my gay ass, if you want)

[freshbros-blog]

Is Delta 8 Legal In Idaho

The Facts About Legality Of Thc-o, Hhc, And Delta-8 Thc State-by-state Revealed

We market several of the most effective Delta 8 THC vape cartridges that offer you the best quantity of chill and leisure. You can also discover our Delta 8 THC products by looking on top of our internet site. And also, we comprehend. The lower line is that delta 8 THC, like many things which are cannabis-related, can be complicated in regards to its lawful standing.

For an extra extensive appearance of what Delta 8 THC is, read this write-up. What makes delta 8 unique is that it's a psychoactive cannabinoid. This is since it's the little sis substance to delta 9 THC, and also delta 8 THC is, of course, THC. This is the major reason numerous individuals doubt as to whether it's legal to utilize they understand that delta 9 THC has been categorized as an illegal compound for rather time.

The Greatest Guide To Is Delta-8 Legal In Idaho In 2022?

Delta 8 is also a cannabinoid, which indicates that it, like other cannabinoids including CBD, works to support the endocannabinoid system's ability to control essential bodily processes that connect to our overall wellness. Delta 8 is a compound that happens in the hemp plant, as well as many of us there for eat it without even realizing it.

The same goes for those using flower or concentrates that preserve the entire plant's chemical make-up. Why all the fuss? Hemp was legalized. Well, drug stores have identified a means to remove delta 8 using different techniques, therefore turning it right into a concentrate. What this implies is that rather than taking in that small quantity that's combined in with every one of the various other compounds, customers can now take in a very concentrated dose of pure delta 8.

The Facts About Legality Of Thc-o, Hhc, And Delta-8 Thc State-by-state Revealed

Thanks to the Ranch Expense, we can legally buy and make use of hemp in all 50 states. This means that we can take in any type of form of hemp that we intend to, consisting of removes and also focuses of its private compounds. CBD is a terrific instance - Is Delta 8 Legal in Idaho. CBD is cannabidiol, the dominant hemp substance.

This exact same logic applies to delta 8. Government, delta 8 is legal since it comes from hemp. As you understand, states can bypass federal law, and so while delta 8 may be lawful federally, that does not indicate that it's lawful in all 50 states.

More About Cannabidiol (Cbd) - Idaho Office Of Drug Policy

Consequently, before taking delta 8, you ought to constantly inspect with state legislations, as laws pertaining to cannabis are vulnerable to abrupt modification. Currently, the FDA has actually not yet managed hemp items, despite the fact that they are lawful (Is Delta 8 Legal in Idaho). What this implies is that there might come a time when the FDA produces its own guidelines on FDA that are practically not component of state or federal regulation.

This is mostly why we have such a massive choice of item types to pick from when searching for CBD as well as various other hemp by-products. This suggests that for the time-being, you can legitimately purchase delta 8 (thinking that it is legal in your state) that has not been created with sector regulations.

Delta 8 Thc In Idaho: Is It Legal & Where To Buy In 2022? Things To Know Before You Get This

However, it likewise indicates that you need to be cautious when buying, to understand for sure that what you are obtaining is not just legitimate, but also high in quality and without pollutants and also poisonous substances that weaken the product formula. The USA Drug Enforcement Company (DEA) is known to alter their minds on a regular basis, and also lots of hemp companies producing delta 8 items have gotten on pins as well as needles wondering whether or not their operations will get closed down due to an abrupt adjustment in legal standing.

Nonetheless, the DEA is commonly efficient in overriding government legislation on an impulse. The main issue that business may run right into relates to exactly how delta 8 is made. While hemp as well as its cannabinoids are legal, manufactured THC is not. The DEA though might wrongfully implicate hemp business of making manufactured delta 8, as the approaches used to create it might be misinterpreted for ones that depend on artificial means.

10 Simple Techniques For Cannabidiol (Cbd) - Idaho Office Of Drug Policy

Ultimately, the removal methods made use of are natural-based, meaning that they do not result in synthesized THC whatsoever. Now, let's come back right into the practicalities pertaining to delta 8. One inquiry that we have actually been obtaining since CBD struck the scene is whether hemp can trigger you to fall short a medicine examination.

[lycanetheland]

Here is a pay as you go data plan you should opt for.

Should you go for a postpaid or prepaid connection in the Netherlands? Which recharge and top-up plan is best for you? If these are the questions plaguing your mind, the answer to it is right here.

What should you opt for - A prepaid SIM card with international phone plan or a postpaid SIM card with international calling? We've all encountered this problem at some point in our lives. So, let's settle it once and for all today. We'll discuss the specifics of prepaid and postpaid plans and how they differ so you can determine which one best suits your needs.

What is a Prepaid Plan?

Prepaid plans are mobile network plans where you pay the full amount upfront and then use the plan's features, as the name already suggests. You can recharge for any amount, for any length of time as required. A prepaid connection is the best option for someone who just uses a small quantity of data during the day. Prepaid plans typically cost less than postpaid plans, but they also don't have the extra perks that postpaid plans offer.

What is a Postpaid Plan?

It is clear from the name what this type of mobile network plan is all about. After using your monthly data allowance, you pay as per your usage. That is why it is also known as a pay as you go plan. Your monthly fee is calculated based on the plan you selected and the amount of data you use each month. Working professionals with a reliable income should opt for a postpaid connection. 

Difference between Prepaid and Postpaid Plans

Now that you are aware of prepaid plans and postpaid plans, you are one step closer to making your ultimate decision. The below table will further help you to make an informed decision. Let's try to put a stop to the Prepaid vs. Postpaid argument by identifying all the characteristics that set one apart from the other.

Prepaid 

Postpaid

Meaning

Pay and then utilize

Use it first, then pay for it.

Connection Duration

Depending on the recharge, it might range from a day to a year.

Normally, it lasts one month. However, it might be extended depending on your plan.

Plan Flexibility

 

Prepaid connections lack flexibility because they offer predefined plans that remain until the limit is reached. Once your current plan has been used up, you need to recharge.

You are free to utilize as much data as you like. If you exceed the limit of your selected plan, you will have to pay a premium charge at the end of your cycle. Therefore, choose wisely.

Bill/Invoice

A bill or invoice is not provided. To enjoy the services you have paid for, simply recharge.

At the conclusion of each monthly cycle, you receive a detailed receipt or invoice outlining your consumption during that time.

Switch Plans

It is simple to swap between plans.

It is generally advised to wait until your billing cycle is over before changing your plan because it is difficult to change your plan quickly or in the middle of the cycle.

Phones

It can be applied to any phone you have already paid for in full.

You may occasionally receive a phone in addition to a postpaid plan that allows for monthly payments.

Charges

 

Prepaid users must constantly recharge and use the plan.

After the month-long billing cycle, postpaid subscribers get billed.

Credit

 

Once your recharge has run out, a little amount of credit is available for emergency calls only.

Unlimited credit is provided in addition to your current plan.

Connection Termination

 

When your current plan is used up, your connection is cut off until the next recharge.

 

 

Your connection is maintained even if you exceed the parameters of your current plan. You are only charged for the extra usage.

Now that the differentiation is clear, the next question in your mind will be if I go with postpaid, which is the best postpaid and cheap international calling plans provider in the Netherlands? There are a vast number of service providers but Lyca Mobile has the cheapest recharge plans present all over the Netherlands. You can definitely order a free SIM that has a postpaid SIM plan with international calling starting only at 15 euros. 

Let us discuss some of the National & International bundles available at Lyca Mobile.

15 Euro Plan 

Lyca Mobile plans start with a 15 euro plan which consists of 20 GB data, unlimited minutes, unlimited text, and 13.5 GB of EU roaming. 

Super Bundle 

With 30 euro & 30 days validity, this plan consists of 35 GB of data, unlimited minutes, unlimited text, and 10 GB of EU roaming. 

Bundle Extra 

This plan costs 40 euros and has a validity of 30 days. Enjoy 60 GB data, unlimited minutes, unlimited text, and 6.65 GB of EU roaming. 

[forever-rogue]

Time & Place - Part I

AN | A million things to do and write, and here I am, once again clowning. This came to me and I decided to run with it. It’s just going to be a little mini-series [maybe 3 parts or so]. Have I ever mentioned how much I love Javi? Especially post-DEA Javi? Well, I do! Enjoy 😌

Summary | After a long week you just wanted to unwind with a quiet drink at the bar. But the universe was not so kind and had other plans. Luckily, fate decided to throw you a savior just in the nick of time.

Pairing | Javier x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Reader gets harassed by a man at the bar [nothing explicit], motions of injury, and some minor violence

Word Count | 1.7k

Masterlist | Main, Javier

Part II | Part III

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You’d thought this place would be safe; as safe as a bar in the not-so-great-part of a big city could get. You really should have thought that one through more thoroughly. The more you thought about it, the more you realized what a completely dumb idea this was.  In the future you weren’t going to go to any bars alone - if there was a future after tonight. 

The man that had been leering at you from across the bar was sending all the wrong kinds of shivers up your spine. You’d had this grand idea that after a long day - week - at work, you’d just stop at the bar and have a drink or two to unwind and decompress. You just wanted some peace and silence. You can’t really blame anyone for that, can you? You hadn’t told any friends what your plans were or where you were going - another mistake you realized. No one had come with you and you thought that would be fine. You were camped in the far corner of the place, pouring over the day’s newspaper, minding your own business. Every part of your attitude, your body language, your quietness should have been a sign that you wanted to be left alone.

But this guy had other ideas. When you’d first felt him leering at you, you shot him a quick smile in the hopes it would ward him off. Your efforts had the exact opposite effect; he almost caused you to jump in surprise as he slid into the opposite side of the booth from you. The stench of alcohol and bad body order overwhelmed you within an instant, causing your stomach to churn as he offered you a disgusting little smirk. Your heart was practically slamming against your ribcage, threatening to burst out as you tried to figure out what to do. Frantically looking around, you realized that no one was even looking in your direction. Fuck.

“Well, well, well. Hello darlin’,” he leaned in as you grabbed your newspaper and tried to stuff it into your bag, “what brings a pretty little thing like you here?”

“I’m…ughh,” you swallowed thickly as he reached over and put his hand on top of yours, clinging on tightly when you tried to pull away, “I was just leaving. I-I need to go.”

“I think you should stay right here,” he insisted, leaning in and squeezing your wrist so tightly it started to hurt, “you should know better than to come to a place like this alone. Might meet the wrong sort of people.”

“I think I already have,” it came out as a hiss as you tried to pull out of his grasp, “I may be dumb for coming here alone, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let you do anything to me. Now let go of me.”

“I don’t think so,” he insisted, but before he could go anything else, he was grabbed by the shoulders and thrown out of the booth. The whole moment took you by complete surprise as you pulled your hand back, still feeling the touch of his fingers on your skin. Tears stung at the back of your eyes as you tried to keep from crying, “what the f-”

“I suggest you leave right now,” a deep voice told him, “and I won’t kill you. If I ever see your face again, I won’t be as generous as I’m feeling today.”

“A whore like her isn’t worth this,” you’d closed your eyes out of instinct and could only hear the horrible crunch of bone before the man cursed. You heard him crumple to the floor in a heap, as the other man breathed heavily.

“Leave,” he insisted, his tone low and dark, sending a different kind of shiver throughout your entire body, “don’t ever let me see your face again. Next time I will kill you. Claro?”

“Yeah,” you opened your eyes just in time to see him scrambling to his feet and running for the exit, blood dripping down his face and onto the worn wooden floor. A few people had turned to see what the commotion was about, but everyone quickly went back to their own conversations. Perhaps this wasn’t a rarity at a place like this. You let out a shaky breath before you allowed yourself to calm down. You were alright; you were safe. This complete stranger had protected you.

“Hey,” the voice that had been so commanding was now soft - more gentle than you would have expected. You heard the worn leather of the spot across from you flatten as your savior took a seat. He didn’t move or try to get you to look at him, “are you alright? Did he…hurt you?”

“‘m okay,” you said after a few moments of silence, unable to stop the tears rolling down your cheeks. You hastily wiped them away before finally allowing yourself to look at him. The face that was watching you wore an expression of genuine concern as he studied you. His eyes flicked to your wrist where he could see a few red marks that he was sure would bruise. You didn’t have the energy to hold back and pretend to be strong when you were so rattled, “it hurts.”

“You’ll want to ice that,” he said softly, wanting to reach out and touch your arm but he held himself back not wanting to scare you further, “keep pressure off it for a while, maybe wrap it for some padding. I’m sorry he did that to you, but I’m not sorry for what I did to him.”

“I just wanted a drink by myself,” you sniffled, shaking your head at your own foolishness, “it’s been a long week, but I just wanted to relax. I saw him watching me and I just smiled…I hoped he would leave me alone. I’m so stupid.”

“Don’t say that,” he insisted calmly, “you should be able to go anywhere by yourself and feel and be safe. You shouldn’t have to worry about assholes like that.”

“I guess,” you shrugged and stared down at the sticky surface of the aging table. You wanted to look at more, study him deeply, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. You knew he was handsome, and you’d leave it at that, “thank you. For doing that for me…I don’t know what he would have done if you hadn’t stopped him.”

“Yeah,” he leaned back in seat, wondering what he could possibly say to make you feel better. He wasn’t stupid, he wasn’t naïve enough to think you’d just magically get over it. But it did break his heart to see you crying and beating yourself up for something that was in no way your fault, “do you live nearby, sweetheart? I can walk you home or call you a cab…I imagine you probably don’t want to be around another asshole right now. But I want to make sure you get home safe.”

“It’s like a fifteen minute drive,” you sighed lightly, “I-I can get a cab. Thank you for being so kind. I appreciate it, really.”

“Come on,” he said softly as he stood up, tentatively reaching out a hand to you. There was a moment of hesitation but you decided he was trustworthy enough to go with. He walked towards the pay phone in the back, keeping you shielded from anyone else, “I’ll call you a cab and wait with you till it comes.”

“Okay,” you agreed as he picked up the phone. It was then that you allowed yourself to get a better look at him. He was a little older than you, not terribly but enough to notice, dressed simply in jeans, boots, a button-up and leather jacket. Nothing special but he managed to look good. A shock of dark hair that curled slightly at the ends with warm umber eyes and a mustache that somehow suited him. More important than anything else, he made you feel safe. You’d gotten so lost in studying him that you didn’t even register that he’d made the call.

“We can wait outside, get you some fresh air.”

Once you stepped out of the musty old bar, you felt an immediate sense of relief - like you could breathe again. He didn’t press you to talk, instead stood next to you on the sidewalk, leaning lightly against the side of the building. It was then that you noticed his right hand. Out of habit, you reached for it, taking it gently in your own. His knuckles were bloodied and cracked, the beginnings of bruising already bubbling up. You made a small sound in the back of your throat as he remained completely still, “you’re hurt. Because of me.”

“No,” he promised quietly, “because of that asshole, not you. It’ll be alright, I’ve had worse.”

“Still…I hope it won’t get too bad,” you dropped his hand when you heard the cab pull up to the curb. He nodded before gently ushering you to the waiting car, opening the door for you to get in. Once you were situated and buckled in you offered him the best smile you could, “thank you. Truly. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he reached into wallet and pulled out a few bills and handed them to the driver, despite your quiet protest, “make sure she gets home safe.”

“Wait,” you stopped him just before he closed the door, and he raised an eyebrow in question, “you saved me…and I don’t even know your name.”

He seemed to hesitate for a moment before the tiniest bit of a smile tugged on the corners of his mouth, “Javier - Javi.”

“Javi,” you repeated softly before giving him your name in exchange, “thank you.”

“Just take care of yourself, alright?” he asked softly as you nodded, “good night, sweetheart.”

“Good night, Javi.”