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atmostories · 4 years

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Johnny Lawrence x Reader

Matter - Chapter Four Tags: Angst, Gender-Neutral, Alcohol/Drug Abuse, Depression Something warm was rubbing the back of your hand. It felt nice, really nice. It was going back and forth across your skin, sometimes in circles, sometimes in lines. It was. . .comforting. . . - “Hey. Hey.” A hand on your shoulder was gently shaking you. You grumbled unhappily at the noise and the movement, not wanting to be woken up.

“Hey, wake up,” Johnny told you. Was it time for work already? It was like you'd only been asleep for ten minutes. You really didn't want to go, couldn't you call in sick just this once?

“Five more minutes,” you croaked, tightening your grip on the blanket.

“Yeah, you said that fifteen minutes ago. I've already given you half an hour.”

“Can't you tell them I'm sick?”

“What?” You squinted at the bright lights, about to plead Johnny to make up some excuse to your boss, but you suddenly recognised you were in the dojo. It was empty aside from Miguel and Aisha who were grabbing their bags and blankets. Shit, movie night. The mats were sparse, there weren't any blankets, soda cups or pizza boxes anywhere to be seen. Surely they hadn't cleaned up already?

“Where's everyone?” You asked while you sat up and rubbed your eyes.

“Gone home. Movie finished a while ago.” Johnny was crouched next to you, his hand was still on your shoulder. He immediately pulled away when you glanced at his arm. “Come on, I'll take you to your place.”

“Aren't you driving Miguel back?”

“Aisha's giving him a ride.”

“I'll be fine in a minute.” You took to your feet unsteadily and starting folding up the blanket.

“You can't drive like this.”

“I just need to wake up that's all.”

“I said I'll-”

“Sensei! We're gonna head off now, so thanks for the pizza and the movie was awesome,” Miguel interjected. He was standing by the door and was looking at Johnny before he turned to you. “And thanks for the soda too. I'll see you on Monday, Sensei.”

“Have a good weekend,” you waved at him.

“Night, Diaz,” Johnny replied. The dojo was silent after Miguel left. You were awake enough to feel the tension rolling off of Johnny. He was standing right next to you, his jaw was tight, his arms were stiff at his sides. You had to refold the blanket after messing it up the first time. He stared as you held the blanket out to him but he didn't take it.

“Just let me drive you, okay? I'll come pick you up in the morning so you can get your car,” he explained calmly. Before you could voice a rebuttal, he spoke again. “And no, it's not too much trouble.”

He wasn't giving you any room to manoeuvre. You didn't know why he was so insistent on driving you back. In a few minutes, you'd be fine. The apartment was out of the way, and Johnny would have to come get you in the morning.

After the casual conversation on the way to the pizza place, you didn't want to push your luck and end up with things being awkward or turning into an argument. But you supposed it was too late for that now.

“Thanks, it's kind of you to offer but really I'm fine.”

“No, you're not.”

“Johnny-”

“You're exhausted. Do you know how loud those kids got? You didn't move at all, you just. . .passed out.” You were taken back by the look on his face. He seemed. . .worried. You lowered your head, unable to say anything back to him. You didn't remember, you didn't remember anything after you'd closed your eyes to get some rest.

That was during the first part of the movie. Johnny said that you'd already asked him for five more minutes before and you didn't remember that at all.

“I'm sorry,” you murmured, understanding his insistence. “If you wouldn't mind. . .”

“Can you take that out to the car?” He gestured to the blanket still in your arms.

“Sure.” Johnny grabbed the pillow before you could reach down to pick it up. You walked out of the dojo into the cool night air. While he was turning off the lights and locking up, you buried your face into the blanket and took in a deep lungful. The smell of him threatened to bring back memories of the two of you together, but the worst of it was how it made you feel. Calm, safe, content. You had to pull it away from your face.

After he came over, he took the blanket from you and threw it in the trunk along with the pillow. You got into the car with Johnny wanting nothing more than to curl over and sleep. He asked for your address before he turned on the ignition. When you replied he said he knew where it was, he used to live near there for a couple years with his mom.

He'd always found it difficult to talk about her, but he had reached the point where he could occasionally mention her to you in passing.

The streets were much quieter than earlier. You watched the apartment blocks and the stores pass by. It was a struggle to keep your eyes. You couldn't stop yourself from letting out a quiet sigh.

“You're not sleeping, are you?” He glanced over at you for a brief moment. Your gut twinged with anxiety. Not having the courage to look in his direction, you kept watching the road ahead. Trying to give him an excuse wasn't going to work.

“It's been a little. . .difficult lately.”

“A little? When was the last time you slept? Properly.” You tried to think back to the last time you'd had a good night sleep but you came up blank. “You don't even know, do you?”

“I've been working a lot, that's all,” you replied dismissively.

“I thought I told you to take it easy.”

“It's not like I have a choice, Johnny.”

“Look, if it's about the money I can help.”

“I'm not taking your money.”

“Not all of it's mine. I still have some of Sid's money left over. Think of it as a loan if you want.”

“Loan or not,” you clarified.

“Why can't you just accept my help?”

“Are you really saying that? To me?” You asked incredulously. You couldn't help the anger that seeped through your words. The reason why you'd broken up with him in the first place was because he wouldn't accept your help and now he's trying to preach the same at you?

“You don't need to make the same mistakes I did,” he responded quietly. His admission took you by surprise. You'd expected him to get angry, to lash out at you, to meet you punch for punch. Instead he'd done the complete opposite. “The offer's there, if you need it.”

You couldn't say anything. The righteous anger left you as quickly as it came. You should have said something, you should have thanked him at the very least but the words were stuck in your throat.

The rest of the drive was silent. No longer did you feel the urge to sleep, you were wide awake, anxious and guilty thoughts spiralling in your mind. He'd offered his help and your first reaction was to become defensive and reject it. When he pulled up outside your apartment block, you didn't know to do, whether to invite him inside or to simply say goodbye.

“Get some sleep,” Johnny said as he turned to face you, his wrist resting on the steering wheel. “Call me tomorrow and I'll come pick you up.”

“Thanks,” you managed to reply. Getting out of the Firebird, you waved at him before walking towards the entrance of the apartment block. He didn't leave until you were inside the door.

Oddly you got a solid eight hours of sleep that night. You called Johnny in the morning and he said he'd be about forty minutes, giving you time to shower and get changed.

The journey back to the dojo was thankfully uneventful. He asked a couple of questions, how you were, whether you slept. After a brief conversation, he turned the speakers up and you were able to enjoy the music with him. You weren't quite ready to start singing just yet, and neither was Johnny, but he was humming away instead. He parked up next your car which was still in one piece. You thanked him for the ride.

“I'm glad you came last night,” he replied in earnest, not looking in your direction. When his eyes finally met yours, your heart started beating a bit faster. “Maybe next time you can make it through the first act.”

You huffed out a soft laugh and nodded in agreement. You got out of his car and went to your own, taking out your keys on the way. There was going to be a next time? What movie was he going to choose next? Things seemed to have settled out between you and Johnny, even after the series of disagreements you had with him last night. It could have ended much worse. You were grateful that it didn't.

Johnny honked as he pulled out of the lot with his music blasting. You couldn't help but shake your head and smile as he drove off.

Maybe things weren't so bad.

- - -

Going to the dojo was no longer the dreaded affair that it used to be. Instead, it became something to look forward to. Johnny was getting along better with you, he didn't seem to be avoiding you like he was before. The tension had fizzled out and was replaced by something. . .friendly.

You were able to sleep a bit more even though you were still working a lot. It was surprising how much of a difference it made. You really seemed to be getting a handle on things. When you were sorting through the paperwork and the student fees, you weren't making so many mistakes. It saved lots of time because you didn't have to triple check everything.

A class was due to start in about fifteen minutes and already a fair number of kids were in the dojo. Miguel had chatted to you for a little bit when you arrived and Hawk had glared at you from afar as per usual. You wondered pointlessly how to repair things. Any attempts to try and talk to him would certainly be rebuffed, most likely with an insult. He'd already purposefully bumped into you, his dislike for you was made perfectly clear.

There didn't seem to be anything you could do. It wasn't like you could explain the intricacies of your relationship with Johnny. Even if you did he'd take his Sensei's side. You resigned yourself to giving him as much space as possible, hoping his disdain might naturally peter out with time.

Johnny came into the office while you were sorting through some consent forms from three new students.

“What's this?” He challenged, holding up a crumpled twenty dollar bill.

“Uhh. . .”

“What? Didn't think I'd notice?” He sounded only vaguely annoyed and he seemed rather amused by your guilty expression. “How about you earn it back and let me borrow you for this class?”

“Borrow meaning. . .you're gonna throw me onto the floor?”

“Only a couple of times. Five at the most. Well, definitely not above double digits,” he replied with a glint in his eyes, you couldn't help but roll your own. “I'm gonna show the kids a few self defence moves. It's better if I can demonstrate them with another adult.”

“Right, of course,” you mumbled sarcastically.

"Come on, it's not going to hurt." You stared at him for a few moments with your eyebrows raised. "It'll hurt a little bit, but you'll be fine. It's nothing you haven't done before."

“Alright,” you agreed, knowing that he wouldn't purposefully cause you injury.

It wasn't until half way through the class that he waved you to come into the dojo. The kids were all sitting around the edge of the mat and were waiting attentively. You were uneasy as you took off your shoes and socks. Focusing your attention on Johnny, you bowed before walking up to him. The nerves started to ease.

“Sometimes when fighting an opponent, you will be faced with two difficult choices,” he explained as he circled around you on the mat. “Okay, pay attention.”

Johnny stood right in front of you with his back turned and his knees bent. He widened his stance before taking a hold of your arm to wrap around his throat. Grabbing onto your other arm, he tucked it against his side and latched his fingers around your wrist.

“Your opponent has your neck, you have their elbow,” he described to the kids, pressing his chin into your elbow. His movement forced you to have a tighter grip around his throat. Automatically you tried to shift forwards to give him some room but he hunkered his chin down even further.

“If you try to break out. . .” He let go of your wrist and tapped your arm which was around his neck. Inferring what he wanted you to do, you secured your free arm around the back of his neck, applying pressure from both sides. “Your opponent is going to dig in and put you to sleep.”

His voice was strained, you could hear that his airway was slightly restricted. Your attempt to twist your elbow away from him failed. What was he doing? Was he trying to make it more realistic for the kids? It didn't feel right, especially after everything that happened with Kreese. It was almost as if he wanted you to hurt him.

“If you go for the opponent's ribs,” he explained, breaking out of your hold and placing his elbow on your side. You lifted up your knee in response. “You completely expose your chest.”

Johnny returned to the original position, with his hand on your wrist and you had an arm around his neck.

“Two difficult choices. What do you do?” He asked the students. They looked on curiously, unable to come up with an answer. But you knew what he was going to do. You tried to brace yourself.

He kicked the back of your leg, taking both of you down onto the mat. You managed not to fall on top of him and you were able to keep your arms up to reduce the impact. He helped you up off the mat and explained to his students to damn the consequences and power forward. After adjusting his gi, he told them to make a choice, to make a move and go all in.

He went through more self defence positions with you, ensuring that the kids could see exactly what he was doing to counterattack. Johnny was detailed in his explanations and as a result his students only asked the occasional question. Though you ended up on the mat a couple more times, it wasn't too bad. Johnny was careful not to make you go down awkwardly.

Thankfully he didn't get you to put him in another chokehold. If you were honest with yourself, it had worried you. You were probably looking into it too much. When he had finished his demonstration, he paired off the kids to do some practice amongst themselves.

You bowed before you left the mat and grabbed your shoes and socks. Sitting back down in the office, you were aching a little bit all over but nothing hurt in particular. After Johnny dismissed the class, Miguel came in to chat.

“Sensei didn't hurt you too bad, did he?” he asked, looking over you as if he was trying to spot any obvious injury.

“Nah, I've had worse.”

“Really?”

“I'm guessing he's already made sure that you can take a punch to the face right?”

“Yeah. . .” he replied, not quite getting your meaning. He raised his eyebrows when he finally realised. “Sensei punched you in the face?”

“Oh yeah. It didn't bleed too bad though.” Miguel smiled at that. “He's a good teacher. I'm glad he has you guys as his students.”

“I think you mean the other way around?”

“You're a sweet kid.”

“My Yaya would agree, but my mom. . .? I'm not so sure.” Before you could reply, Johnny called out for Miguel and he left with a rushed goodbye. About ten seconds later, Johnny came into the office.

“Feeling delicate?” he teased, perching on the other side of the desk. Your reply was to shake your head at him. “It was a good class. I think the kids learnt a lot today.”

“I'm glad I could help.”

“And you didn't even hit double digits.” He told you, slapping down the twenty dollar bill in front of you. When you went to take it, he snatched it away jokingly. “Did you really earn this? I mean I deserve a couple more body slams at the very least.”

Standing up from the chair, you reached forwards and managed to grab onto the bill.

“Maybe next time,” you told him. He got off the desk, winking at you as he left the office.

- - -

You dreamt about him that night. It was visceral, you hadn't dreamt of something so vivid for a very long time. The memory of his hands on you was too fresh, it had sunk down into your subconscious. You woke up longing, aching, wanting nothing more than his arms to wrap around your body. When you remembered what happened the day before you could still feel him on your skin.

It was like something had broken inside of you.

Being busy at work kept you from thinking about it too much. Almost a week passed before the memory had faded enough where you could think about it without a reaction. The next time you were in the dojo, Johnny borrowed you again for another demonstration. You had come prepared with more comfortable clothes and shoes that didn't take so long to take off.

The session was about weapons and how the kids would defend themselves against someone who was armed. He gave you a piece of plastic to use as a fake knife.

When you were on the mats, he stood before you in a fighting position, explaining the situation to the kids. He raised his eyebrows to signal for you to attack. You quickly struck out your arm which he easily blocked. He knocked the pretend knife out of your grasp and took control of your wrist. With his other arm, he grabbed onto the back of your shoulder and forced you to bend over. He turned you around slowly so each of the kids could see his grip.

You went over numerous scenarios with him, You would attack him from different angles, sometimes keeping the knife concealed until the fight was underway. It was easy to anticipate what he needed you to do, it made the demonstration flow unhindered. Johnny explained one final situation to the kids where they should consider disarming their opponent from a distance.

He signalled for you to advance but you came in too fast, and he ended up kicking your wrist. The fake knife flew out of your hand and you held in a soft grunt from the impact. Johnny must have seen it on your face because he checked on you when he finished the class.

Coming round to your side of the desk, he leant up against it and took your hand in his lap. His fingers began to rub against your wrist.

“Where does it hurt?” You answered by wincing when he pressed his thumb against a certain spot. “Put some ice on it later if it's still bothering you. Otherwise I would recommend that you don't operate any heavy machinery.”

“Oh, is that your professional advice, Dr. Lawrence?” You replied in jest.

“Is that attitude my patient's giving me? Because you won't get a sticker if you're not careful.” He slid off the desk and opened up one of the filing cabinets.

“You actually have stickers?” You exclaimed in disbelief as he pulled out a sticker with the Cobra Kai logo on it.

“Some of the kids ordered a bunch from the internet,” he replied, letting you take it. The sticker was almost the size of your hand, you wondered where you going to put it. After thanking him for the present, he headed back into the dojo to get some equipment out.

Over the next thirty minutes or so, all of the kids left except for Miguel. Johnny was training him by himself and was holding out some pads for him to kick. With another batch of paperwork complete, you decided it was a good place to call it for the day. You waved to the two of them as you left and walked out of the front door.

As you pulled out your keys, you were surprised to see Hawk leaning against the door of your car, blocking you from getting inside. His arms were crossed, he looked impatient like he'd been waiting for you since class had ended.

“Everything okay, Hawk?” You asked as you approached him. He shifted off your car, uncrossing his arms and balling his hands into fists.

“Why do you keep coming around here,” Hawk said bitterly with a sneer on his face. “You should stay away from Sensei.”

“He asked me to be here,” you responded calmly, holding your ground when Hawk moved into your personal space.

“Sensei only asks you to come here because he feels sorry for you. You already dumped him, haven't you hurt him enough?” You looked away from him for a moment, taking in his hurtful words and wondering how much truth there was to them.

“Look. . .I understand that you care about your Sensei, but that's his choice to make. It's not your business.”

“Of course it's my business, he's my Sensei! You're interfering with our lessons. He gets all weird and distracted whenever you're around,” he told you angrily, moving even closer to get right up in your face. “So. Stay. Away from him.”

You had to take a step back from him to try and deescalate things. “Does he know that you're talking to me about this?” Hawk pursed his lips, it was clear that he hadn't talked to Johnny at all. “I'm sorry that you-”

You reeled backwards in surprise when he punched you in the face. Your lips began to throb, blood filled your mouth and it was already dripping down to your chin. It was a solid hook, Johnny had taught him well. Hawk's eyes were wide open like he didn't mean to hit you. After wiping your chin, you turned to the side and spat out the blood onto the ground.

“I'm sorry that you feel this way,” you told him, finishing off what you attempted to say before. It hurt to move your lips. You weren't angry at Hawk, he was a kid trying his best to protect someone he cared about. Giving him a wide berth, you managed to get in your car. You turned on the ignition and pulled out of the lot without checking in the mirror to see how bad your face looked.

Was Hawk right? Was it pity? You couldn't stop thinking about what he said as you drove back to the apartment. Was Johnny only asking you to come to the dojo because he felt sorry for you? There was truth in it somewhere, you could feel it, but you couldn't exactly see where.

Johnny might have asked for your help but you were the one who had taken that photo of the Cobra Kai flyer. You were the one who, the very next day, went straight to the dojo to satisfy your curiosity.

If you had minded your business, Johnny would never have sought you out. He would never have called. He wouldn't even know where you lived. Had he sensed your desperation to be close to him? It was only after parking up outside the apartment that you inspected the damage. You winced as you gently touched your top and bottom lip. It wasn't pretty, it was going to take a while to heal.

Running your teeth over one of the scabs, you felt a sense of relief when it started bleeding.

- - -

Smoking some weed was more awkward than you thought it was going to be. Though it hurt your lips, you didn't care, you needed something to calm you down. After work for the next few days, you got a good buzz going every night. It was better than letting the thoughts of Johnny run rampant in your mind.

When he called, you briefly considered giving him some excuse to get out of going. You wanted to refuse and have him try to convince you to come, hear the need in his voice. Hawk had probably said the first mean thing that came to his mind. Even if he was right, Johnny wouldn't ask you to be there solely out of pity, he needed you to help him and that was a good enough reason for you.

Parking up at the dojo, you quickly went over the excuse about what happened to your face in case anyone asked. It was nothing more than a silly accident where you bit your lip by mistake.

As you headed inside, there were quite a few kids already there, Hawk was amongst them. Instead of his customary grimace, guilt was on his face for a brief moment before he turned away.

Thankfully none of the kids asked what happened to your face and you were able to make it to the office unchallenged. As you sorted through some consent waivers that needed to be copied, Johnny came out of the storage room hauling some punching bags with Miguel and a couple others.

You went over to the printer by the door with the waivers and started making two copies of each one. Johnny manoeuvred a punching bag to the edge of the mat while nodding to the kids that were coming into the dojo. As soon as he turned to face your direction, he spotted you and his expression fell.

He immediately walked over and you pressed your lips together in a weak smile.

“What happened?” He demanded, his hand reaching up to rest on your chin. He tilted back your head and inspected the damage. You swallowed nervously, taken back by the seriousness of his reaction.

“Oh I'm fine. . .it's stupid really,” you replied nonchalantly and shrugged. When you tried to lean back from his touch, he simply moved forwards.

“What happened?” He repeated, his fingers pulling down the skin by your mouth so he could get a better look at your lip.

“I bit down on my lip that's all.” He suddenly stopped moving, his eyes met yours. Your gut twisted in nerves from the way he was looking at you.

“You're lying,” he said coldly, your heart aching at his words. His hand slipped down to the scruff of your neck and his grip on your shirt began to tighten. Anger and hurt filled his eyes. “Who did this to you?”

“It's really nothing.”

“Who. Did. This?” He growled, baring his teeth. Both of his hands were gripping onto your shirt, forcing you to move right up close to him. You could feel his hot breath on your face. He wasn't just angry, he was enraged. You'd never seen him like this, not even when he'd gotten into fights in the past.

“It was an accident,” you explained, gently placing your hand on one of his wrists. His body twitched like he was going to react badly to the touch. It didn't look as if he believed you at all. Rubbing your thumb against the back of his hand, you took in a deep breathe and exhaled slowly. You hoped that the movement might calm him down a little.

“It was just an accident,” you reiterated firmly. You weren't lying, as far as you were concerned that's all it was. “I swear to you.” Would he even believe your promise? Or was he too far gone? There was no change in his expression so you couldn't tell. Again you breathed in and out deliberately so that his hands would feel the motion of your chest.

“Is everything okay, Sensei?” You heard Miguel ask apprehensively. Turning to look at him, you saw all of the kids staring at you and Johnny. Worry was apparent on all of their expressions, even Hawk's.

“Yeah, we're okay.” You smiled reassuringly at Miguel and the rest of the kids. “Isn't that right, Sensei?”

Hopefully calling him that rather than his name would remind him where he was and what he was doing in front of his students. When you looked back at Johnny, he seemed to snap out of the haze of anger. He shifted his focus onto the kids and immediately let go of your shirt. You placed a heavy hand on Johnny's shoulder and slapped it twice in an effort to convey that both of you were perfectly fine.

He pulled away from you and went to the storage room, with a deeply concerned Miguel in tow. It took a few moments for the tension in the dojo to dissipate and the kids soon returned to getting ready for class. Straightening out your shirt, you sat down in the chair and let out an unsteady breath.

Fuck, what just happened? - - - Taglist: @whyhaveyouwritten-mehere @lacontroller1991 @stressedstark @wndrcarol @carissakingofthecastle92 @witchcraftandwit @magicwithaknife @80strashbag @jem-my-greatest-sin @masonsbitch @wholesomehen @chlqefrazer @actuallydrew @jem-my-greatest-sin @masonsbitch @wholesomehen @deadpoolgirl23 @sorryyoureoutofmyleague

#johnny lawrence #johnny lawrence x reader #william zabka #cobra kai #atmo-x #are you ready for some pain and suffering?#heh hehhh x #also that gif tho #so happy how it turned out #angry johnny is peak johnny #no your honour i stand by my statement

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buckstaposition · 4 years

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I cling to your lips like gloss (4)

a Javier Peña x OFC story

also on AO3

tags&warnings: spoilers for S3 eps1+2 mainly, some for later episodes also; mention of drug use; brief description of a panic attack; sleazy David Rodríguez is sleazy; somewhat liberal use of the f-word and also other swearing; reference to past canon character deaths; this blog is CIA station chief Bill Stechner-phobic to the max; most non-graphic, vaguest possible reference to sex (to when Javi goes home with that lady in episode 1); oblivious mutual pining; idiots with zero emotional self-awareness; domesticity

word count: 15.435 (I’m sorry, here are some snacks 🍌🥨🧁🥤)

summary: Diana goes into the lions’ den. Javier is not having a good time. No one gets enough sleep.

tag list & author’s notes have been moved to the bottom. let me just say sorry this took me so long and I hope you’re all well and healthy and happy holidays and may the new year be better for all of us

Masterlist

Prologue • Chapter 1 - The Informant • Chapter 2 - A Wedding and Four Funerals • Chapter 3 - Swallow Pride and Anger

Chapter 4 - Prime Numbers

Franklin Jurado, Diana thinks, is a bit of an ass. It's not even that he happily, willingly, goes around laundering narcos' blood money, or that he gets rich off that himself. In this moment, it's mostly the way he dismissively rolls his eyes and can barely keep the contempt out of his voice when arguing with her about Maltese vs Caymanian tax loopholes. Like she's an idiot for actually reading the laws, spotty as they are.

On top of everything, it's keeping her in her office well past the time she was meaning to start getting changed and dolled up for the grand party that night, and she feels a pressure headache of annoyance building behind her temples to boot.

She's this close to bludgeoning the man with her stapler when an insistent knock sounds at the door, followed by a blonde head poking in. The blonde lady starts speaking in rapid English, too abrupt for Diana's brain to keep up with what is being said, but she instinctively recognized the tone of a husband being reamed out with righteous indignation and if nothing else, it gives her a certain kind of vindication.

"Hi, I'm Christina Jurado. Just Christina is fine. Pleasure to meet you!" The other woman now stepped fully into her office, holding out her hand and smiling just a tad too brightly.

"Diana...Galindo." Why she'd chosen to be known here under her married name is anyone's guess. Perhaps it was mostly a matter of having grown used to it. Perhaps it allowed her to pretend that this wasn't quite her, just an act to be put on for a greater purpose. That helping drug cartel bosses hide their blood money from the tax man and signing off on their henchmen's paychecks was something that Diana Teresa Artemisia Rivas Rincón would not be caught dead doing, no matter the circumstances. "Pleased to meet you."

"Franklin, we'll be late!" the other woman throws over her shoulder. Rather pointedly, too.

"We're not done discussing-"

"I don't care, Franklin!" There's a moment of very animated eye contact, the kind of wordless back-and-forth that she'd dreamt of developing with Juan Mateo but that they never quite managed. Just another little detail that ultimately spelled the end of their marriage. "Actually, why don't your ride with us?"

"I, um-" Diana instinctively reached to adjust the wire she'd been wearing for most of the day (to get used to the feeling and not inadvertently betray herself later), only catching herself in the last moment and fidgeting with the collar on her blouse instead. "I- Felipe was supposed to drive me. I need to get ready still, too."

"Eh, he can tag along. What are you wearing? Do you have your dress here?" She did. There was no arguing with Christina, but no malice in her overbearing imperiousness either. Nonetheless, Diana tried to argue, if only for politeness' sake. How she wouldn't want to impose. That it wasn't a problem, since Miguel Rodríguez had very kindly arranged for her transportation in the form of the afore-mentioned Felipe. Mrs Jurado waved it all off. And perhaps the obvious annoyance in Franklin Jurado's eyes gave her a little push. Say what one might about the Rodríguez brothers, but at least neither of them had ever questioned her professional expertise.

Before she knows what hit her, the three of them are sailing out of the building and towards the cars parked out front. Well, Christina is sailing, while Franklin and Diana are trotting along behind her and shooting each other sour looks. It's the kind of wrathful indignation that she hadn't felt since second grade, when Bruno Moreno had pulled her pigtails and stolen her pencil. Christina seemed unperturbed, ordering the drivers around in her accented but surprisingly decent Spanish. Felipe caught Diana's eye, wringing his hands and questions in his eye.

"It seems I will be riding with Mr and Mrs Jurado. Perhaps you'd be kind enough to follow us to their hotel and then take my work clothes back to the office after I've changed? I'd hate to have to lug around my stuff or leave it lying around somewhere. You'd be a great help this way, and as far as I'm concerned, you can go straight home after that."

"Of course, ma'am." He nodded, seeming relieved by the clear instructions. Diana smiled and handed off her garment bag to the Jurados' driver.

The drive itself could have been more awkward, what with being caged in the back of this limousine with two strangers, one of whom all but openly despised her and spent his time pouting after his wife had told him in no uncertain terms that if a single word of work talk left his lips she'd shove him out the door and into oncoming traffic. Luckily she also had made it her personal mission to pack half an evening's worth of small talk into the barely twenty-minute-ride.

The Jurados' suite was grand, the lounge alone bigger than the house Diana had grown up in. She was still trying not to show how out of place she felt among all the marble and gilded edges when Christina steered her towards the back, still prattling on in a way that the DEA would have a lot of fun picking through when they got the recording from her wire.

"Ugh, this place is so... Sorry, we wanted the president's suite, but one of the North Valley people snatched it up. Their... Who is he, Franklin? That unpleasant little man - is he the leader of the pack? With the young woman we saw when we checked in. Was that his wife?"

"Salazar." Franklin muttered, his face curdling into a deeper frown. At least Diana wasn't at the top of his most hated list, apparently. "Yeah, I think so honey."

"She looked awfully young."

"I'm sure we'll meet them all at the party."

"Something to look forward to." Christina grimaced and pulled Diana into the spacious bathroom, settling her down in front of a gigantic vanity mirror.

"Alright, what are we doing with you?" Diana looked at her own wide-eyed reflection staring back at her while Christina started pulling her hair free from the simple clip she'd used to hold it up.

"I, uh-" Diana pushed her glasses back up her nose and frowned. "I have contact lenses." She gestured vaguely towards her reflection. She had also packed a small bag with the handful of make-up items she owned, but lack of practice didn't exactly serve to make her adept at using them. Christina grinned excitedly, her whitened teeth shining. "Well no, that won't do! Hang on."

She sprung up and rushed towards the door, only stopping when she reached her husband who had lingered there, leaning against the frame.

"Hey you." For a moment, they softened, stealing a small kiss amid halted momentum. Diana ached to witness it. "Hey yourself."

"Go get changed." Christina smiled, kissing his cheek as she brushed past to dive into her suitcase.

"You're telling me? Don't take too long, we're on a schedule here." The words were softened by his tender expression, and as she walked past on her way back he reeled her in for another, deeper kiss. Diana pretended to be very invested in not poking her eyeballs out. Well, half-pretended. Putting in contact lenses was another thing she wasn't exactly used to. When she'd finally managed to fumble the second lens onto her eyeball, Franklin had long left and closed the door.

Without further ado, Christina set to work. Within moments, the marble counter was covered with various cosmetics and the other woman's eager hands set to work. Diana had no choice but to submit. Thankfully again, it was Christina who shouldered the bulk of the conversation.

"So, I did notice you're not wearing a wedding band, Mrs Galindo." Diana's eyes were closed, as her eyeshadow was currently being blended, but she did stiffen and instinctively her other hand went to touch where her ring had been. "Oh damn, I hope that wasn't- He's not tragically deceased, is he?"

"No, we're...separated. Divorcing. It's... it's dragging on, to be honest. I've learned more about Colombian marriage law in the past year than I ever wanted to know." She tried to diffuse with a joke, but it didn't quite land.

"Sorry, you must think me so rude. We only just met and here I am acting like we're friends!" She bit out in a jarring departure from her hitherto genial tone. "Anyway, I admire you. That can't have been easy what with how...uh-"

"...Catholic this country is?" Diana supplied, clasping the other woman's hands in hers with a slight smile. Christina huffed in relief. "Yes, I suppose. It's just... it's so hard. Marriage I mean. Sometimes I don't even know how to bear it." Her gaze fell towards the bathroom door that Franklin had closed behind himself upon leaving. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she continued. "How did you even know you couldn't go on like this?"

Diana gulped, hating what she was about to do. Resenting, for a moment, women like Gabriela who only had to sell a bit of their time and acess to their bodies to these people. She felt like she was selling away her soul every single day.

"Mrs Jurado-"

"Christina. Please, you can call me Christina."

"Christina, let me be honest. I never truly loved my husband, and he didn't love me. We liked each other and it was convenient, and expected, to get married. And in the end that proved to not be enough. But from what little I have seen, that's not something you and your husband have to contend with. Even if things are hard, as long as there is love you can overcome them. You have to believe in that."

Christina choked out a tearful little laugh, like in spite of herself.

"Oh God, good thing I haven't put on mascara yet. You're making me all dewy-eyed." She chuckled, then threw her arms around Diana and gave her a tight squeeze. "Thank you. Really."

"Of course," Diana awkwardly patted the other woman's back, thankful that she wasn't currently facing the mirror, "and I would be happy to become your friend." Whatever ice had remained between the two women was broken after that. Christina perked up and returned to chatting animatedly, finishing her make-up, doing up her hair in a very elegant twisted bun, and gushing over her dress.

"Do you have any jewelry to go with it?"

"Not really, no. I only ever wear this." Diana indicated the thin silver chain around her neck. Christina tutted.

"Well, that just won't do. Wait, let me just-" An impatient knock at the door interrupted her. "Oh dear, looks like we're running late."

Diana saw a chance to get a moment alone and suggested they each get dressed quickly, and separately, lest they waste any more time and husbandly nerves with their chatter.

"Okay, but holler if you need help with the zipper or anything."

Diana had never squeezed into a garment faster, glad that she had chosen to put on the wire device that morning already. She tugged the actual wire tight around her body where it had loosened over the course of the day, then shimmied into the underdress she'd brought in the hopes that it would conceal any suspicious bumps or lines. She had almost wrestled the zipper into its final position when Christina knocked and entered, quickly getting the last inch or so with a comment of how husbands were useful for some things.

"Anyway, I thought these would suit you." Christina presented an opened velvet case. Sitting inside it was a jewelry set, sapphires with diamonds set in gold. Real ones, judging by the Cartier labelling embossed into the velvet. A necklace, earrings, bracelet and ring, all fancier and more ostentacious than anything Diana had ever set eyes on. Immediately, her palms started sweating.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly-"

"Nonsense." Christina cut her off, placing the case down and snatching the bracelet and Diana's wrist. "You'll look so pretty and expensive. You can return them to me later, we'll be in town until Tuesday." Having clasped the bracelet around her wrist, she now moved on to the earrings. "Maybe we could get coffee on the weekend or something."

"I'd like that." Diana lied. Christina smiled at her brightly. "Great! I just need to ...uh, freshen up a moment." Taking the hint, Diana gathered up her things and stepped outside, awkwardly holding her bag of of work clothes to give to Felipe down in the hotel lobby. Franklin was standing by a sideboard, boredly rifling through a magazine.

"Mrs Galindo." He acknowledged. For a split second, he looked like he wanted to add something, but caught himself. Diana followed his gaze towards the closed bathroom door, behind which low noises of shuffling and splashing water could be heard.

"How long have you two been married?" She had no idea how this information might help the investigation, but determined that wasn't for her to worry about. Franklin sighed, gaze still fixed on the door and absent.

"Seven years now." He finally tore his eyes away from the door and let them flit over her briefly, catching on the borrowed jewels but electing not to comment on it. "They say the seventh year is the hardest, don't they?"

"I wouldn't know. I never made it that far." Though if Juan Mateo didn't pull his head out of his ass soon she would spend the seventh year still technically married. The thought made her frown.

Before either of them had to search for more overburdened smalltalk, the bathroom door blessedly clicked open and Christina emerged with a wide grin and a spring to her step, her eyes just a smidgeon glassy and too bright. Diana politely pretended not to see the remnants of fine white powder that Franklin surreptitiously wiped from her nose and upper lip. --- They arrived not exactly on time but not fashionably late either. There's a line of cars already plugging up the driveway to the sprawling estate, stringed lights illuminating against the darkening sky. They got out and sauntered towards the two-storey villa, the Jurados up front and Diana trailing behind like the kid that's finally allowed to come along to the fancy family outings. Her dress hadn't felt this tight in the store, or at any point afterwards, until just now.

"Franklin! I'm so glad you're finally here! Mrs Jurado, it's a pleasure." Diana can only just contain the flinch at the sound of this voice, and before long Miguel Rodríguez turns to her with one of his bright, self-satisfied smiles. "Mrs Galindo, I'm so glad you could come. We need to introduce you to the rest of the guys! It's been too long!"

He has his arm around her shoulders within the same breath, exuberant and steering her through the scattered throngs of people at a pace that doesn't even allow for snatching a champagne flute from one of the waiters floating around. She plastered on a fake demure smile. The 'invitation' hadn't exactly been a matter of mere suggestion.

Miguel led them to a dainty pagoda that sat a comfortable distance from the pool and most of the din and chatter of the other guests, nestled between the luscious greenery of the large garden. Diana could hear the mumbled whispers of the Jurados behind her, Miguel's droning on of meaningless small talk that she barely paid attention to. She could see Gilberto's back, his stature dwarfed almost comically by that of a much larger and broader man sat to his side, with short silver hair that gleamed in the low light.

"Gentlemen, I believe we are complete!" Miguel boomed, ushering her up the few steps and into the circle.

"Mrs Galindo, what a pleasure!" Gilberto shot up and made a show of shaking her hand and pulling her close to present her to the rest of the ...associates.

"Now I believe you've not yet met these fine gentlemen. Pacho Herrera, Diana Galindo." Pacho stood and took her hand gingerly, his face impassive and tone painstakingly polite and neutral. "My pleasure."

"Mr Herrera." Diana replied, heart thumping up into her throat. They'd not so much met as passed each other in front of offices or meeting rooms a handful of times, his tightly coiled, jaguar-like energy always seeming just a smidge out of place in those blandly corporate spaces.

"And here's Chepe, came all the way down from New York especially!" The large man with the silver hair stood to his full impressive height, snatching her hand with a wolfish grin and dropping a just-too-moist kiss on the back of it with a wink. Diana did her utmost not to flinch. For just a moment, she regretted the moment she'd taken off her ring and put it in front of a shocked Juan Mateo on their kitchen table before leaving their shared apartment. It was moments like these that she missed the protection it had afforded her from some unwanted advances.

Pallomari was last, balding and skittish, with huge owl-eye glasses not unlike the first pair she'd ever had.

"Mrs Galindo, how interesting to finally put a face to the name." He greeted, sounding painfully rehearsed. Diana returned with some meaningless pleasantry, hyper-aware of the wiretap device against her skin. She wondered whether it even picked up anything apart from the thundering of her heart.

"So, about your big announcement-" Miguel began once everyone was settled into a seat with a drink in hand. Gilberto cut him off almost immediately.

"Now, now brother, let's enjoy the party a bit beforehand." A look passed between them, a challenge issued and accepted, until Miguel turned his gaze away with a barely concealed snarl. Gilberto leaned back in his seat, glass raised with a smug and triumphant smirk. "Let's just say that I have made an important investment into our future. We will continue to thrive, but more importantly, we will be safe. Our families will be safe."

With that cryptic remark, he threw back his drink, expression melting from jovial to grim. The ensuing silence made the hair on the back of Diana's neck stand up, a feat she wouldn't have thought possible with the amount of hairspray Christina had encased her head in.

"He's dead, Pablo's dead." Miguel reached over where she was squished between the two men, squeezing his brother's arm in reassurance. "He's gone and we helped bring him down."

"We did. This country should build us monuments, instead they issue arrest warrants!" Gilberto bit out, pouring himself another glass of whiskey.

"To Pablo Escobar, may he forever rot in hell!" Chepe bellowed, glass raised high. They all joined in. Diana thought of her father. How he'd done her hair and walked her to school every morning and tucked her in with a new story every night when she was a girl. How, during her first year of university when she'd been so lonely and homesick she broke down crying, he'd taken precious time off work and taken a night bus to come visit her in Bogotá for a weekend. How her heart still split down the middle whenever she so much as thought of the crash that killed him. But the gentlemen didn't need to know that she despised them just as much as she did Escobar, not yet anyway. So, she raised her champagne alongside and joined her voice in the chorus of gleeful condemnation. - She'd just escaped Christina and the gaggle of wives for a moment, excusing herself to the restrooms. What the DEA might glean from their inane chatter, she couldn't possibly fathom. She was glad that she was free of them for a moment, and that disecting the recording wasn't her problem to deal with. On her way into the house, she must have passed by at least two dozen important and powerful people. There were a few handfuls of representatives, a number of mayors, at least two senators, an attorney general and an army general. No one she'd ever voted for, at least. And those were just the ones she'd managed to get Miguel to introduce to her, or her to them - either way, she'd made sure to repeat every name as clearly as possible for the recording.

Rounding the last corner in from the veranda, she all but ran into Salcedo.

"Mrs Galindo." His tone was clipped as ever. She wasn't sure whether he might be suspicious of her in particular, or whether it was a general thing and he was just like that.

"Mr Salcedo." She nodded, tone painstakingly polite. He set her teeth on edge, always so stiff-backed with that serpent edge to him; in a ranking of people within the cartel who had this effect on her he would probably come in about third. She wondered what Javier- what Agent Peña would make of the man. "What brings you here, Mrs Galindo?" Or perhaps he just didn't like her for some reason. Which was very much a mutual sentiment. Not that she held particular sympathies for anyone here.

"To the restroom?" *Take a wild guess, buddy*, she thought, one eyebrow arching with clear condescension.

"To the...house."

"The restroom." She resisted rolling her eyes. As much as she may personally dislike Miguel's chief of security, purposely antagonizing him was probably a bad idea. And yet, petty temptation beckoned in every nook and cranny. Like the sideboard they were currently standing in front of that displayed a solid bronze statue of a very rotund dancing couple. "To marvel at the Botero, naturally."

Salcedo's eyes followed her nod towards the heavy bronze. "It's genuine, you know." He said it not in the tone of an art aficionado, but rather in the crudely suggestive one of a third-rate telenovela detective trying to be slick by not outright asking if she meant to steal it.

"Of course, Mr Rodríguez wouldn't stand for anything less." The thing was half her size and probably twice as heavy, what was he thinking? Himself a master at subtle insinuation, probably. Or that being poor and growing up in the comunas naturally meant she had sticky fingers. Uptight, hoity-toity middle class prick. Like his employers weren't internationally wanted criminals of the highest degree. The audacity of it!

His mouth was already halfway open to retort when his name being yelled from outside made both of them turn. David Rodríguez hung onto the veranda door, snapping at Salcedo that his father wanted him for something, and pronto. Diana could practically hear his teeth grind in irritation, but he schooled his face into a carefully blank facade before he gave David a nod.

"Ma'am." Salcedo gave in and moved, squeezing by David. David purposefully did not budge, instead giving her a leery once-over before following after the other man.

Diana fled into the bathroom down the hall in a manner she hoped looked urgent rather than as panicked as she felt inside. She held it together until the lock slid closed, and then she was crouched on the floor, curled up and heavy breathing into her hands. The small pressure point of the wire recorder thingy felt like a ton weight against her chest and her heart was beating so fast she could feel it everywhere.

Hyperventilating. You're hyperventilating, her brain supplied unhelpfully, and she almost laughed at herself. She wished she wasn't here all on her own, wished she had at least one of those spy devices in her ear for some moral support, tried to recall the exact feeling of Agent Peña's hands on her shoulders, warm and grounding. One hand remained up, muffling the desperate breaths and whimpers from her mouth, while the other dropped, thumb dipping underneath the fabric at her chest to brush soothingly across her collarbone. It worked...to a degree. A very small degree. What she would give to at least have the deep, comforting rumble of his voice, or the way he'd held her close after the festival. Did he even know how calming his presence was? It always seemed to work on her, in wrath and anxiety both (something that Juan Mateo had never been able to affect unless it was to irritate her more). So much so that now even just focusing on it was enough to help her pull herself together.

The guest restroom was bigger than her childhood room had been and, of course, looked more like it belonged in some fancy hotel. All warm-toned marble and matte gold appliances. The mirror was huge and its frame, naturally, also gold. What was it with rich people's obsession with gold?

"Okay." Diana said to her reflection, then went to work freshening up. Carefully, she wiped away the smudged mascara under her eyes and reapplied her lipstick where it had come off on her drink earlier. She stuck her hands underneath her dress to check on the recording device, concerned that a wire had shaken loose or something, but the small rectangular container still sat right snug right against her sternum. She gave it an absent tap and adjusted the microphone bit so it sat just below the seam of her collar again.

"I hope you'll get something worthwhile from this because I am never doing this again." A knock on the door nearly sent her into cardiac arrest. Diana swore under her breath, then called out that she'd only be a moment.

"Sorry," an apologetic female voice came from the other side of the door, "You've been in there a while, is all. Are you alright? I have an aspirin in my purse if you need it."

Diana stopped dabbing at her still damp eyes and tried to determine whether her near panic attack was the sole reason her vision was still a bit hazy. She could count the times she'd been out without her glasses on one hand.

"Oh no it's just-," she crossed over and unlocked the door to find a young, very pretty and very concerned looking woman on the other side, "I just had some trouble with my contact lenses. They're awfully fiddly." She stepped back and opened the door wider. "All yours."

"Oh I don't-" She looked down the hallway, further into the house, her eyes widening slightly when she caught sight of something or someone outside of Diana's field of vision. "Actually, I think I need to...uh, powder my nose or something."

The door fell into its lock the same moment the younger woman had stepped into the room, not giving Diana a chance to leave. Not that she was over-eager to get back outside and mingle with the corrupt and criminal. That and the discomfort and anxiety hung around the other woman like a cloud. Diana made up her mind, sitting down on one of the plush benches in the room.

"I'm not a big fan of parties either." She stated, voice careful and soft. The other woman stood, unsure and tugging at the short hem of her dress.

"I wish they could just open the buffet already. My husband is three drinks in and he gets-" She trembled. No, shuddered. Diana patted the space beside her on the bench, a gentle invitation.

"It's alright, we can stay here for a little bit. I'm Diana."

"Maria." She stuck out her hand, which was also still trembling slightly. "Maria Salazar." --- By the time the two of them dared venture outside again, there was indeed, finally!, food to be had. Diana pulled Maria along to the relative safety of the gaggle of wives, busy amusing themselves while their husbands dealt with their important business matters. But then, the bandleader announced that the dancefloor was now officially open and started off with a spirited selection of the finest Colombian rhythms of the past twenty years. One by one the wives were collected to fill said dancefloor, leaving Diana sitting alone at the table with the sad remnants of various canapees and salads. Here was another occasion where she didn't miss Juan Mateo. Or his two left feet. Idly, she turned the near-empty cocktail glass between her fingers and wondered whether Javier danced, or could at least be persuaded to try.

"You don't dance?" David appeared so suddenly that she almost spilled the last bit of her drink. She remembered his leering earlier, forced her face not to flinch until she had raised the glass and could hide her expression of distaste behind a sip of the overly sweet and fruity cocktail. Hummed non-committally and hoping against hope that he'd grow bored and leave. Of course, she had no such luck.

"Oh, whom with? Everyone's paired up already." Sip again. The glass had another three or four in it, if she stretched it smartly enough. "I'm afraid third-wheeling is the unenviable fate of divorcees." How old was this boy anyway? She must have ten years on him, at the very least. But apparently he'd got it into his head that he must prove to himself what a man he was, and how irresistible. At least he had the good sense not to try anything with the wives of any of the powerful men present.

"Dance with me." David stated. Ah, bingo. He might have at least pretended to ask, she thought sourly. "I insist."

Of course you do, you entitled brat. "It would be my pleasure." She lies, as most politeness is lies, here in these circles comprised of snakes. Fakes a smile the way she's been taught to by this world, so easy to act and conceal the disdain underneath. It doesn't falter even when his hand, clammy and slightly sweaty, settles way too low for comfort or propriety on her hip. She resolves to step on his feet - accidentally - at least twice.

David Rodríguez was not what one would call a skilled dancer. At first, Diana had been thankful that the band wasn't playing any slow songs yet, but it had taken approximately half of 'Bamboleo' to dispel the hope that this would keep David's hands from wandering. Well, if she was stuck here she might as well try to get some intel out of him.

...It takes about two and a half songs - the band now switching to their international collection - to determine that this route of inquiry is absolutely doomed and David completely useless. Doesn't know any business particulars, and doesn't care to. Too distracted with trying to put some moves on her, which she steadfastly ignores. Well, if details of her failed marriage and dragging divorce aren't enough to discourage him, she's got another one up her sleeve. Not to mention she's been curious ever since the gaggle of wives had made their introductions earlier.

"You're not married." She leaves the 'yet' unsaid, hanging in the air between them as heavy insinuation.

"If I were, would I be dancing with you?" A faithful husband, and in these circles at that? What a novel idea. Diana almost snorted out loud. Left it at a telling look that seemed to go over his head completely. Doesn't have the energy to dissect how a dance with a friend or acquaintance at a party isn't exactly on par with, say, the juridical definition of adultery. Which brings her mind back to the tedium of having to explain to various lawyers, notaries, judges that no, her husband wasn't a cheating pig who drank and beat her, and that there were a multitude of quieter reasons why marriages failed.

"I have been wondering, though, where the third of the Mrs Rodríguezes belongs. Besides your mother and your aunt." She nodded over at the three women in question, one dancing with either Rodríguez brother, the third being currently twirled about by Chepe and looking a bit motion sick from it.

"My mother is dead." Ah, shit. Diana faltered, and this time the graze of her heel on his shoe really was entirely accidental. Something in David's eyes shuttered and hardened, gaze for once lifting from her body and darkly fixing on his father. "They're all my uncle's wives."

"Oh. Oh!" Diana's mouth falls open. Of all things she could have expected, this was certainly not one. "That's um... That sounds, uh..." Illegal, but then again, what did a bit of consensual polygamy matter in the grand scheme of things, she supposed.

"You sound so scandalized. Didn't think he had it in him, didn't you?" David smirked, tightening his grip on her back again and leading her in a turn.

"No, I'm just...wondering...about the, um...time management...aspect." In fairness, that was one of the things she did wonder about. David laughed, bringing her in closer.

"Each gets two days per week and Sundays he has them come all together and sit there while he watches sports."

How thrilling. "Whatever works for them, I suppose."

Diana tried to subtly twist away again. She wasn't going to get anything else from this, what with David already being bored and growing increasingly impatient. And she didn't have an escape plan that didn't consist of ramming her heel into him somewhere until she struck bone.

"Damn, can't they play something from this decade?" He whined as 'Money, money, money' faded into 'Knowing me, knowing you'. "All of this ancient stuff-" Sensing another chance to subtly nudge him away from his inexplicable sudden attraction, Diana jumped. "Oh I quite like it," she remarked lightly. Now go in for the kill "Reminds me of my youth."

David harrumphed, then grunted as her heel dug into his toes again. "Oh dear, so sorry." Diana said breezily, forcing his hand up from where it had been creeping towards her ass with a deft twirl.

"It's fine." He gritted. "Did you want to-"

"Allow me to cut in." Herrera stepped up, lightly shoving David aside to take his place. "I've not had the pleasure yet, Mrs Galindo." Diana forced a smile as his hand settled at her waist. Pro: at least this one wouldn't spend the whole time trying to feel her up. Con: not being thus distracted, he might notice...something. And become suspicious. If he wasn't already. Truth be told, Herrera scared her almost as much as Navegante did. Sometimes more so.

"Right, well this is a very tight dress, so I can't do any adventurous moves." She warned, plastering an apologetic expression onto her face. Thankfully the band had changed to a faster track, though they kept with the international flair of the selection. Next up was some Brazil, if she wasn't mistaken. David stood between the twirling couples for a long moment, glaring but not daring to do or say anything that might affront his father's business partner. She shot him a fake apologetic smile, but suspected it was more the insistent raised eyebrow from Herrera that ultimately got him to scurry.

Pacho Herrera could dance, that much was undeniable. Under different circumstances she might have even enjoyed this. He was also unnervingly quiet. If the purpose of this was to unsettle her, his tactic was very successful. At this rate, just keeping her feet under her proved to be challenge enough. One could think the band had launched into a Tarantella, given the speed they were going. Her head swam from the quick succession of turns and twirls, and when he dipped her upon the song's grand climax, her heart stopped for a variety of reasons. One of them being that she thought she felt some of her concealed wiring dislodge.

"I think your dress is not too tight after all, Mrs Galindo." He pulled back up and righted her again, blessedly stilling a moment while the band segued into a mellower number. Diana gulped in a few deep, unladylike breaths.

"No trust me, it is." She was still catching her breath; meanwhile he didn't even have a single hair out of place. Unfair. "So," Diana began her feeble attempt to bring the situation back under some semblance of control, "Are you interested in... tax exemptions?" Apparently humans could wheeze and cringe simultaneously. Very interesting. Herrera didn't answer immediately, just started leading her back into a mellow sway.

"I think you're interested enough for all of us, Mrs Galindo. Miguel showed us the figures earlier. Very impressive. I see why DIAN recruited you right out of university." How he made what was ostensibly a compliment sound like a threat, Diana didn't know, just that it did nothing for her heart rate.

"Thank you." He spun her out along with a flourish from the brass section, turning her already shaky voice into a squeak. She really hoped the recording had not picked that up. After the spin, his hand slid up over her back, before settling back on her waist. To her horror, something in Pacho's expression twisted and he pulled her closer, hand splaying over her mid-back again. So much for avoiding being fondled for one dance.

"What's this?"

"Oh, I don't want to bore you with the details of women's undergarments. Suffice to say I'm wearing an insane amount of Spanx right now."

There was a prolonged moment, during which Diana tried to keep her cool while deciding how much of a scene she was willing to cause should he not let it rest. Normally none at all, then again it was her life on the line.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Mr Rodríguez requests you make your way to the equestrian ring for the big announcement."

Never in her life had Diana welcomed an interruption like at this very moment. Herrera hesitated for a split second, expression still unreadable, before joining the throngs of people set in motion. He grasped her hand firmly, looping it through his elbow until it rested on his forearm, where he pinned it with his other hand. Just unconspicuous enough to look polite to any onlooker, just forceful enough that she knew she couldn't free herself without obvious struggle.

"He could have done this up on the other stage." Miguel grumbled when they reached him, standing off the side to the stage that had been set up in the area.

"You know how he is, Miguel. Always has to have his way." The two men exchanged a glance around her while more people filed past.

"Mrs Galindo."

Diana hummed in acknowledgement, returned the meaningless pleasantries. Yes of course she was enjoying herself. What a lovely party. The music? Exhilarating. The buffet? Exquisite. Her divorce? Ugh. She would really prefer not to think about that right now, thank you very much.

"It's next Thursday, right? Your court appointment?"

"Yes, thank you for letting me combine this with a work trip to Barranquilla. It's my personal business after all."

"Of course, we want you at your best. Undistracted. Unburdened." Diana almost laughed, barely managed to suppress the snort and cover it with clearing her throat.

"I thought that had all gone through ages ago." Herrera remarked lightly, grip finally easing up some from her wrist. Diana sighed.

"I'm divorced, as far as I'm concerned. I moved out, signed my papers. I don't know what he thinks he's doing. I'm not going back to him. This obstinate little tantrum isn't helping his case anyway." Countless hours spent arguing with various legal professionals flashed before her eyes. "It's a very tedious process."

"It's a very catholic country." Pacho said, somewhere between wistful and embittered. She used his momentary distraction to pull her arm free.

"That's true."

Up on the stage, Gilberto was fiddling with a microphone and waiting for the last few stragglers to come and fill up the equestrian ring so he could begin. Again, the two men exhanged a telling glance around her.

"You gonna go up there with him?" Pacho said lowly, hands now crossing behind his back. Miguel shook his head.

"You go. I'll stay here. Better view."

Diana stayed demonstratively rooted to the spot when Herrera started moving. He shot her a look, which she pretended not to notice in favor of striking up more mindless small talk with Miguel. Apparently Herrera decided that it wasn't worth making a big deal out of, choosing instead to let her be and weave through the audience until he reached the bottom of the stage, exchanging a greeting with Santacruz and glowering over the assembled crooks and accomplices.

Gilberto's speech was... full of pathos and grandstanding, and too many high-minded terms for such a petty crook, she thought. When did the delusions or grandeur usually start appearing, she wondered. Was it with the first million? The first billion? But it's the core of the announcement that makes her gasp and sets the wheels in her mind into overdrive, the implications just mounting up. She spares a quick glance at Herrera at the foot of the stage, his face too demonstratively blank save for furrowed brows. Miguel beside her is more expressive, but quick to reign his face back in. Among the surprised gasps and whispers all around it tells her enough. Briefly, she thought of making a comment to Miguel, but his jaw is set so tight she can hear the grinding of teeth and she doesn't have anything productive or intelligent to say anyway, so she lets it be. Swallows the bile that rises up in her throat as Gilberto proclaims 'For our children! And for our children's children!', and tries not to roll her eyes. Or gouge his out, for the sheer gall of it. Because here she stands, approaching thirty-five and still deathly afraid to bring a baby into a world they have made so violent, so toxic, so dangerous. Meanwhile Salome is without her parents, both murdered by this unending war. Meanwhile a David Rodríguez flounces around as some sort of better henchman, he and his cousins all cushy and carefree thanks to daddy's blood money. It churns the stomach with rage.

"Mrs Galindo! Just the woman I've been looking for!"

The crowd parts for him, less so out of reverence and more because people are slowly drifting away, gossip already flying about, Diana is pleased to note.

"Mr Rodríguez, what an...impactful speech." She said demurely, keeping all her sneering tucked safely away behind the mask of officiousness.

"It's the coup of the century!" She catches Miguel's scoff just in the corner of her eye. "It also means transferring our assets into the...ah, ...legitimate sphere, if you will." He's got his arm around her shoulders again, leading her back towards the dancefloor, the buffet and tables, the house. By chance and his smaller stature, he's speaking almost directly into the shoulder with the hidden microphone attached, detailing all the financial acrobatics he wants her to perform to save all their assets from both law- and taxman. There she went again, trading complicity for access. --- Just over an hour on and the gender ratio has left Diana sitting squished between Herrera and the youngest of the Mrs Rodríguezes, but at least he seems to have taken his measure of her. And swallowed her undergarment excuse. Swallowed...undergarments. She snorted semi-loudly into the cocktail she'd been nursing this whole time, the ice in it all but dissolved. Dammit, here eyes were getting heavier by the minute and it wasn't even that late, barely midnight. Then again she had been up since five and alcohol, even though she hadn't had all that much, always made her sleepy. And the guests had started trickling away, leaving behind a scene of mild devastation.

"I think Mrs Galindo needs to go home." It was Franklin Jurado speaking, Christina's head buffered on his shoulder as she slept. Diana had just enough self-control left to not tell him to fuck off. Or maybe she really is too tired to; doesn't even have it in her to get annoyed at Gilberto's patronizing tone as he agrees.

"Yes, why don't you drive Mrs Galindo home?"

She hums more in acknowledgement than agreement to Hererra's suggestion, tired eyes hazily following his line of sight to the man stepping forward from the shadows at being summoned. His gaudy shirt reminds her of one Juan Mateo had worn on their honeymoon and which she had hated half because it had been a gift from her horrible mother-in-law, and half because it was the most hideous thing she had ever seen. And then realization hits and her blood runs ice-cold and alertness slams back into her consciousness like a bullet.

"Mr Velasquez." her voice is so weak and brittle, she thinks it must give her away if nothing else did so far. She took one last sip to wet her dry mouth, and because frankly she needs the alcohol now more than ever. The suggestion to call a taxi died on her lips as she realized that there was truly no way out of this. So, she steels herself and stands on sore feet, bidding the bosses of Calí and their dependents a good night. "I would be much obliged, Mr Velasquez."

Navegante approximated a smile and stalked ahead. --- Well, there goes his progress. He'd been down to three smokes a day, four on a bad day, due in part to an iron adherence to some hard and fast self-imposed rules, such as no smoking in his office (or, in fact, no smoking inside the building at all). Tonight, however, is the night of the Calí godfathers' big announcement party, and Javier had not moved from his office for longer than a quick bathroom break or coffee run. He had also gone through half a pack of cigarettes in the last two hours, and his stomach was beginning to feel queasy the longer he spent glancing at the phone on the edge of his desk from the corner of his eye as he pretended to make his way through the mountain of paperwork that somehow never seemed to get any smaller. The fact that he'd woken that morning with the memory of Diana Turbay's lifeless body crumpled in that cupboard certainly hadn't helped.

He last looked at a clock around half past nine, when a very insistent cleaning lady had shooed him out of his office and he'd spent around ten anxious minutes hovering by the door in case the phone rang. It hadn't, and now here he was, eyes burning and brain mushy with his heartbeat a steady pulsing behind his temples. And he wondered–

Javier swiped up the phone before the first ring had even finished. "Miss Rivas!"

"I'm fine." She didn't sound fine. She sounded on edge. Rattled. Like she was trying to reassure herself. He gripped the phone receiver tighter.

"Where are you?" What was he gonna do? Drive all the way to Calí from Bogotá at half an hour past midnight? Even a flight would take hours, and raise suspisions to boot.

"I said I'm fine," she replied, nails clacking rhythmically against the plastic phone casing in what he knew by now to be a nervous tick. "I'm safe. I'm home."

Javier breathed a relieved sigh, rigid shoulders slumping a fraction. He supposed he could have ordered Duffy or Lopez to do something if push had come to shove, though what he honestly had no idea.

"Good, that's good."

"Mr Velasquez gave me a lift."

Who the hell was that? "Who the hell is that?" Javier asked.

"You probably know him as Navegante." Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Mentally he's already halfway out the door, physically at least halfway out of the office until the phone wire makes known its spatial limitations.

"You alright? Is he still there? Lock your door, double lock it, I-"

"I didn't give him the exact address, please calm down." He does, but only enough to catch his breath and not bolt out the door. There's a rustling from her end of the line, and she makes a sort of breathless little sound, somehwere between a sigh and a grunt, followed by a low but vicious curse.

"You okay?"

"It's the damn zipper again; I'm this close to pulling something. Hang on." Judging by the thud that reverberates she set the phone down on a counter or table. Javier's hand went to rub at the back of his neck, half reflex, half sympathy. "Let's focus on the real issue here. The announcement."

The way she said it was urgent, but he chose to believe this was due to wanting to get the message out and not to any concerns of Navegante lurking nearby. He had to, for his own sanity.

"Apparently Gilberto cut a deal with the government."

"The government?" Javier echoed weakly.

"The new Samper administration. I knew why I didn't vote for those clowns. No, that's ...I had many reasons for that actually, first and foremost of them being that the Liberal Party nowadays is a damn joke. And to think that this is the same party that my parents fought for in their youth! Anyway, enough of that. They get half a year to get their house in order, then turn themselves in on the smallest possible charges, minimal jail time, back out again after a few years and back into their cushy lives with all of their blood money laundered neatly away. A clean slate." He'd never heard her sound so bitter, and he'd heard a good deal of her opinions on the Gentlemen of Calí over the past year.

"So they're just going to get away with it." Javier grit out, equally livid. "Wait, you said Gilberto cut the deal? What about the others?"

"Yes, so here is where it gets interesting. I didn't get the sense that they knew. Beforehand I mean. You should have outfitted me with a camera too, because Miguel's face was priceless." Another grunt and then a triumphant little 'ha' and then her voice sounded clearer again, nearer as she picked the phone back up.

"He doesn't like it."

"None of them like it. Don't want to give up the power, if I had to guess. What is it with men and building their entire ego on how much they can make others fear them?"

Javier hummed non-committally, deciding that he had nothing valuable to add at this point.

"Yeah, you're right. So how do I get the 'ooof' ...the recording to you? Usual way?" Javier didn't even get to reply no when she went on, now audibly shuffling around her apartment and out of the rest of her clothes. "I can't believe I almost forgot! I met the money launderer. His name is Franklin Jurado. He'll be in Calí until Tuesday with his wife Christina. I somewhat promised her to meet for coffee on Sunday; if you can have one of your agents trail me you can get them."

She sounded so hopeful that he hated to have to dash it, even for her own safety, but snatching such an important cartel member so soon and with her so close would cast suspicion. She couldn't be involved. And he hadn't heard back from his agents yet, which was possibly a bad sign. Javier made up his mind, cringing while he glanced at the clock to make some mental calculations.

"I'm coming over."

"To Calí?"

"Yes, what's your address? Unless you'd rather meet somewhere else?"

She gave her address, sounding stunned. He jotted it down under the note he'd made of Jurado's name; he'd need someone to look the guy up first thing tomorrow.

"You're not leaving now, are you? It's late, you need to sleep." Javier could picture the way her brow creased in a frown just from the tone of her voice.

"No, I'll call you again as soon as I know when I'll be there." Driving the whole way would be a nightmare and eat up most of the day. Javier whirled around and pulled an atlas from the shelf behind his desk. Flying in directly was out of the question with the way the godfathers had the whole city under surveillance. Buenaventura, under two hours by plane and then about two and a half from there to Calí. Yes, that would work.

"Goodness, you're actually serious about this."

"Of course." Javier stopped in his tracks for the first time in several minutes now, taking a moment to breathe and slump in his seat. He was exhausted yet wide awake, and likely would be for some time. "I mean, if that's okay with you."

"Of course, umm...anything in particular you'd like for dinner?" Javier stopped. He would be staying for dinner, possibly the night, too. In a hotel of course, he couldn't possibly impose-

"You don't have to cook for me." His mouth said, but his stomach said bandeja paisa. Briefly, the thought of taking her out for dinner popped up, indulgent and unbidden, and was immediately squashed by the thought of the godfathers' eyes everywhere. "I can pick something up on the way."

Her protest turned into a yawn not two syllables in. Javier couldn't help the small smile appearing on his face, felt it only by how it twinged his tense jaw. "You're tired, you should rest."

"We're not finished with this." She mumbled obstinately. "You rest."

"I will." He would, eventually. "I'll call you tomor- ...today." A quick glance at the clock revealed it was now past midnight. She made a very grumpy, very adorable huffy sound, mumbling something about the inexorable passage of time.

"Sleep well, Miss Rivas."

"You too..." There was a rustle and the quiet squeak and groan of a bedframe and mattress. He waited a moment, unsure whether more was coming or whether she'd just been too tired to disconnect the call. A short silence burst into a quick curse, her voice remote but still clear enough to make out. "...God fucking dammit, fucking contact lenses! Son of a rabid-"

"Miss Rivas?" By the rapid padding of feet and the continued cursing he had to suppose that she hadn't heard, and by how either sound seemed to be at about equal distance with neither decreasing, he supposed further that the phone was still in her hand. As soon as he heard the 'thunk' that most likely meant that the phone had been tossed down on some surface, he tried again. "Miss Rivas?"

"You're still there?" She sounded marginally more awake now, but not like this state would persist for very long.

"You didn't hang up." And perhaps Javier wasn't all too opposed to having the continued assurance that she was alright and her cover intact. "You swear very entertainingly, by the way."

"I'm glad my lack of filter and ladylike decorum amuses rather than appalls you." Splashing water interrupted them for a moment, but was quickly replaced by more colorful cursing.

"Please, don't hold back." Javier commented drily, not really expecting to be heard clearly since the satphone didn't have a loudspeaker.

"Very funny. Why don't you talk to me a bit more while I try not to poke my eyes out by accident-"

"I- ...I'm afraid I don't really have anything interesting to talk about."

"And I don't have enough brain left today for anything more taxing than the weather anyway. I just need your voice; I'm dead on my feet. How was the weather in Bogotá today? I always found it so cold when I was at university there. Nothing like Medellín. They used to call me 'chompa' at uni because I would never go anywhere without one. Too cold. And of course Calí is so much warmer than either..."

"It's been quite grey here, and not especially warm either. Back home it's at least twice as warm but I've been here so long now I think I'm more used to it."

"I never asked where exactly you're from..."

"Laredo, Texas. It's right on the border with Mexico."

"Laredo..." She mused, puttering about still. "Oh like the song? As I walked walked out on the streets of Laredo..." She must really be tired and devoid of all usual inhibitions, Javier thought, to just start singing like this. Not that he minded. She got halfway through the first stanza until she faltered, the lyrics escaping her. Her voice was soft and with that same raspy edge she had when speaking. It was a voice suited best to lullabies he thought; or to yearnful ballads performed in smoky bars, or some similarly wistful thing. "Aren't I supposed to be the one talking?"

"Hmm, this works too. I'm almost done, so you won't have to humor me much longer. So, tell me more about Laredo while I brush my teeth." --- He ended up talking longer than that - divulging more than he ever planned to as per usual, of the town and the ranch that sat up against the river - until she was settled back into bed and about to doze off for good. If nothing else, it settled him too somewhat, though sleep would elude him for a a good while yet even despite the physical and mental exhaustion the day, or in fact the whole week, had brought him. No sooner had he disconnected the line with a soft 'Sleep well' than the phone rang again.

"Yes?"

"Boss, I've been trying to reach you for half an hour!" Duffy's voice sounded strained and any modicum of relaxation Javier might have gained dissipated with immediate effect. He scrubbed a hand over his burning eyes and resigned himself to dealing with one more catastrophe.

"Duffy, what is it?" Agents Duffy and Lopez had organized their own infiltration of the godfathers' party, courtesy of the intel provided by Miss Rivas as well as what Operation Cornerstone had shaken loose. At least he knew it was nothing that had blown the cover of his informant.

"Okay well, no use beating around the bush here. Our guy got made, and Calí knows we're here-" Javier listened to his agent's report with his frown deepening. Why was it that with every step forward, another wrench was thrown his way?

"Alright, close up shop. Leave as soon and as inconspicuously as you can. I'll see you back here at the embassy on Monday morning." He ordered. Hopefully the gentlemen and their security would leave it at the gesture of intimidation, especially if they thought themselves well on the way of becoming untouchable, but one could never be too careful.

---

Javier consulted the clock for what must have been the hundredth time that evening. Normally the bar down the street from the embassy wouldn't be his first or even fourth choice, but tonight he was looking for a place to wind down with the shortest possible distance to cover afterwards. The danger of being accosted by any of his co-workers was one he'd simply have to brave. If luck was on his side for once, none of the more sociably inclined would be there any more, or too engrossed in their own merriment to notice him slink in, and if not, his curmudgeonly ways were known well enough that a civil yet decisive refusal would hopefully be deterrence enough.

It was for Stoddard, but of course not for Bill Stechner, the non-drug-lord bane of Javier's existence. Ostensibly on the same side, though Javier would argue that the CIA was on its own side entirely. Or that their budget would be spent more productively by making the damn lot of them just feed dollar bills through a shredder, but no one asked Javier about these things. So, he sits and grinds his teeth while Stechner's smug voice grates on his nerves. Visualizes strangling the CIA station shief with the tie he'd just pulled off and balled up into his pocket moments ago, which does a little bit to alleviate the almost overbearing urge to smash Stechner's face into the bar top. "Oh come on, you don't care about American streets or dead Colombians."

And the deal? How the hell does Stechner know about the deal when it's only just been announced? For a split-second, he wonders whether Diana- but no, he trusts her completely, and he hasn't told anyone except a handful of his agents about her, deciding this information was so sensitive it was strictly need to know, and even they only knew her by her assigned code name. Not even the ambassador knew that he had such a high-priority informant on the inside of the cartel. Stechner must have some government source, be it an informant of his own or bugs in the offices of ministers. The way he only mentions Lopez and Duffy's operation confirms it.

"Same goal my ass." Javier muttered into his whiskey after Stechner slithered away. This had been supposed to be a one-drink-night, but now he was feeling like he might need at least three more, if only to dull the screeching of his swirling thoughts.

It's no use. He's all keyed up still, something feels like it's burrowing inside of his chest, some sort of woodland critter both desperate and unable to settle down. He's tired, too, of course, eyes heavy and burning and sore, feels like his eyeballs are coated in smoke and pitched open by caffeine. He shouldn't have had that much coffee that late; despite his high tolerance it does still have an effect on him. Thank goodness on any given day, but right now he's regretting it. His leg jumps, knee knocking painfully against the bar front. He feels eyes on him. They've been there since he walked in, furtively glancing throughout his confrontation with Stechner, but bolder now. He feels it like a prickle on his skin. Turns his gaze finally. Sees long dark hair, open, melting into the late shadows of the bar. Too long, but it'll have to do. She's... he's definitely seen her around before. The elevator? Different department, perhaps press office, or visas. Definitely nowhere near the DEA offices or he would have known her name. She's coming over now, leaning easily against the bartop, slender fingers tapping, and an easy, eager smile. Her hair isn't dark enough, and too long and wavy all the way through instead of only curling at the ends, and nothing else about her appearance quite matches up, but she's pretty and willing and he's pent up and about to crawl out of his skin. And so he lets her take him home. And he means to leave right after, he really does. If only not to give any impression of this having even the slightest potential of becoming any more than it is. But Katie (that's her name, but he's learnt a long time ago to not groan out names during, because whether the name is correct or not it always turns out bad somehow), Katie sleepily mumbles that he can stay because it's late, and truth be told? He's completely shot, feels like he couldn't move if he wanted to. And the thought of dragging himself back to his empty apartment with only his thoughts for company is the most unbearable thing at this moment. Her mattress is too soft and despite the fact that he only laid on it until waking again at first light, it messes up his back for almost a week. --- It is indeed much warmer in this side of the country, and an especially hot day in Calí itself. On the coast where he'd landed, there had at least been a breeze blowing in from the Pacific, but the further inland Javier drives the less the air seems to move. He felt the sweat start to gather at his hairline, and down his neck, as soon as he parked the rental car in front of the cluster of new-ish high rise apartment blocks in one of the north-western boroughs of the city.

Javier grabbed his one piece of luggage and the bag of takeout he'd picked up on the way, just as promised, and walked up to the first building to study the panel beside the door for the correct bell to ring. A sharp whistle made him look around, then up at the next building. Miss Rivas was all but hanging off the side of her balcony, waving down and giving Javier half a heart attack seeing as she was on the sixth floor. He waved back in acknowledgement, then jogged over to the already buzzing door, which he pushed open. Blessedly, there was an elevator, and not two minutes later he stood in front of her apartment, the door swinging open before he could raise his hand to knock.

"Hi." She sounded breathless, as if she'd run up six flights of stairs, not across an apartment.

"... Miss Rivas." In his relief, he'd almost slipped. Almost called her by her first name, but they're not there yet, strangely. Or not strangely at all, in fact. It's quite by design. It's a way of keeping himself detached; professional. Or whatever excuse he could come up with to maintain this state of perpetual denial.

"Umm, ...lunch? I brought lunch." He thrust the bag foward, watched it swing between them while cringing inwardly.

"Good! I've only been up for two hours or so; I don't even care what it is, I'm starving!" Carefully, she took the bag from him, one hand supporting the bottom like a newborn's head, the other brushing his as she looped her fingers through the handles. "Come in, come in."

Javier stood a full three seconds or so after she'd already turned around and walked down the narrow hallway, rooted to the spot and struck dumb like some sort of imbecile. His skin prickled in all the places he'd let Katie touch him the night before, which, admittedly, hadn't been too many - but still enough to be burning him with that familiar mixture of guilt and shame now. So he does what he does best when it comes to emotions: deny and repress.

He left his shoes beside the pair of strappy heels she must have discarded there the night before, probably in a hurry to get the severely uncomfortable looking things off after spending a whole evening in them. The hallway opened into an open living room and dining area, the balcony beyond that, and a galley-style kitchen off to one side not unlike his own apartment. It was a sparse place, not quite enough furniture to fill the space - a long couch and coffee table, a low sideboard with a TV on it, none of it new save for the stereo system that was of course on and softly playing the usual eclectic music mix. Javier dropped his bag beside the couch where it would be out of the way. The dining table barely deserved the name. It was a small, round, reedy looking thing, just large enough for two, or maybe two and a child, with two plastic fold-out chairs. On it stood a light blue and white ceramic fruit bowl that currently held zero fruit, just the recording device he'd given her and... some pieces of golden sapphire and diamond jewelry? Puzzled, Javier picked up what turned out to be a bracelet. He raised one eyebrow at her as she set down plates for them.

"Got a raise?"

"Ha! As if. I should have, though. What with the extra work I got saddled with last night. That's the problem with rich people. Miserly. The more zeroes on their bank statements the stingier they get." She scoffed, ranting away all the way to and fro carrying the cutlery. "No, this-" she stabbed a spoonhandle through the bracelet and swirled it around once, twice, before glowering at the gemstones darkly, "This is what Mrs Jurado had me borrow to complete my outfit yesterday. Obviously I have to return them, which is why I'm meeting her for coffee tomorrow afternoon. If you do your whole government agent covert spy observation thing you could at least get eyes on her, maybe even him, too. Franklin Jurado, the money launderer. You can just smell the entitlement on him. I bet he went to one of the really fancy schools over there, like Princeton. Or maybe Harvard."

"I'm glad to see you're making friends." Javier had followed her to the kitchen, leaning against a cabinet and watching her place the food on plates, any attempts to help or make himself useful deftly rebuffed as always.

"I think it was Harvard actually. I think he mentioned it- It's on the recording, in any case. Real smug about it too. La Javeriana is a perfectly good university, too. Older, too. Luis Carlos Galán attended it, you know? Graduated in economics and law, like I did."

"Like the new president, too." Javier dared remark, only to be leveled with a death glare that could make a man fear for his life.

"Professor Samper, oh yes," she said pointedly, thrusting the plates at him, "Don't remind me please. The whole family attended, have for generations."

Javier dutifully carried over the dishes and set them down, returning a moment later for the pitcher of water. Diana followed him, wiping her glasses with her tee-shirt in a gesture he had come to know was more about calming down than it was about being able to see better.

"Right, no politics at meal time. Tell me something interesting instead." Diana attacked her food with a frightening kind of fervor. And suddenly the only thing he could think about was what Stechner had told him the night before, how the deal would go ahead, a neat little setup by politicians whose only objective was looking good enough for re-election. Naturally, the words died in his throat. He shrugged and started digging in.

"Nothing huh? Okay, well, how about this then: How many Mrs Rodríguezes are there?"

"Is this a trick question?" There should be one only, seeing as Miguel was widowed and his little shit of a son wasn't exactly husband material - nor looking to be. "One?"

"Close. There's three."

That didn't make any sense. "That doesn't make any sense. Miguel is widowed and David- ...Gilberto! Gilberto?"

"Gilberto." She confirmed. "All three. They have a rota, apparently. On Sundays they just sit around while he watches whatever game is on which sounds thrilling. And I thought my marriage was crap."

"Huh." If Javier thought that the farcical nature of governmental - and inter-governmental - bureaucracy had prepared him for the absurdity of chasing drug kingpins he had apparently been sorely mistaken. But mostly, he was relieved to see that Diana was in such good spirits again, what with how affected she'd sounded the night before. Lunch was over in no time at all, and Javier felt his short night starting to catch up with him. He yawned surreptitiously as he helped carry the dirty dishes back into the kitchen, or what he thought had been surreptitious anyway.

"Okay, coffee or nap?"

"Huh?" Dammit, his eyes were burning. Diana took the plates and deposited them in the sink, leaving him to blink sluggishly. "I can do those. The dishes."

"You're about to keel over. Haven't slept a wink, have you?"

"About three hours, and another half hour or so on the plane. I'm fine, really." He admitted. The fact that he had to lean against the cabinets did not exactly serve to strengthen his argument. Diana tutted.

"I need to run some errands, grocery shopping and the like. If you are really determined to get to work on the recording I'll make you a good strong coffee before I go, but I would personally suggest you use the time to catch up on some sleep. The couch pulls out."

It was tempting, it really was, but Javier also knew that he'd have a harder time falling asleep later if he messed up his rhythm more now.

"Coffee it is, then." She set to work in the same breath.

A fond smile pulled at Javier's lips. "Thank you." --- Even knowing she was fine and safe now, she hadn't expected that listening to the recording would be so excruciatingly stressful. She had very helpfully compiled a list of encounters, along with time estimates (and a very evocative caricature of the chief accountant, Guillermo Pallomari), which had allowed him to fast forward through the recording to get a general overview. Even so, he'd gotten stuck on several bits, even replaying a few. The introductory round, for one. Her panic attack in the bathroom. Or the segment with that slimy little bastard David Rodríguez. Her quick thinking and clever diversion of Pacho's suspicions. He hated hearing the strain in her voice, the barely masked anxiousness that none of them even seemed to notice but that stood out to him so very clearly. His jaw was clenched so tight he could feel his teeth grinding– The lock on the front door clicked open, jolting Javier from his focused state. A quick glance at his watch told him it had been well over three hours since she'd left for her errands, afternoon now melting into early evening. In his haste to get up he tangled the wires, cursing as he he sat back down. Diana huffed into view, heavy-looking bags on each arm.

"Hey there," she threw him a quick smile before vanishing into the kitchen to set down her load, re-emerging a heartbeat later. She crossed the distance in a few strides, lightly squeezing his shoulder as she leaned over him to peer at the notes he'd taken. "How's it going? Anything viable?"

Her touch, given with such casual affection, electrified him. He'd never been, never considered himself the type of person anyone would come home to.

"Plenty." He needed to collect himself, clear his throat and mind and get a grip. "You did amazing work." And I can't use it in court because you incriminate yourself all throughout.

"Good, I'm glad. Would have been a re-"

The shrill ringing of her landline interrupted them. Immediately, Javier mourned the loss of her touch, the spot on his shoulder where her hand had lingered now turning cold. Pull yourself together, dammit!

The telephone was mounted on the wall that separated hallway and kitchen, and had a cord long enough to allow for a range of movement to about halfway into the latter. Unsure of whether he was supposed to be listening, he tried to go back to the recording. Only tried rather turned into pretended. As quickly as he had put the headphones on, he took them off again, watching Diana for a moment of hesitation. She was shuffling around the kitchen entrance, emptying her shopping bags with the phone receiver pinned between her cheek and shoulder. She was talking to her aunt, tense and worried, but managed a small smile when she caught Javier's eye. Wordlessly, he started helping her putting the groceries away as directed.

"No, I know you don't approve. No one approves except Gabriela, and incidentally Gabriela is also the only one who saw that I was making a mistake right from the start and the only one who tried to dissuade me from going through with the wedding, and if I'd only listened to her and my gut back then, I wouldn't-" She turned her back at this, and Javier put away the last few pieces and left the kitchen, giving her the pretense of privacy at least. It wasn't like the apartment was so vast that her voice wouldn't carry. He walked over to the stereo system he'd turned off earlier and switched it back on, fiddling with the volume by way of looking distracted.

"...No, and I don't want to talk about it any more. I don't care what the Pope says; the Pope was never married! ...Yes, put her on; I think that's better for everyone involved."

Immediately her voice and stance relaxed, became softer and warmer, and the conversation a lot more one-sided as Diana talked to Salome on the phone. Javier's knees were starting to protest at his half-kneeling by the sideboard, but he was too transfixed by trying to determine whether the little girl would perhaps say a few words today. She sometimes did, though very rarely, and Javier had yet to witness it himself.

"Okay, my little darling, you be good for granny, alright? Sleep well, sweetheart. I love you. Bye-bye."

Diana hung up and shuffled over, taking a seat on he edge of the coffee table closest to him. Javier gave up on the volume dial and turned towards her.

"Everything okay?" She nodded and took off her glasses to rub at her eyes. Cautiously, Javier placed his hand atop hers where it laid in her lap, rubbing his thumb back and forth across the top of it soothingly. "And are you okay?"

"I will be; I just- ...I try that she at least hears my voice every day, even if I can't be there and- She's so little and has already lost so much, and every time I have to leave I feel like I'm just making it worse and like maybe that's why she still barely talks. And it's so unfair! She's just a little girl and she needs her mother or at least she needs a mother and we try - my aunt and I try our best but we're all that's left of this family." Her voice got quieter with each word, fading to a whisper before ceasing. Javier didn't know how to respond; all the obvious things seemed like meaningless phrases, frivolous and unhelpful. Diana deflated, her whole frame drooping like misery personified. She let out a single, quiet sob, gripping his hand in both of hers like he was her anchor. "I just wish I at least knew what I was doing."

She wiped at her eyes angrily, blindly grasping for the glasses on the table behind her until she found them and shoved them back on. She stood abruptly, but did not let go of his hand, instead tugging him up, to which his beleaguered knees only objected more.

"Sorry, forget that. Let's sort out dinner." She stalked back into the kitchen, and Javier could only follow of creaky knees, the blood rushing back down into his feet and making them prickle and almost falter. She finally let go of his hand in front of the refridgerator, throwing open the door of it like a shield between them.

"So for dinner I was thinking-"

"Miss Rivas." She didn't even hear him, just went on explaining what was possible with the ingredients she'd picked up earlier. Javier laid his hand on top of hers gently, feeling the tension in her fingers, the tremble in them as she gripped the fridge door tight. Gently still, he eased her grip and shut the door. She didn't even look at him, obstinately staring down at the tiled floor instead.

"I'm in control of my emotions." She declared defiantly. "I'm not a liability to your investigation."

"I know." Javier took both her hands in his now, squeezed them once, still gentle. Kept his voice soft too; soft and low and for her ears only. "I know you ...aren't. It's okay. You're doing so good. You're doing amazing. It's okay." On the last few words, he raised their entwined hands, nudging her chin up to look at him. Took in her reddened but stubbornly dry eyes, her lips pressed into a painful line, and the hard set of her jaw and brows. All she needed was one final push to let go, one word of permission, and he gave it gladly. "It's okay."

He'd expected an outburst now, an explosive outpouring of grief or at least wrath. Instead, Diana squeezed his hands back once before letting go, leaving him standing in the kitchen while she went into her bedroom. He heard her rummage around for a moment, then she returned with a small photo album in her hands which she carefully set down on the counter before throwing it open and flipping through the pages until she found the picture she was looking for. It showed what he assumed was her family. He recognized only her and Maritza, both noticeably younger then. Side by side, the family resemblance became more apparent, especially in comparison with the respective parents. Wordlessly, she flipped through the pages. In the next one Maritza's father was missing, the one after that, her own father was no longer there. The one after that showed the addition of a young man and what must have been a newborn Salome, him holding the baby with a broad, dimpled smile that his daughter had inherited. He was gone in the following picture, Diana's mother vanished in the one after that, until the last photograph showed only Maritza's mother, Diana herself, and little Salome.

"Some time after we cleared out Maritza's apartment, I went to Escobar's grave. If I was looking for some kind of satisfaction, I didn't find it there." She closed the album with a sharp snap. "The whole drive back, last night, I was sure I was about to end up fish fodder, and I just thought... with how my aunt's health is failing, will Salome be all alone in the world before she's even five?"

Javier swallowed hard, choking on the words that had sprung up onto the tip of his tongue. That he wouldn't let that happen (but it could have happened not twenty-four hours prior and there would have been nothing he could have done about it). That he would make sure the little girl was taken care of (How? He wasn't kin and Diana's aunt didn't know him. And he wasn't exactly prime fatherhood material, so what exactly did he think he could do?). And in the back of his head, he still heard the desperate shallow little breaths she'd heaved during her panic attack. So different words jumped onto his tongue instead, tumbling out before he could ever think through the implications.

"Do you want out? You don't even have to go meet Mrs Jurado tomorrow, I can organize to have you pulled out within the week. And your family too. You'd be safe." 'I am never doing this again', she'd said. Well, he wouldn't make her. And considering what he knew now, that his whole investigation was just a front? What was the damn point of it anyway?

Diana smiled, just a slight quirk of the corner of her lip, but the first in what felt like hours now. "Now? No. I don't want anyone else having to go through what my family and I went through, here or anywhere. This kind of...lust for power - it's grasping. It never stops, it is never satisfied. And it doesn't care what stands in its way."

"You sure?" He ought to tell her, he really ...but even though the betrayal isn't his, just his to hand on, he hesitates again.

"I am. Starting with meeting Christina Jurado tomorrow. Besides, you'll be with me all the way through."

"Yeah," his voice creaks like a rusty hinge, "Yeah, of course I'll be. Just a stone's throw away." --- "Goodness, does she ever shut up?" Javier shut the door behind himself, hanging up the spare key on the hook by the door. They'd just returned from Diana and Mrs Jurado's coffee and lunch date - separately for safety purposes - and Javier's head was still swimming. Diana might be reasonably called talkative, but at least she had things to say. Christina Jurado, it turned out, could talk a mile a minute without saying much of substance at all. Diana had been all but steam-rollered by the barrage of conversation and Javier, who had listened closely to all two and a half hours of it, was starting to feel the beginnings of a pressure headache building.

"Without being condescending, Agent Peña, there is so much that men don't understand about the way women talk with each other." Diana peeked out into the hallway with a raised eyebrow. "Besides, she may well have been... uuh-"

"May have been what?" After discarding his shoes, he walked into the apartment fully. Diana frowned, then touched a fingertip to the side of her nose with a meaningful look. When he didn't light up with sudden understanding, she gave a good-natured yet long-suffering sigh. And Javier really thinks he should probably have slept more than four hours, but his back was now paying the price for his stint on that marshmallow fluff that passed for Katie's mattress, and also his mind liked to give him trouble when it ought to quiet down.

"She may have been what, Miss Rivas?"

"Mrs Jurado, I have good reason to believe, likes to uhh... sample the product." The penny rolled around Javier's exhausted mind a moment longer before dropping.

"...You mean to tell me she was high on cocaine the whole time?"

"Yes. Why are you whispering?" Why indeed. Javier cleared his throat and wondered why this revelation left him so scandalized. "She did use on Friday night, too, which is a frequency I honestly find alarming. I hope it's more of a weekend thing- Franklin knows, but I don't think he has any idea what to do about it. I'd reckon it's something they're both keen to keep under wraps, though for different reasons. I don't imagine the gentlemen would be overly thrilled, especially the brothers. They like to keep a pretty tight hold on everything even remotely to do with the business."

"Huh... what the hell are you do-" While he had been musing on this new development in his sluggish mind, she'd stuck one hand down her blouse from the top and the other up it from the bottom, fumbling around for a moment before pulling the wiretap she'd been wearing for the meeting out and handing it to him non-chalantly.

"When's your flight?"

"Uh, late. Later. Ten-ish." He'd be back in Bogotá before midnight, but there was the drive back to Buenaventura to consider. Even so, it was only mid-afternoon now. Javier rubbed his hand over his burning eyes. His brain was no longer in a state to be doing that kind of math and he sighed, the coffee he'd just had clearly not doing anything.

"You have at least an hour to get some sleep. Come lie down." She was out from in front of him and across the room before he could blink tiredly, already pushing back the coffee table and bending to pull out the couch. Javier meant to protest, he really did. But. Sleep beckoned. And so, with heavy feet dragging across the laminate floor, he acquiesced.

"Thanks." He mumbled, gratefully receiving a pillow.

"I'll wake you in an hour, hour and a half tops." She already sounded further away than she should be, considering she was by the sofa-bed's - and his - head still. Javier hummed a reply, more affirmative sound than any proper words. As he drifted off, he thought he felt gentle fingers brushing the hair back from his forehead. But surely that was just wishful thinking, for what else could it be? ---

So, six more months of looking busy and doing nothing while the Calí godfathers revved up operations to squeeze as much money as they could out. He'd had to send his agents home after they'd been splashed all over the front page of the Espectador, so not only did the DEA not currently have any presence on the ground in Calí, it also left Diana without even the faintest layer of protection. And with the massive stink the Colombians, fronted by General Vargas, had kicked up about it, he couldn't send in any replacements, no matter how eager or indeed fastidious Agent Feistl was. And now the incident in Yumbo. The youngest of the dead had only been six years old. Javier glowered at the TV report where the safety inspector was giving his final report. Natural gas leak... yeah, sure. This thing reeked; he felt it in his bones that the cartel was responsible somehow. And he couldn't go after them. The desire to go find Stechner and smash his stupid smug face through the screen became near unbearable. He turned the TV off before the urge manifested into action.

He sat down behind his desk, taking a moment to look around the largely dark and empty office space around him before opening that particular drawer on the top right and taking out the arrest warrants. Their money and power and the influence both bought meant that the Calí bosses could move comparatively freely, but they still hid away. Carefully so, with the kind of tight-knit security that most heads of state could only dream of. Even if he did find a way to get at them, his hands were now unofficially bound. Well over a year's work, two good agents sent home, his informant risking her life every single day, more innocent dead who would never get justice, and what for? He hated it. He still hadn't told her. He thought about quitting.

The phone rang. He knew it was her. She didn't even try his home landline first now, knowing he spent his evenings at the office more often than not. Javier let it ring once more while mustering up the courage to come clean.

"Miss Rivas, good evening."

"Decidedly not. Did you watch the news?"

Javier scrubbed a hand over his face, squeezed his eyes shut so as to not have to look at the warrants spread out on his desk. There was only so much mockery a man could take. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

"It was them. David specifically, that self-absorbed buffoon. They chewed him out for over half an hour over it, which is far less than he deserves."

"I figured." His throat felt tight; undoing another shirt button did precisely nothing.

"Gilberto worries it will give the government leverage to go back on the deal. I hope it does."

So did Javier, but knowing the special interests being at play here he didn't hold out much hope.

"And you have been made to recall your agents from Calí."

Javier gulped. "Yes."

"But they'll be replaced, right?"

Well, here goes nothing then. "...No."

Silence. She's not one to raise her voice even when upset and right now she must be livid. But perhaps she's shocked before anything else. Shocked into silence, into disbelief. He hates this, too. He wishes she would scream at him. Instead all he gets is a brittle quiet little '...What?'

And it's so unfair, all of it. Stechner doesn't have to face her with this, the bastard. None of the politicians who are oh so invested in this little vanity project do either, the consequences aren't real to them. They get to collect the empty symbol of a supposedly bloodless surrender, some good publicity, and don't have to do or face any of the ugly truths on the ground. He thinks about quitting again. Pats his pocket for the reporter's business card. If he's leaving, he thinks, he'd do it with a bang. Burn all bridges with a mighty barrage of his personal J'accuse. But for now that's all idle thinking.

"The surrender deal is going ahead as planned, because the powers that be will it so." He explained, truly understanding the sentiment of shooting the messenger at this very moment. "My hands are bound, there's nothing I can do."

"Bullshit!" Yeah, agreed. He tries saying more, justifications that turn to dust on his tongue before the words even leave his mouth. His heart's not in it, and it only serves to stoke her wrath, fearsome even over the distance of the phone line.

"What else will they get away with? If you're rich enough you can buy impunity? A blank cheque for murder? How many more people must die? Every day I go in and make myself complicit in it all on the promise that it will take them down!"

The worst part of this, perhaps, is that he knows she's right. If any of those senators in their cushy Washington offices had even a bit of her bravery, her steadfastness, her moral clarity–

"I'm sorry." His mouth is so dry. At last he opens his eyes again, glaring down at the warrants. Gilberto Rodríguez Orejuela. Miguel Rodríguez Orejuela.

"You're sorry?" Even now her voice is still level. Full of venomous disbelief and cold with rage, yes, but it has not risen even a single decibel.

"Miss Rivas, I-"

The line went dead with a click. She'd hung up.

--- --- ---

author’s notes:

*me, an idiot* this chapter will cover episodes 1 through to 4. this is a thing that is feasible and realistic

*me, 7000 words in and still at the party* ah. oh no.

in other words: remember last chapter when I cut things off because I wanted to keep it below 10k? yeah, that won’t be happening anymore. It takes as long as it takes. *shrug emoji* stay hydrated.

DIAN (Dirección de Impuestos y Aduanas Nacionales) is the Colombian government agency that is responsible for collecting taxes

Fernando Botero is a Colombian artist and sculptor, famous for these really chunky bronze statues, though the one I reference here is a complete fabrication and does not actually exist

according to the Art and Making of Narcos book Navegante’s actual name is Jorge Velasquez

‘chompa’ according to the dictionary I used, is a term for jacket used in Colombia and some other places

yes I looked up average temperatures in all these cities. I have concluded that it gets hot af in Laredo

La Javeriana (Pontificia Universidad Javeriana) is one of the oldest and most prestigious universities in Colombia. Presidential candidate Carlos Luis Galan did indeed attend there, as did president Ernesto Samper, who is president during the season in the show. He also did indeed teach there for a while in the early 80s, which fortunately matches up with my timeline. It was indeed founded before Harvard. Thirteen years before to be exact (1623 vs 1636)

here’s the drawing Diana made of Pallomari (contador=accountant):

tag list: @keeper0fthestars @opheliaelysia @fromthedeskoftheraven @dindjarindiaries @shikin83 @cinewhore @maddoggrahaml @javier-djarin @huliabitch @heatherbel @shestillwrites1

didn’t ask to be tagged but reblogged all previous parts and therefore I assume you enjoyed it regardless of that you reading my story made me very happy list: @asoftcollection (thank you for indulging me and brainstorming the Jurados with me it helped a lot) @holographic-carmen @dermandalorianer @oldstuffnewstuff (sry it won’t let me tag ur sideblog hope this is okay)

Next Chapter

#narcos (tv)#narcos #narcos fanfic #javier pena x ofc #series #I cling to your lips like gloss (series)#like gloss tag #multipart #javier peña #javier peña fanfic #my writing #part 4

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astaroth1357 · 4 years

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Catharsis (A Satan x GN MC Fanfic)

As it would turn out, moving is hell, and tensions are high in my house for the moment... I can't work up enough of a playful mood to look at my other WIPs right now, so here's another episode of "I'm Moody and Need to Work Through Some Stuff... w/ Jazzy." Funny enough, I wrote this while listening to Kartharsis (yes with a K) by TK from Ling tosite sigure (yes the Unravel guy).

Warning: Angst, Verbal Abuse

Catharsis: the process of releasing, and thereby providing relief from, strong or repressed emotions

Satan could never claim to have the healthiest anger management strategies… To some extent, it's not exactly his fault. He's a being born from rage itself and for most of his life, it's tinted his every thought… Even after cooling down some, his temper remained exceedingly short. And worst of all, his wrath could burn looong… If given a chance, he could stay mad for days unless given some kind of release…

His brothers usually knew to steer clear if getting Satan that pissed. The only surefire way they had of calming him down was to let him destroy something and that wasn't doing all that great for the House's walls… But brothers do what brothers do. There will probably always be a day where they're bickering or fighting with each other… which means that Satan could never be off the hook entirely...

The person who actually got his nerves this time was Belphie. The co-members of the Formerly Anti-Lucifer League don't butt heads very often, but it's bound to happen occasionally… Particularly when Lucifer was concerned. Belphie had promised to get Satan a book he needed for a curse the two of them had been scheming for months. It was supposed to be so intricate and difficult to undo that it'd have the eldest struggling for weeks… Unfortunately, Belphegor had decided to sleep in on the day he was supposed to bring it... This made Satan miss a crucial time window to put the finishing touch on their curse. They'd have to wait another century for the planets to align again…

To say that Satan was irritated would only be the start… truthfully, he was furious. Days of effort and planning went to waste because his lazy brother couldn't be bothered to get out of bed! Perhaps even more unfortunate, though, was that Belphie wasn't one to take someone else's anger lying down… He may be lazy, but he had wit far beyond his rank and venom to match it in equal measure... All fights between these two were like verbal pit matches, a vicious dance of jabs and insults until one of them finally throws a punch or someone else steps in to break it up...

Today's unlucky contestant was Beel, who hollered at them loud enough to shake the walls... Satan knew that Belphie was more than happy to leave the situation as it was… The lazy bastard could always hide in the attic and sleep away his problems… but it wasn't that easy for Satan. His anger doesn't just "go away" like everyone else’s... Sure, he may appear to simmer down.. but it lingers. It festers. And he hates it…

He hates being mad… There's nothing pleasant about anger. Breaking people under your feet in righteous fury? Well, there's some fun in that. But just being angry with nothing to do about it...? Whoever asks for that…?

Which is why he was trying to indulge a suggestion the MC gave him some time back to take his mind off it… Stress cleaning. Apparently, it wasn't unheard of for humans to use cleaning to vent emotional frustration through physical activity... The concept didn't sound unreasonable to him at the time. So when he passed by the kitchen and saw the dishes from Beel's last meal stacked up high, he decided to roll up his sleeves and give it a try.

… He should have known that a little bit of cleaning wouldn't have been enough for him, though. With each dish that he scrubbed clean, his sponge's pressure against the porcelain increased ever so slightly… Building and building until he was very nearly cracking the plates beneath his fingers…

No… the rage wasn't leaving him. He kept replaying the fight again and again in his mind… always producing new comebacks to words that were never said and spiraling farther down into his own resentment… Hadn't the human said this would work? Why wasn't it helping…?? If anything, he just felt more worked up than before! Why was he listening to them anyway? What would they know about helping him, Wrath made flash, control his anger?? What kind of idiot was he for even considering-!

"Satan…? Are you okay…?" The tentative, yet familiar, sound of said human's voice called to him from the kitchen entrance. He didn't bother turning back to face them and just kept his eyes trained on the filth in front of him...

"No." There wasn't any point in lying, was there? They could see him practically slamming the plates down on the drying rack by this point…

"Ah…" He heard them shift their weight as an awkward beat passed. They no doubt knew it wasn't a good idea to approach Satan when he was angry… but that meddlesome streak of theirs must have been begging for them to intervene in some way. Typical human… sticking their nose in places it didn't belong…

"Well… Beel told me about what happened… You and Belphegor, right…?" He heard their footsteps finally enter the room and stop somewhere close to the kitchen island. Trying to keep some space between him and them, perhaps? Oddly reasonable coming from such a reckless creature… But it didn't stop his shoulders from tensing up at the meer sound of Belphie's name.

"Don't bring him up." His words snapped out like the crack of a whip, menacing and sharp. Though he couldn't see them, he was sure the MC flinched, and he felt a perverse sort of satisfaction in that thought… There was a pause before the MC continued, clearly considering their next words carefully...

"Satan… I just wanted to tell you that it's my fault Belphie slept in… I kept him up last night, and you know how he gets when he can't sleep." Their words were slow and careful like they were trying not to startle a wild animal. He still didn't turn back as he waited for them to continue.

"... Okay. I just thought I'd let you know, I guess… It wasn't really his fault…" There it was. His simmering temper had been wanting, no begging, for him to find something, anything, to let it go on... And this was just what he had been looking for… an opening.

"Oh. So you're taking his side then?" Pausing, he stopped abusing the glass in his hand and let an eerie calm build from his lack of motion... He knew just what he needed to do to scare them. He's done it to other people hundreds of times...

"W-what? No-I never said that…!" It didn't matter that they were right. He wasn't in the mood to be reasonable right now.

"You may as well have. You're already down here coming to his defense, aren't you? Did he put you up to it? Holding that precious 'cuddle time' you two like so much hostage, I bet..." He threw them a sidelong glare from over his shoulder and felt yet another wave of satisfaction from seeing their confused face. It was like he just swept a rug out from under them, and they were failing to catch their balance.

"That's not what I…!" They stopped themselves mid-sentence as it seemed to dawn on them just what they had gotten themselves into… Satan wasn't looking for a reasonable conversation right now. He was looking for a punching bag... But they weren't looking to be one.

"You know what… No. I don't appreciate your tone." He could see their eyes narrow as they found their resolve once more, stronger this time. He hissed softly at the loss of his easy mark...

"What does it matter? You're the one who started this in the first place. You just said as much a bit ago. Don't you know to leave me alone when I'm pissed off anyway, or are you really just this stupid?" That one must have hurt because he saw them flinch this time…

"I'm only here because I knew you were upset-"

He cut them off sharply. "And you didn't think I needed the space?" Again, they flinched at the growing volume of his voice, but they didn't appear to back down either. They only responded in a tone much softer than his own, patient but strained from invisible wounds...

"It passed my mind… But I just wanted to help…"

Help? Oh… Right. He must have forgotten who he was speaking to… Help was all the MC ever did. Even when they had no idea how or when their ideas were so crazy, they'd put Mammon to shame… He always knew they meant well… Did his anger really just blind him to why he was even washing dishes in the first place…?

The two stared at each other for a few moments while Satan battled over what to say next... Their earnest answer had re-awoken a bit of sense in him, yet he could tell his temper still wasn't satisfied… An overwhelming part of him, one he loathed to acknowledge, was calling for more vitriol… It just wanted to fight and be petty for satisfaction's sake… to have an enemy to stomp over, no matter who it was…

But just looking into the MC's eyes was keeping those hateful words down his throat… He could see that they were hurt and worse, he was well aware that he caused it… Sure, he may not have raised his fist, but he had still done plenty of damage with his voice alone… They didn't deserve his rage, and even now, he hated to have released it on them in the first place…

His internal struggle must have reached a peak without his knowledge because he hadn't noticed his grip was tightening around the glass in his hand. At least, not until it suddenly shattered all over him. The MC jumped back with a yelp at the unexpected explosion, and even he shouted a swear or two as he felt the shards lodge into his palm.

"Shit!" It didn't take a doctor to know that having glass embedded in your skin isn't ideal, and he could claim to at least have a little first aid know-how. As he used that knowledge to inspect his hand, he almost completely forgot that the MC was in the room until they made a noise.

"Um… Satan?" They were hesitant to speak, which he didn't blame them for. He did have a habit of breaking things for intimation value, but he guessed that they noticed he was as shocked as they were for once. "Need this?" In their hands was the first aid box the family kept in the kitchen. Though it was really only intended to bandage up the occasional knifed finger... it would do for the moment.

"Yes, that would help… thank you…" Though his appreciation was genuine, his words were stilted and hollow… He couldn't even meet their eyes considering how this whole exchange started… He felt terrible before, but now it was more than enough to finally overpower the wrath within him… He hates knowing when he's been a total asshole too…

He gestured the MC to put the box on the counter then began treating his wounds. They helped him as he worked nimbly, but he could feel an awkward tension between them… Not undue, but still uncomfortable. He knew he had to remedy it quickly...

"MC… I'm sorry… That was wrong of me…" They glanced away from his hand for only a moment before responding with a strained smile.

"It's alright…"

"No. It wasn't…" He paused only to grunt as he removed the largest glass shard from his palm. "...I was looking to let off some steam and targeted you unfairly… I didn't mean what I said; I was only searching for a reason to be mad… None of this was your fault… I hope you can forgive me…"

The MC shook their head as they searched the box for bandages. "No, I have some fault here too… I really should've given you space to cool off before talking to you… I just saw that you were doing the dishes and thought you were simmered down already…" He stopped what he was doing a moment and glanced back at the sink's drying rack, now half full of still soapy and partially cracked dishes.

"... Well, I don't know how vigorously you wash those, but I don't think I'm ever going to find that to be a relaxing activity." Their soft chuckle relieved a bit of the weight in the air, much to his solace.

"Fair enough… Though I'm not sure what I was thinking telling you to try cleaning in the first place. I should have just asked you to break every vacuum in the House instead." They both snickered over the image of him ripping the handles off of their hoovers by accident, and, slowly, Satan could finally feel the anger in his chest fading away... Of course, it'd be the MC to do it… It always was. Why hadn't he found them to start with…?

"And just so you know, I'm not taking sides with Belphie or anything. I'm sure he turned off his alarm or something." He snorted slightly as he finished the bandaging. Were they really still on that?

"I know, don't worry about it. It doesn't matter what side you're on to me anyway." He took his newly bandaged hand back just in time to see their puzzled expression.

"What? Why not…?" He chuckled some as he let his undamaged hand come to rest on top of their head, stroking back any bangs in an affectionate pet of sorts. He then caught the back of their head to tilt it up towards his, meeting their wide eyes with a devilish grin.

"Because you'll always be mine, kitten…"

#this story will live and die on how well i can write apologies #no pressure #i hope i didn't make satan an asshole #obey me #Obey me shall we date #obey me satan #obey me fanfic #shall-we-date-obey-me

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strapskinkstories · 2 years

Text

Put your dick down, pick up the keyboard and FIGHT FOR OUR RIGHTS!

The nobleman does not fight his war with a gun.

The nobleman fights his war in an office.

The nobleman fights his war with a pen, a phone, and a keyboard.

Put your dick down, stop jerking off, and start fighting back.

It’s time to talk some sense into these senseless idiots and it’s time to tell them the real TRUTH OF GOD.

GOD said nothing about the LGBT.

GOD said nothing about abortion

Anyone who uses the Bible to make it sound like he did blasphemes GOD.

If you have a daytime Twitter account, use it. If you don’t then get one, or use your AD account if you can’t handle having two Twitters (You will need a second telephone number and email to handle two twitter accounts, it isn’t exactly the easiest, but it is pretty easy)

If you have ability to work with the LGBT and pro women rights activists on the Truth Social DEMFORCE INVASION then join up, hammer their servers, and show them what their website really means.

You can’t create a website and desire it to be free of political discrimination if you’re only going to support traitors.

Good news is they actually support everyone who attends. Trump founded it, DWAC took it over, DWAC could eventually get as sick as Twitter got of trump and kick him off. Especially if democrats become the driving force of the network. End of the day $ is what drives these companies, and shareholders. And their shares are worthless and they’re hemorrhagic loss of cash will be either their downfall or opportunity for us to steer the ship to a better place. A lot of people hate Twitter, especially around politics. Twitter has a right wing bias, they banned me for calling Lauren Boebert white trash. Ironically on Truth Social I called her White Trash a dozen times and not one thing happened aside from a few angry little trolls replying which I swiftly dropped my block hammer on.

I haven’t heard a word from their staff about being a democrat, and that’s because they don’t care. But at the end of the day if we flood the site and storm them with 50,000+ accounts the worst of the red men will leave just like they left Twitter.

It’s time that we pushed these tinfoil hat wearing thugs back where they belong, into their basements without a computer “preparing for the lizard people”

Get on, have fun, and remember to use the block button judiciously.

Our goal is to swing people hard enough that they realize what they are doing isnt Christian.

Righteous Anger is RIGHT. Preserving human rights is RIGHT. Decimating womens rights, forcing them to become baby dispensers? DEAD WRONG!

Wake up you scumbags. The orange man has put you all in a spiritual coma, some of you have even called him god. If you worship a fleshly man who is not truly the lamb of God JESUS CHRIST then you have blasphemed Jesus’s spirit and the Holy Spirit. Nobody can save you except yourself. You must rebuke the false prophet, you must rebuke the nations that strip away at human freedom. For we were created sovereign over our bodies and minds by GOD. And GOD himself spoke “Love Everyone Always”

“I Don’t care if you’re loving another man, a woman, or you’re a pair of men or a pair of women, as long as there is love in your soul, it is good!” “black white asian, rich or poor, you are colorless to God. To God you are but a strand of code. For GOD is a scientist who wrote you into life.”

For every code out there is a code in for the DNA code is what we are.

Christ is within all but some have killed his spirit off or have placed it into a deep coma.

There is a time for entertainment and there is a time for righteous anger.

Now is not a time to entertain. Now is a time to rise up and be loud.

Remember Stonewall?

LETS STONEWALL THESE MOTHERFUCKERS AGAIN!

GET LOUD AND GET PROUD! (I unfortunately cannot do a daytime Twitter account so I fight through Truth Social. My NSFW After Dark account predates my vanilla account, so they left it alone. I cannot talk much politics on it because I respect separation of sexuality & state.)

#lgbtq issues #LGBTQ #Stonewall #abortion is a human right #her body her choice #my life my choices #my life my rules #i am who i am

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scarlet-it-was · 4 years

Text

Aftershocks

Tags up top: #world of warcraft #sylvanduin #sylvanas x anduin #older woman younger man

Set immediately post-Kingsmourne cinematic. Hastily written because it has been gnawing on my brain like Tred’ova. No betas, we die like warriors. The explicit version of this can be found here on AO3, just skip to chapter 2.

She watches his face; she can see the slightest twitch at the corner of his eye as he fights exhaustively to surface, but it’s of no use. The Jailer extracts the key from the Kingsmourne and Sylvanas is tasked with “putting away” the vessel until it is ready to be used again. Her head nods once, curtly, and her face remains unchanged as she takes over Anduin’s mind with her own banshee magic. Electric blue fades and shifts to a neon violet before she walks him from the balcony. He’s steered along several of the twisting corridors, bypassing his own prison and is taken to another.

The lair of the Dark Lady, inasmuch as she has laid claim to in this unearthly realm, is modestly sized. Unsurprisingly, many of her personal effects are twisted and gruesome. Skulls from every race known to Azeroth and the outer realms hang on the wall in a morbid gallery. Of the items that aren’t nightmare inducing, none of them look particularly sentimental or personal, likely left on Azeroth for safe keeping. The aesthetic here is carefully and intentionally curated.

She locks the door and proceeds to remove the sword and then unclamp the heavy armor while he wobbles in place and she whispers the necessary magic to keep him under her spell. Beneath the heavily spiked pauldrons and chest plate, Anduin is still a large man, larger than she would have expected from the man she’d goaded as the ‘boy king’ for the last several years, but his presence feels far smaller. Deft hands remove the final pieces of his armor as she lets the echo of her voice trail off, allowing him to come back to himself when he is clad only in tight black pants designed to keep the leather from chafing, and a loose black shirt that served the same purpose.

As the ocean blue of his eyes returns, he gasps in a panic, and the first thing he sees is her. Anger, white hot, burning righteous fury. If he’d had enough strength to call down the light, he would have smote her where she stood. Instead, he lunges at her, and it becomes apparent why she’s taken the time to relieve him of his weapons and armaments. It’s the exact reaction she expects, and while she is confident he’ll never catch up to her to land a punch, she’s not interested in taking chances after pride had won her a new scar at the hands of Saurfang. Sylvanas dodges his strikes, and sidesteps his advances for a few tense moments before his anger turns to something he can catch.

Her face remains passive as he smashes each of the skulls that hung on the wall, demanding answers after each is splintered in a thousand shards, practically reciting everything she’d done in his memory. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have answers to give him that will satisfy the depth of the ache he feels. Sylvanas begins the process of removing her own armor while he rants and destroys her room. “You know, I will just get more to replace them, and if they aren’t available readily, I can create them myself,” she warns, but doesn’t expect it to stop the destruction.

“STOP. UNDRESSING,” he booms at her, in equal parts anger and exasperation. He’s never seen her so...undergeared. It feels too private, and entirely too intimate for the emotions swirling through him. He wins only a narrowing of her eyes as she unfastens the heavy leather strap that holds the guards for her hips and thighs. He’s nearly hysterical; it’s hard the first time, and he doesn’t have the boon of being dead to numb his emotions. No, the Jailer needs him as a living mortal within the Shadowlands.

“Why?” he demands, as if he’s going to get a better answer than he has up until now.

Anduin rounds on her again and his face is flushed and streaked with tears. Careful, they’ll burn themselves onto your face, she can feel the chiding remark on her tongue, but for once she swallows it. She has no defense against his litany of her crimes. “Answer me, Sylvanas!”

His gaze is at once accusatory and pleading and it cuts her like the mourneblade all over again. Her memory hasn’t faded--she can feel his hurt and betrayal because she owns the same ones. Time hasn’t healed those wounds, it has only grown them into the anger and hatred she wears like armor around herself. It unpleasantly occurs to her that while he has been but a brief annoyance in her own long life, she has been a constant source of misery in his own. From the time he was young, so much has been taken. His peace, his father, his home, and now his free will; and she’s played a part in so many of those moments. Suddenly she’s finding it uncomfortable to maintain eye contact, and she lets her gaze drop.

She’s already got one foot braced and turns around in time to catch the charging Anduin solidly against her front. Sylvanas grunts when her back hits the wall, fangs bared, but she doesn’t strike back. This isn’t a man who wants more violence. She wraps her arms around him instead. “Shhh,” she hisses against his ear, holding him tightly against her while he flails to get free. He pushes at her, tries to pull away, but the attempts are half-hearted at best.

Eventually, he stops fighting and his arms go limp at his sides. Sylvanas feels him surrender, and her hold becomes less severe. She thinks back to the days her Little Moon would fling herself into Sylvanas’s arms and cry over whatever latest injustice had besieged her heart. Her memory marked them as petty endeavors compared to the broken boy she held now, but the muscle memory, at least, was helpful. His weight pressed against her made it easy to balance herself as she slid down the wall, pulling him down as well. He gave no fight, just crumbled to the ground with her, and his arms went around her waist. For a moment, she freezes and looks down at the mess of blonde hair. His head rests against her chest, which does not rise or fall, nor offer the comfort of a steady breath or heartbeat. She settles in once again, this time keeping an arm around his back while the other tugs loose the tie from his hair so she can thread her fingers through it. No words are offered--any she could say felt hollow, and certainly untrue.

Until the Maw, Sylvanas was the coldest place he’d ever known, but here, she feels like a respite--the smallest and most fragile of fires in a night that promised death from the howling wind. There isn’t much hope in it, but he clings to it nonetheless. He doesn’t expect to find himself on the floor of her room, wrapped up in the mysterious and infuriating elf, but the moment she offered him shelter instead of slaughter, he fell apart. Her fingers twine through his hair and it’s a small comfort. His eyes still burn, and so does his throat, but eventually he is able to pull himself together, in no small part due to the solid presence he rested against. He scrubs his eyes with the heel of his hand and she pauses her ministrations to allow him to do such. Her hand hovers for a moment before falling to the side when she realizes he won’t be putting his head back down.

He looks at her in earnest then. He’s never seen her out of her martial attire; she remains only in leather pants and a soft black under shirt. Sylvanas’s hair spills over her shoulders, flat from hiding beneath a hood. He’s always found her hauntingly beautiful, but nothing compared to her stripped of her war vestments and staring at him like...It wasn’t exactly compassion he saw in her eyes so much as understanding. Anduin had gained a new perspective as well--hers.

The fact that she chose to bring him here and comfort him rather than locking him back inside his circular prison speaks volumes, but that was never enough for him, because Sylvanas is never what she seems. “Why have you brought me here?” he asks, since it certainly isn’t to apologize. She hasn’t expressed remorse, or regret.

Sylvanas lets her head drop to the side so that she’s looking at him without her head leaving the support of the wall. “Because I can not give you peace, Young Wrynn, but I can at least make sure you sleep comfortably, and dreamlessly, if you so desire,” she drawls. Afterall, she has no use for her bed, she doesn’t require sleep and when she does sleep, it’s more out of habit or boredom. As she speaks, he feels her brace her feet and she lifts both of them, though this time with his help. She leads him to the bed and eases him down as though he is a broken thing.*

She sees him start to speak again, and she knows the question before it comes out. She stops it by pressing two cold fingers against his lips. “Shh, there is nothing to be done about it,” she tells him matter of factly. “Not yet. Be patient, little lion. The threads of fate are frayed and unravelling. Soon we will weave our own.” Sylvanas doesn’t remove her fingers from his lips, but rests her forehead against his with her eyes closed. “And no one will ever control us again,” she says, trying to convince him as much as she is trying to convince herself. Her fingertips and head lift at the same time and she leans forward to press a kiss on his brow, imbuing him with an irresistible urge to sleep. “Rest now,” she murmurs, settling him in the throng of pillows as he slowly blinks, trying and failing to stay awake. Her hand smooths over his forehead once more, pushing slightly faded gold locks out of his face in a tender gesture he won’t remember by the time he wakes. “It won’t get any easier from here.”

#sylvanduin #sylvanas x anduin #world of warcraft #fanfiction #my fic #aftershocks

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veliseraptor · 4 years

Text

the martyr, the victim

Hey who wants a short, sad fic inspired by a decidedly not very serious post? Nobody? Too bad! You’re getting one. aka sad Lan brothers, or, I guess, one sad Lan brother and one very worried Lan brother set after Qiongqi Path, Take One.

Barely beta’d but thank you @paradife-loft for giving it a read through and soothing my ruffled feathers, thank you @audible-smiles for writing the post that loosely inspired this, and thank you @ameliarating for telling me I should write it. Takes a village and all that. First time writing Lan Xichen POV! let’s see how this goes.

Wangji returned to the Cloud Recesses alone.

Alone, soaking wet, his face blotchy from crying, and he did not say a word to anyone before retreating into the Jingshi and closing the door behind him.

Lan Xichen stared at the closed door for several long moments, and sighed. He hadn’t seen any blood, at least. Though the rain might just have washed it off.

Wangji might let him in, if he asked. But he knew his brother, and thought, perhaps, it would be better to leave him alone for the moment. Pressing him now would only make him withdraw further. His questions would have to wait. Word was already spreading of a disaster at Qiongqi Path, though the details were still confused.

Dread was a pile of stones inside him. It was clear it had been bad. At this point it was just a question of how bad.

He fended off their shufu’s pointed questions about where Wangji had gone and let him sleep til morning before tapping lightly on the door. “Wangji,” he said quietly. “May I come in?”

“Yes.”

Lan Xichen pressed his lips together briefly before letting himself inside. Wangji was sitting on the floor, back straight, eyes forward. To anyone else, he might have passed for the picture of blank calm, but to Lan Xichen’s eyes he was tense, a desperate unhappiness settled in the corners of his mouth and eyes.

He walked over slowly and sat down in front of him. “Tell me,” he said.

Wangji’s gaze focused on him briefly before going distant again. “Xiongzhang,” he said, “how do you know you’ve done the right thing?”

Lan Xichen folded his hands together, studying his brother. “Sometimes it isn’t easy.”

Wangji’s mouth turned down at the corners, ever so slightly. “Do not succumb to rage. Morality is the priority. Take the straight path. Reject the crooked road.“ He paused. “Do not associate with evil.” His eyes focused again. “If not these things, then…”

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen said again, keeping his voice gentle, “tell me.”

Wangji was silent for several seconds before he said, “I let him go.”

He didn’t have to ask who ‘him’ meant. He didn’t reach out, not yet, though he saw Wangji’s shoulders hitch very slightly.

“He wouldn’t come.”

Lan Xichen had feared as much. He hadn’t said so, but he’d doubted, very much, that Wangji would be able to bring Wei Wuxian with him short of force. After what he’d seen in the banquet hall, a part of him wondered if even force would avail him.

He would not tell Wangji that Wei Wuxian was a lost cause. But he did fear what pursuing him might do to his brother.

“You did your best,” he said. That slight downturn of his lips intensified.

“Not enough.”

Lan Xichen wished he had tea, just for something to do with his hands. Or to give Wangji something to do with his. “Wangji…”

“I let him go,” Lan Wangji said again. “With the Wen prisoners.”

Lan Xichen held in a sigh. “Ah,” he said. He didn’t ask if anyone had seen. Someone would have, or would have heard. If their shufu hadn’t yet, he would. Wangji would face discipline here, and disappointment. Elsewhere...elsewhere perhaps more than that.

Deliberately, he set aside political concerns for the moment, imagining laying them down outside the door, and focused on his brother’s heart.

“Wei Ying is walking the crooked path,” Wangji said. “He needs to be brought back to the right way.”

Lan Xichen stayed quiet, still waiting.

“But I let him leave. Was that not…” He was struggling, visibly, to find the words. Finally, his eyes lowered and he said, “be righteous.”

There were so many things he could say. Righteousness does not have only one face, perhaps. Or sometimes we falter. Or what else would you have done?

“You are not responsible for what Wei Wuxian does.”

The aching hurt in Wangji’s eyes when he looked up. “I did not have to move.”

That boy is trouble, their shufu had said to Lan Xichen. I want him kept away from Wangji.

It’s already too late for that, he’d thought, but not said. When Wangji loved, he loved with his whole being, without reserve. And now he had been placed between the rock of his convictions and the hard place of his devotion to Wei Wuxian.

“Why did you?”

Wangji fell quiet again. His expression smoothed out, but Lan Xichen knew better than to think that was a sign of him calming. “Do not take advantage of your position to oppress others,” he said. It was an answer, Lan Xichen thought. Maybe the best one he could give. Though probably not the only one that was true.

“”You will be punished for this,” he said. “You know that.”

Wangji bowed his head. “I know.”

“I can attempt to intercede on your behalf. To mitigate Shufu’s anger.”

“No.”

It wasn’t an unexpected answer. It still made Lan Xichen want to sigh. He held it back. “Wangji,” he said, “there is not always a rule that tells us what we must do. Or there may be more than one that advise different actions.”

Wangji raised his eyes slowly to Lan Xichen’s. “What would you have done, xiongzhang?”

Lan Xichen did sigh, then. “I couldn’t say.”

Wangji took a breath like he was about to say something, then caught himself and fell quiet.

“I failed,” he said at length.

“You tried,” Lan Xichen said, emphasizing the words more. “Sometimes that is all that can be done.”

“He will make the world his enemy.”

Lan Xichen could not say that was untrue. What Wei Wuxian had done would set him against every other of the great sects, and the smaller ones would follow. His kinship with Jiang Cheng was his only shield, and to Lan Xichen’s eye it was a fragile one.

“It may not be too late yet,” he said. “But you need to be careful yourself, Wangji. Others’ eyes will be upon you.”

Wangji’s chin dipped slightly, though he didn’t reply. Lan Xichen wanted to repeat it, wanted to reach out and put his hands on Wangji’s shoulders and say, slowly, I am going to try to keep you safe but I need you to help me. I need you to be able to remain quiet when you do not want to. I need you to follow my lead.

He would be asking Wangji to go against his nature.

“Shufu will want an explanation,” he said at last. “You should go to him before he asks. It will be better that way.”

“Thank you, xiongzhang,” Wangji said. There was a bit of a hollowness to his voice and something shuttered in his eyes. He wasn’t lost, not quite, but he was adrift, off balance.

“Would you play a Song of Clarity with me?”

It wasn’t a flinch. Not quite. But a moment later some resolve settled on Wangji’s shoulders. “Cleansing,” he said.

That hadn’t been his intent. But he didn’t think there was any use in trying to steer Wangji somewhere else. His thoughts right now were bent in one direction, and his brother was very stubborn.

If there was a quiet desperation in Wangji’s music, Lan Xichen did not mention it. Perhaps it was their family’s curse to love too strongly, and in the wrong place.

#the sad queer cultivators show #the untamed #a wild fic appeared #eyyyy *fingerguns*#i've used that tag multiple times and it is always for the same mood #this might show up on ao3 later we'll see how scared i get about it

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olivenight17 · 5 years

Note

Can we get some Amai Mask x reader? Maybe where he gets caught kissing/making out with his gf/so by some sasaengs? Thank you!

Hey hey anon! Guess who finally finished your request~ That’s right, me! I have to say, I had no idea what sasaengs were at first and looking them up, hoo boy. Those are some crazy, crazy people. But, given the context, it just made this so much more fun to write! I mean this really allowed me to let loose on my more angsty side, but don’t worry, it’s all fluff in the end. Seriously, this was a fun request, thank you so much for it! Enjoy our righteous hero, anon~!

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TW: slight language, angst, bullying, small mention of suicide and mild violence

Amai Mask x Reader “To Love a Celebrity”

It wasn’t easy dating one of the most famous celebrities out there.

It meant being away from him, having to share him with the rest of the world and constantly having to watch your back. The first few months into your relationship with Amai, it was fine. Both of you went out in disguises, made sure neither of you were being followed when one came to the other’s house and somehow managed to avoid the media and all of its nosiness. While Amai wanted to show you off and wanted to be proud of the relationship he had, he couldn’t. It risked your safety and comfort and he wasn’t about to let that happen.

But then came the incident.

You had rushed over to Amai’s house as soon as he sent the text that he was home from his concert.

He opened the door with a smile and you quickly hugged him. Chuckling, he returned the embrace. “You missed me, huh?”

“Of course I did! I haven’t seen you all week!” You exclaimed, squeezing him tighter.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, just enjoying each other’s presence, before Amai moved to close the door behind you. “Well, I can fill you in since you missed all the action.” Leading you over to his dining room, he pulled out one of the chairs.

Giggling, you sat down. “My my, such a gentleman.”

“Anything to please my lady.” He remarked, taking your hand and kissing it before turning away. In an effort to make up for all the time he had spent away, he made your favorite dish for dinner and the two of you talked about anything and everything that happened during your week and laughing at jokes the other made.

Eventually, the conversation steered it’s way back to his work. “You’re working on a new movie too, right? What’s it about?” You asked, quirking an eyebrow when Amai shot you a smirk.

He got up from his place at the table and went digging into one of his bags. “Well, I could tell you, or I could show you since we officially finished editing today. It’s not out to the public yet, but I know you’ll keep my secret,” he mused. Once he had found what he was looking for, he knelt down in front of his TV and popped in the small disc. You, on the other hand, were getting yourself settled onto Amai’s very comfortable couch with a cocoon of blankets already surrounding you. Laughing lightly, he poked your forehead. “Comfortable, my little caterpillar?”

“Not quite,” you answered. Extending your arms out, you cracked the cocoon open enough for Amai to slip in next to you. “Now I’m comfortable.” Sighing happily, you turned your attention to the screen.

The movie was spectacular, but you didn’t expect anything less of your boyfriend. He always managed to get assigned to the best projects and the way he managed to really bring it all to life with his acting just made it all the more breathtaking. Excitedly, you shifted closer to him to tell him that with a bright grin, tilting your head when he didn’t answer you. “Amai, are you okay?” You asked with a concerned frown on your face.

He seemed to snap out of his trance when you spoke. Tucking a stray hair back into place for you, he smiled. “Sorry, you were just so cute it stunned me for a bit.” His answer surprised you and you felt your face grow hot. It was always embarrassing when he complimented you out of the blue like that.

You sat up and shook your head, already moving to deny his words. “Says the one who’s a literal model.” The effectiveness of your remark was short lived as Amai suddenly pulled you into his lap.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You are every bit as beautiful a model as I am. I’m just lucky that I’m the only one allowed to see the show.” He grinned, a deep passion in his golden eyes as he looked at you.

The warmth of your cheeks deepened before you leaned up and pressed your lips to his. The kiss was slow and sensual with Amai’s arms slipping down your back lower and lower until they rested on your hips. Once there, he broke from your lips to kiss down along your neck when there was a flash of light. It jolted your senses and, out of the daze of your makeout, turned your gaze to where the light came from. To your horror, the curtains to Amai’s house were not closed and through the window, you could see the figure of someone with their phone.

Immediately, you jumped to your feet and cursed as the figure began running off. They were already gone by the time you had opened the door to chase them. You sat back down on the couch, rubbing your hands together nervously. Your blood felt cold as ice, not even the comforting touch of Amai’s arms was enough to warm you. “We were so careful, I don’t understand…” You mumbled to yourself, going through everything in your head. There was nothing you could have done differently.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” He prompted. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll get through this, and we’re going to find whoever took that picture, alright?” His tone was soft and reassuring, you found yourself nodding along. Slowly, you began getting a grip on yourself. Whatever happened, you both would make it through.

Fortunately, you did. Though it was far from easy.

The morning after, your face was covered in every front page of a celebrity magazine and there was article after article of you, ‘Amai’s Makeout Partner.’ It was embarrassing going to work for the following days, you could feel all of your coworker’s eyes on you, and you swore you could hear laughter every time you turned your back. But, after a week, the main press died down when they weren’t getting anywhere with their story.

Just when you thought the worst of it was over, things got worse. Hundreds of texts came pouring through your phone, each with a nastier message than the last.

Making out like that? What a whore.

You’re nothing more than a gold digging slut.

You’re not worth Amai’s time, why don’t you just kill yourself?

Leaving all of social media was the only thing you could do to stop the messages. However, it did not stop the vandalism of your house. It was happening so often you barely had the energy to go out and clean it off anymore.

The final straw came when you called Amai in the middle of the night after someone shattered your window with a brick. “I’m so scared, I’m not even sure if I should go outside anymore. The note on the brick says the next one’s going through my head!” Sobbing, your free hand clutched at your torso to try and stop your body from trembling.

You could hear how pained he sounded even through the phone. “It’s going to be okay, I promise. I’m coming over, we’re getting you out of that place right now. Remember that secret penthouse I just bought? It shouldn’t have been mentioned to the media yet, you’ll live there for as long as it’s needed. Are you okay with that?” Shakily, you agreed with the plan as you began heading towards your room. “Good, I’ll be there in a few minutes. Just breathe, you’re going to get through this. I love you,” He told you.

“I love you too, Amai. Please get here as fast as you can.” You pleaded before saying your goodbyes and getting your things packed. Fiddling with the hem of your shirt, you glanced from out your front window, looking for any sign of movement. Then, a black car rolled up and you sighed in relief. Amai was finally here.

Cautiously, you opened the door and began making your way to the car when you heard a crack and felt liquid seeping down your shirt.

Someone had pelted an egg at you. They were about to chuck another one, but Amai was faster. He was already out of the car and crushing their wrist so hard they jolted at the sudden pain.

The hood the figure was wearing fell down to reveal a woman in her early twenties whimpering in pain. “Oh my god, Amai Mask is holding my wrist!” The shock seemed to have worn off on the woman as she began squealing like a teenager with a crush.

“And I’ll be breaking it if you don’t explain yourself this instant.” Amai growled, tightening his grip as the woman gasped in pain.

“Okay, okay! Listen, I’m just trying to look out for you. You’re spending way too much time on her and that time is wasted. I mean seriously, she’s nothing, I bet she’s not even a real fan of you like I am. You hardly pay any attention to your fans anymore and it’s all because of her!” She exclaimed, glaring holes into you.

You stood in confusion. All this hate and threats, were all because you were supposedly taking Amai’s attention away from him? You could barely believe what you were hearing. However, just as the anger built up in you, it quickly left as Amai took the woman and slammed her into a nearby wall.

You had never seen him so angry before in your life, but it wasn’t a brash, hot anger. It was calculated, cold and far more terrifying. He walked towards where she fell with rigid steps and picked her up by her hood. “You think you can threaten her, stalk her, and vandalise her home and herself because you’re not getting enough attention? What a pathetic excuse to become a criminal. You are the lowest of low.” He hissed, slamming her face in the wall which made you jump.

Quickly, you dashed over to him and grabbed him by the arm. “Amai stop, please! You’re going to kill her!” You exclaimed, looking over at the woman to see if she was even still alive. Her chest was rising up and down and you sighed in relief.

Meanwhile, Amai scoffed at your words. “And? I’m doing the world a favor getting rid of such a monster. She is in no way justified for her actions and I will see to it that she never commit such acts again.” His eyes were so cold as he spoke, it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Please, I know you Amai. Sure, I’m angry at her too, her and everyone else have been tormenting me, but she doesn’t deserve to die because of it! She may be a criminal, but she’s still a citizen, let the law take care of her.” You begged, tightening your grip on his arm and trying to get him to look at you.

Eventually, he did and he saw the fright in your eyes. His frown never let up but his gaze did become softer and he sighed. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Still, he lifted the woman up and she smiled as much as she could as she stared at him. “You disgust me. If you ever do this to my girlfriend again I will be taking each and every one of you to court and I will ensure that absolutely none of you will ever see my face or hers ever again. So go and tell your little group to never even look at my girlfriend again. Do you understand?” She seemed to have phased out and he shook her lightly, repeating his words.

When he got a nod, he let her go and she ran off into the night. Then, he held his hand out to you. “Just in case she doesn’t keep her word, I’m taking you to the penthouse anyway. Let me get your bags.” He said, already making his way towards them.

It wasn’t long before you both got into the car and he was helping you unpack at your new home. He kissed you goodnight, but just as he turned to leave, you caught him by the sleeve. “Could you stay with me tonight? After everything that just happened I really don’t want you to leave…” You trailed off as you looked towards the ground.

Amai only smiled at you as he picked you up in his arms. “But of course, anything for my lady.”

#One Punch Man #OPM #Amai Mask #Amai #Sweet mask #Amai mask one punch man #Amai x reader #Amai mask x reader #request #seriously tho this was so much fun

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ma-sulevin · 5 years

Photo

In which it’s clear that I don’t get to do recreational drugs and have decided to make the Lamb of God Church episcopal for no particular reason. Some of the tags are more applicable to this chapter than the others, so, uh. Give them another glance.

Pairing: Sharky Boshaw/Female Deputy Rating: E, but mostly for swearing Warnings: Canon-typical violence, but nothing particularly explicit I don’t think Word Count: 6300, chapter four of twelve

Read it on AO3 instead and say nice things.

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It’s almost like John knows exactly when she crosses over the Henbane River and back into the Valley. Her radio crackles to life, interrupting the comfortable silence in the car; Sharky jerks in his seat like he was falling asleep, and Mattie covers up her giggle with a little cough.

“Why… is it so difficult for you to understand that all of your efforts are absolutely, unquestionably… worthless?”

She hisses at his words, gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles blanch. She grits her teeth and pushes too hard on the accelerator, taking the car from a comfortably legal 45 miles per hour up to 55. Sharky reaches up and grabs the handle over the door, but doesn’t speak.

“You believe you're on the righteous path, you believe you're a force for good, but you're not! You're selfish. All you're really doing is quenching your thirst for blood.”

His voice is mocking, derisive, and she bares her teeth even though he can’t see. She sees a peggie on the side of the road with a regular person in the dirt on their knees, and she veers to run them over without a second thought. The peggie crumples; the captive hops to their feet and sprints away.

Maybe John has a point. Maybe she does have a thirst for blood.

Like his people are any better.

“We're going to share a beautiful moment, and you're going to tell me your deepest… darkest… fears.”

The radio clicks off. Mattie forces herself to ease off the accelerator, but she can’t make her fingers relax on the wheel.

“A beautiful moment, huh? Sounds gross.”

She lets out a bark of laughter, fingers relaxing on their own accord. When she glances at Sharky out of the corner of her eyes, he’s smirking at her, eyes sparkling.

“Man, he sure does have a hard-on for you.”

“Oh, my god,” she laughs again, reaching over to slap at his arm. “Gross.”

“So I’m thinkin’,” he continues, and she can hear him smiling even though she’s trying to focus on the road, “you should probably just fuck and get it over with.”

“No! Sharky! Oh my god .” She hits him again, but they’re both laughing. “You’re gonna be sorry when I throw up in this car.”

He just shrugs and fishes around in his pockets for what turns out to be a crumpled pack of cigarettes. “I mean, if you don’t wanna give one up for the team…” He’s faster at finding his lighter, but he only gets to take one good drag before Mattie’s reaching over and plucking the cigarette out of his mouth.

“Thanks, dude,” she says, sticking it between her lips instead. She winks at him. “Thoughtful of you.”

He rolls his eyes and lights a second one. This one she lets him keep.

---

She’s met Nick Rye a handful of times, mostly at the occasional neighborhood barbeque she was bribed by Joey or Staci into attending, once to give him a ticket for going near double the speed limit in the Henbane (she knocked the recorded speed down on the ticket to give him a break, but he was going very fast), and the sight of peggies crawling all over his property makes her stomach turn.

Boomer is thrilled to be free of the car, running ahead with gleeful barks to bite at the heels of the first peggie he comes across. Shit’s on fire and there’s debris on the runway, and she suddenly remembers she never got to take the aerial tour he was always bragging about.

Sharky helps her bring down the peggies, setting even more shit on fire, and then the little battle is done (when did killing only six people become a “little battle”?) and they find Nick pacing in his garage.

He gives her a full on hug when he sees her, almost knocks the hat off his head with his enthusiasm, and she squeezes him back in exhausted relief. She’d rather die -- actually die -- than have something bad happen to him or Kim. They’re good people, some of the best.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he says, then he releases her from his hug and puts his hands on her shoulders instead. He shakes her a little, still worked up, and is too loud when he says, “We’re fuckin’ trapped! I’m gonna kill that sonuvabitch John Seed.”

Mattie nods at him, not all that concerned at the threat even though technically she should be. “What’s up, Nick?”

“You see those peggies take off with my plane? We need it! Without it, my family is fucked. Please.” He looks up at Sharky, then back at Mattie, eyebrows drawn together over his mirrored glasses. She can see herself in them, dirty and sweaty, deep circles under her eyes, already nodding before he’s finished asking, “I need your help.”

“You think John has it as his ranch?” She’s never been, personally, but she knows people who have been, and it’s supposed to be beautiful. It also has a private airstrip, because John flies planes as a hobby . “I guess it’s the only other place that makes sense.”

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” Nick says, but he’s already letting her go and walking deeper into his garage. “I just can’t leave Kim, you know.”

Mattie and Sharky trail after him. “Yeah. How’s she doing?”

“She’s due any second. Here, you feelin’ okay?” Nick squats behind the counter and pops back up with ammo boxes in his hands. He sets them down and disappears again, coming up with a first aid kit. “I really appreciate you doin’ this for us. You know how to fly?”

She shrugs, takes the ammo she needs and then lets Sharky take a look. She doesn’t take the first aid kit.

“I’ve flown once,” she says, and it feels like a lifetime ago. “Stace -- uh, one of the other deputies was a licensed pilot, and he used to make me practice on the simulator so he could boss me around.”

Nick winces, but he nods anyway. “I can talk you through it. Just call me on the radio when you find my plane.”

“Sure thing,” she says. “I’ll go now.”

She makes it out of the garage with Nick still thanking her, then she turns to Sharky as soon as Nick is out of earshot. “I want you to stay here.”

“What? No fuckin’ way.” He’s too loud, so she shushes him, but he just glares down at her.

She falls into her cop stance without really thinking about it, one hand on her hip and the other hovering near her pistol. She levels a glare at him and he stares right back, not at all intimidated by the woman he spent the night spooning through her tears. “It’s dangerous, and it’s faster if I just get in by myself and fly the plane home.”

“You can’t go by yourself!” Sharky flails his arms around as though that will help him make his point. “It’s dangerous! You need my backup!”

“I need to go in quietly, and you’re good at a lot of things, but I don’t think being quiet is one of them.”

He frowns, the fight melting out of him. “I don’t like it.”

“I’ll come right back here,” she says, promises. He doesn’t understand she won’t die if she’s alone. She won’t die, she can’t die, but he… he can. She doesn’t want him to die. She doesn’t want that on her conscience, not when she can keep him safe just by making him stay with the Ryes. “Okay?”

She offers him her fist, and he bumps it after a second’s hesitation.

She makes it halfway to the ranch before he catches up with her.

“God damn it, Sharky.” She covers her eyes with her hands. “I thought you were going to stay with Nick.”

He offers her a grin. “You see, I thought about it, but I just can’t sit by and let you walk into danger by yourself. You haven’t arrested me yet, and I respect that you totally could’ve by now, but that means I owe you. You’ve pulled my ass out of the fire, literally and figuratively, and I just think I need to stick by you. You know. Ride or die?”

“Ride or die?”

Christ, that makes her chest hurt. What has she done to inspire that loyalty?

“Yeah!” He shrugs. “So… we doin’ this?”

She wants to say no. She wants to send him back to Nick, back to where he’s safe. But… he won’t listen. He obviously is dead set on staying with her. All she can do is try to keep him safe.

“Yeah,” she says. “I guess we are.”

---

John’s ranch is absolutely crawling with peggies, and Mattie sits at the edge of the property, still concealed in the trees, watching them go about their business through her binoculars. Boomer sits alert at her side, ears cocked, nose testing the air every few seconds in case one of the cultists gets close enough to smell. Sharky sits at her other side, chin in his hand, watching the peggies with a sense of detached boredom.

She finally lowers the binoculars when he sighs and starts gnawing on his nails.

“Are you having a problem?”

“I’m just ready to bang some peggie heads together, that’s all,” he says, and at least he’s kinda quiet this time. “Didn’t think it would take this long.”

Anger flares, hot and bright. “I’m trying not to get you fuckin’ killed since you won’t fuckin’ stay at the Ryes’.” Sharky freezes at the bite in her voice, lowers his hand to his lap and presses his lips together. His expression looks so much like a kicked puppy that she’s torn between laughing and feeling bad; she settles for feeling bad. “Just… give me another minute, okay? We don’t want to burn the place down.”

When his expression doesn’t shift, she leans into his space and bumps his shoulder with hers. He huffs, then when she looks back over at him, he smiles.

“Maybe you don’t want to burn the place down.”

She raises the binoculars back up to her face, finds the peggie sniper standing on John’s roof. “Keep it in your pants, Boshaw.”

She listens to him snickering for a minute and doesn’t fight the smile from blooming on her face. It’s almost easy to forget they’re about to commit several crimes in the process of stealing Nick’s plane back from a cult leader.

“Okay, I’m going to sneak around that way,” she says, pointing around the back of the house, towards the garage. “You cover me, take out anyone who happens to notice. Once you see me in the plane, head back to Nick’s.”

Sharky frowns again. “But--”

“Would you just fucking listen--”

Boomer barks, once, a sharp warning before taking off. Something lands in the dirt between Sharky and Mattie, comes to a rest against her knee, and she doesn’t even panic when she looks down to see a grenade, just scoops it up and tosses it back where she thinks it came from -- back toward John’s house, into his yard, where it explodes and sets a truck on fire.

“Holy shit,” Sharky starts, but she barrels right over him with a simple command.

“Go!”

She rolls to the side and vaguely hopes he’s done the same, then she pops up right in the space of the peggie who threw the grenade, running forward to finish the job. She punches him in the throat, then grabs the back of his head and introduces it to her knee. It crunches sickeningly, sends pain radiating up toward her hip, and when she drops him there’s a dark, wet stain on her jeans.

The rest of the cultists fall quickly, though one gets close enough to give her what she’s sure is going to be a beautiful black eye when she’s busy ripping the wires out of the radio tower. If they hadn’t cut off most of the usual means of communication in the county to keep citizens from calling for help, they wouldn’t have to keep setting these things up for her to tear apart.

John’s front yard is littered with corpses, abandoned weapons, and two burning trucks filling the air with thick smoke and the acrid scent of burning rubber and hot metal. Boomer runs up to her with a handgun in his mouth, and she’d be more worried if she’d never seen him do it before. She can’t quite figure out how to get him to quit, so she just leans down and takes the slobbery weapon from him and scratches him behind the ear in thanks.

He runs off again, and his spot on the porch is replaced by Sharky who has his hands tucked deep in his pockets and a wide grin on his face.

“Glad you brought me now?”

She rolls her eyes at him, but that grin is infectious and she can’t stop herself from laughing just a heartbeat later. “You’re a dork,” she says, and he just keeps beaming down at her. “Wanna go look through John’s shit?”

“Hell yeah!” Sharky bounces like this is the first time he’s considered he has mostly free reign of John’s house, takes three normal steps toward the open front doors before breaking into a jog. Mattie trails behind him, not hiding her little smile, fingers brushing over the tender spot along her cheekbone.

It takes her three tries to find John’s kitchen, first opening up a door to a study and then a formal dining room (of fucking course -- he probably hosts Seed family dinners here, all the fucking cult leaders in one place, listening to Joseph preach and watching Faith float around the room), and then when she finally pushes the kitchen door open she nearly bumps into Sharky on his way out. He’s got a real ice pack in his hand, the kind with the little gel balls inside so it will stay flexible, and he’s wrapping a hand towel around it.

“You okay?” Even with her cold fingers pressed back to her bruise, concern that he’s hurt and she hadn’t noticed fills her, wrinkles her forehead.

He rolls his eyes at her, then cups her jaw with one hand to hold her still and presses the ice pack against her temple. His fingers tighten when she hisses and flinches away, holding her still, and she glares up at him with her good eye.

“ ’s cold.” It’s also most of why she was looking for the kitchen, and she’s only arguing because she’s kind of embarrassed at how she assumed it was for him and how good it feels to have someone worry about her beyond what she can do for them. His fingers are warm where they’re still cupping her jaw, his thumb sweeping across her cheek, and she’s almost entirely sure he’ll be able to feel her blushing just as easy as he can see it, so she closes her eyes and leans into the gentle touch.

“I came in here lookin’ for frozen peas or some shit, but figured this would do just as well. Hell of a shiner you’re getting here, Dep. Didn’t think you’d let a peggie ever get close enough to you to take a swing.”

She licks her lips before she speaks. “It was a lucky punch.”

The ice repositions on her face, moves closer to where the punch landed, right where the bruising is worst. “You got shit luck.”

The laugh that escapes her is too high pitched, a little too hysterical, because Sharky doesn’t even know the half of it. His stroking thumb stills on her face, and she forces herself to pull back from the breakdown she can feel bubbling up in her chest. She doesn’t know if she’s going to keep laughing or burst into tears or just curl into Sharky’s body heat like a cat, but she needs to stop it.

She takes a deep breath and reaches up to take the ice pack from him. He doesn’t move right away, not even when she covers his ice-cold fingers with her own slightly warmer ones, just stands there with his hands on her face until she opens her eyes and looks up at him.

The moment stretches, silent, and then it’s gone as he lets his hands drop back to his sides and he takes a step back. “I’m gonna see if I can find any contraband,” he informs her, too loud in the quiet. “Or like, a weird sex dungeon. Seems like Johnny’d have one, somewhere.”

“You sound like Adelaide,” Mattie says, forcing a smile, glad for the subject change. She pushes deeper into the kitchen, admiring the size and decor despite herself. It would be amazing to cook in here.

Sharky’s laugh follows him down the hall, and Mattie’s finally alone again, able to lean against the counter and groan into her hand.

How has her life come to this?

---

John calls her on the radio when she takes off in Nick’s plane, clammy hands clutching the throttle and her heart already in her throat. When she hears his hissed voice coming through the receiver, she’s afraid for a few heart-stopping moments that she’ll actually be sick in Nick’s plane and she’ll have to return it to him covered in vomit.

She swallows hard and doesn’t get sick.

John’s not sure whether to be more mad that she’s taken over his house or that she’s stolen Nick’s plane, but he does manage to make a confusing reference to his walls screaming and a threat about skinning her and hanging her skin over the mantle -- which, gross, who even thinks about that? -- and she resolutely ignores the talk button on her radio. He doesn’t deserve any response she can think of.

Nick comes on when John’s finished pitching his goddamned hissy fit, guiding her through a couple of exercises to make sure the plane’s in top shape, then she flies the plane along the river back to his house.

If flying didn’t have to happen so high off the ground, she’d like it a lot more.

---

By the time she makes it back to the ranch -- having helped Nick defend his property, load his car, un load his car, and accepted water and snacks from Kim -- it’s dark out and weariness has settled so deep inside her bones she’s not sure she’ll ever feel fully rested again.

The vehicle fires have burned themselves out in John’s driveway, the doors are closed, and no peggies are in sight. Boomer’s asleep on the front porch, but he doesn’t do much more than open his eyes and sigh heavily, like he’s saying good, you’re back, do you know what time it is, young lady?, and roll over to sleep more.

The place is hazy with smoke when she opens the door, the distinctive scent of marijuana hitting her right in the face. She coughs, starts to hold her breath, then she just laughs.

“Sharky?”

He waves when he hears his name, and she finds him reclining on one of the leather couches, hat and shoes off, a joint in his hand and an ashtray balanced on his chest.

“Party got started without ya,” he says, smile soft as he offers the joint over to her. When she hesitates, he prods, “C’mon, who’s gonna arrest you for it?”

Oh, well, fuck it. “Good point,” she says, and takes it from him. She inhales deeply, closes her eyes and holds her breath for as long as she can before releasing a thick cloud of smoke. “You been carrying this the whole time?”

“That’s the best part! John had two dime bags sitting right on the table here. Wonder what Joe would think about that.”

She takes another deep drag before she starts to feel her muscles loosening. “They probably think it’s okay, ‘cause it’s natural, like the bliss or whatever the fuck,” she says, then passes the joint back and sits right on the low table to start unlacing her boots. “Which is, whatever, I don’t care, but it would be fuckin’ hilarious to finally nail John on possession when we know he’s doing all this other shit.”

The urge to start laughing rises up and she fights against it, focuses on getting out of her boots, then out of her bloody flannel. She badly needs a shower, but the thought of walking around until she finds one is just exhausting.

“What’s all that?” Sharky’s hand is suddenly in her space, fingers brushing over the sharpie marks on her arm. She shivers and doesn’t hide it as his touch tickles her sensitive skin, turning her hand to catch his as he starts to pull away.

“It’s how many times I’ve died,” she says, honesty coming out before she can think to lie. “I need to add one, though, since there was a fight at Nick’s.”

Sharky’s hand disappears from her view, and her stomach drops when she realizes what she’s said, what she’s admitted to, what he must be thinking --

“What the fuck?”

His hand is back, grabbing her arm and pulling her forward so he can fully see the lines covering her skin. The oldest ones, from Fall's End, are starting to fade, but there are so many others, covering her from the crook of her elbow right down to her wrist. She started out making the marks too big, so they start to taper off around #15, but they’re still easy enough to count.

“Thirty-two? You tryna tell me you died thirty-two times?”

She risks a glance up at his face, breath still caught up in her throat, but it doesn’t look like he’s laughing at her, or like he thinks she’s gone crazy. He just looks… surprised, almost in awe.

“Yeah. Mostly at the beginning, when I was by myself.” Her breath catches again when he runs the fingers of his free hand down her forearm again, clears her throat to move past it. “You’n Hurk helped a lot.”

“You’re not dead, though.”

“No. Every time I just… listen, I can’t explain it, okay? It really fucking hurts, and then everything goes black, and then I start over a few minutes before I died, with enough time to do something different. If that grenade today had exploded, I would have started over right before it landed between us, and I would’ve known to throw it back.”

She watches his face as he listens to her and stares at her arm. His eyes are red, his lips parted like he’s so shocked he just forgot to close them, and the reverence on his face is almost enough to make her cry.

“Is that what happened? Today?”

“No.” She shakes her head, her weariness creeping back and making her eyelids too heavy. “I’ve just tossed enough grenades back where they came from to not be freaked out by it, s’all.”

“Well, goddamn,” Sharky murmurs. He releases her hand and sits up straighter, meeting her eyes from his seat on the couch. “God damn .”

“Yeah, that’s the sum of it.”

Sharky takes another hit and passes the joint off to her. She takes it then snuffs it out on the ashtray that he’d let fall to the floor when he sat up.

“So you believe me?”

He blinks at her as he refocuses his attention on her instead of whatever he was looking at on the ceiling. “What? ’Course I do. You wouldn’t lie about that, would you, Dep?”

“Well. No. I just thought you’d think I’m crazy.”

He blinks at her real slow, then shakes his head again. “You’ve heard all Hurky’s stories, right?” He stops talking long enough to pull his hoodie off over his head, then he lies down on the couch. “You think all that’s real, but I wouldn’t believe you? None of this shit makes sense -- hey, watch the moneymaker.”

Mattie, who started crawling into Sharky’s space the second he was horizontal, finally gives in to the giggles brought on by a combination of relief and the gentle high from John’s weed. She removes her knee from between his legs -- the source of his panic -- by just collapsing onto his chest. He shifts, wrapping one arm around her and tucking the other behind his head.

“I don’t know if we’re in, like, a video game, or a simulation, or some fuckin’ Groundhog Day situation, or what. You’re like a, a, oh, what’re those birds or whatever that die and then come back to life? With the fire?”

She’s still giggling quietly, head on his chest, eyes already drooping as he warms her. “Phoenix.”

“Hell yeah, you’re like a phoenix! Joe-bro is definitely going down now. You can’t be stopped.” There’s a pause as his fingers tickle against the bare skin of her arm, just at the place where the strap of her tank top is, and she lets the motion lull her to the edge of sleep. “Thirty-two times. Goddamn, shorty, you’re somethin’ else.”

She falls asleep with a smile on her face.

---

There’s a little dog in John’s bedroom. It’s tiny and white and fluffy, and the minute it sees Mattie walking in, it runs forward with its tail going so fast she thinks its butt might lift right up. The room smells like piss, and she feels a deep pang of guilt -- not for John’s rug, which has obviously been the dog’s bathroom over the last eighteen hours, but because the dog has been stuck in one room without food or water.

It’s wearing a little collar with its rabies license and a little heart-shaped tag that says its name is Moose, and the search for a shower is derailed as she scoops the dog up and takes it outside.

“You got a dog? What the hell you got a dog for?” Sharky’s eating at the long table by the empty fireplace, but he abandons his food when she appears at the foot of the stairs with the little bundle of excited white fur. “John has a dog?”

“Apparently.” Sharky opens the back door for her and follows her into the yard. Moose doesn’t move a single step away before he starts to pee in the grass, and doesn’t even care when Boomer trots up for an investigative sniff. “Poor little guy was in the bedroom upstairs. Did you see dog food in the kitchen, or anything?”

“Lemme check.” He takes another second to stare down at the dog, then he kind of bumps his elbow into hers before he goes back into the house.

After Moose finishes peeing, he returns Boomer’s attentions, sniffing the new animal until they’ve both decided the other one can be trusted. Curiosity sated, they start to play, Boomer encouraging Moose to chase him around the yard before returning the favor.

It’s cute, watching them run around like this. It’s so much closer to what she thought adult life would be like than what she has right now that an ache settles into her chest and she has to clear her throat to stop herself from crying.

It doesn’t matter.

Moose cuts to the house mid-run, zooming past Mattie and through the still-open door without stopping. She follows, Boomer ignoring her, and finds Sharky in the kitchen spooning food from a can into a little steel bowl. Moose is at Sharky’s feet, standing on his hind legs, spinning in the occasional excited circle. It’s fucking adorable, and Mattie says as much.

Sharky glances at her over his shoulder, grinning. “Thanks, chica. I do my best.”

His smile grows when she snorts and then starts to laugh.

“We’ll have to take Moose into Fall's End,” she says, watching Sharky bend down to put the bowl on the floor. “We can’t leave him here.”

“Whatever you say,” Sharky says. “You’re the boss.”

---

Being in Fall's End means talking to everyone in Fall's End, and that means chatting with Jerome about the people who need her help around the county. There are even more now than there were before, farmers and just regular citizens who have been holed up this whole time who suddenly need help or have information for her. Some of them are willing to exchange hard-earned supplies for her assistance, and she knows just by the serious expression on Jerome’s face that she can’t say no this time.

The two of them bend over a map of the valley together, tracing out routes with their fingers to see where she should go first and how many people she can help as fast as possible. Sharky leaves them to it as soon as he gets bored, taking Moose with him, and comes back a while later with beers to share and food for all of them.

“Mary May’s gonna watch the dog,” he says, settling sideways on one of the pews so he can stretch his leg out in front of him along the seat. “Didn’t figure it’d be all that useful against the peggies.”

“Thanks, Shark,” she says, smile warm. She turns back to Jerome in time to catch his own soft smile at the exchange. When he catches her eye, he looks down and twists the top off his own drink.

For a while, it’s quiet.

They decide to head up to the Lamb of God episcopal church first, following up on rumors that Grace Armstrong has holed up in it to protect some of the graves from the peggies. Jerome promises to send some resistance members to John’s, thanks Sharky for lunch, and then they go their separate ways.

Sharky keeps up a stream of empty chatter on their way to the other side of the valley, sharing meandering tales from his childhood that are designed to have her laughing as hard as possible. They park a safe distance from the church, around the curve and on the side of the road, but neither of them get out of the car right away.

Mattie has her sleeves rolled up to just below her elbows, the day unseasonably warm, and she stares down at the dark tally marks without speaking for a long moment. When she looks up, Sharky’s already staring at her face, his lips obviously pressed together to keep himself quiet.

“When we go in there, I don’t want you to worry about me. You need to watch out for yourself and stay out of harm’s way, okay? I’ll be fine no matter what -- you won’t.”

“Shor--”

“No.” She holds up one hand to cut off his protests before he can really get started on them, then lowers it and grabs his wrist. “You have to do this. Promise me. I won’t be able to forgive myself if something happens to you.”

He’s frowning hard. “Well, how do you think I’m gonna feel if you die and then stay dead?”

She pushes away the voice inside her that says if only and squeezes his wrist. “I promise you that won’t happen, okay? You believed me last night, you can believe me now.”

She waits until he nods before she releases him and climbs out. Boomer hops out of the backseat and immediately pees on a nearby fence post before dashing off in the direction of the church. Sharky’s muttering something under his breath at a constant rate, but she ignores him because she can’t quite hear all his words -- if he wanted her to know, he’d be talking louder, she’s completely sure.

It only takes a minute of walking before they can hear gunshots, and the pair exchanges a glance before setting out at a jog down the road.

There’s a single peggie truck parked to block traffic, a handful of men ducked behind trees and stone walls closer to the church building, all their fire focused on either one of the headstones or on the church itself. A green laser sight flits over Sharky’s chest, then Mattie’s, then disappears and a woman’s voice comes over the radio.

“ You the deputy Jerome was telling me about? I could use your help. ” A shot rings out then, and the nearest peggie drops dead.

Sharky and Mattie exchange another look and split up, heading in opposite directions to keep themselves from being surrounded. It works for them, habits accidentally forged as they burned their way from the Henbane and back into the Valley, and the few peggies trying to get to Grace fall pretty fast without causing any more damage than they had before they were interrupted.

Once the yard falls quiet, Mattie climbs up and scoot-walks across the roof of the church to where Grace is sitting in the bell tower. She ignores Sharky’s laughter from below her, focused instead on getting to Grace and not fucking falling down because breaking her neck because she slipped would be the shittiest way she’s died yet.

Grace watches her with a half-smile and soft eyes. “You got good timing,” she says, shifting back to make room as Mattie crawls wholly inside the tower and sits with her back against the wall as Grace explains what she’s doing.

The peggies are defiling the graves, specifically of the war heroes like Grace’s dad, in an attempt to demoralize them. It’s a pretty damn good attempt, based on how angry Grace is about it, but Mattie doesn’t know how to respond.

She already feels pretty damn demoralized, graves or no graves.

“I’m a good shot, but I need somebody to watch my back.” Grace cocks her head to the side, ear pointed toward the road. “They’ll be here any second.”

Well. It’s not like Mattie can say no to this.

She nods at Grace, crawl-walks back to the ladder, and slides down. Sharky’s there, a grin on his face, and she punches him in the chest hard enough to make him step back in mock agony.

They don’t have time to tease. Some peggie’s truck squeals to a stop, worn out fuckin’ pads announcing their presence to the people they’re trying to kill, and Mattie and Sharky split up again.

There are more peggies this time, absolutely pouring out of the woods and crawling up the hill. Mattie runs out of rifle ammo and ends up using it to smash one peggie in the head as he tries to light a stick of dynamite stuck in the crack of the crypt.

She lights the dynamite herself and tosses it back to the road. One of their trucks explodes in a deeply satisfying ball of fire that catches two of the closest peggies off guard and throws them to the ground.

Grace snipes them both.

The yard of the church is so chaotic that Mattie doesn’t realize she can’t hear Sharky’s taunting calls until after the last peggie falls to her feet with his blood under her nails.

Even though her blood is rushing in her ears, it’s too quiet. It’s too quiet and she can’t see that green hoodie or the bursts of fire from his flamethrower and she can’t hear his laughter or his comments about how her being spattered in peggie gore is (somehow) hot.

She can’t hear anything but Boomer’s sharp bark from the other side of the cemetery. One quick high-pitched call. Help.

She breaks into a run, hopping over bodies and toppled gravestones in her haste. Cold dread settles in her gut, growing with each footfall, until she knows what she’s going to see before she sees it.

Sharky, on the ground, half-hidden behind one of the larger crypts, slumped to the side. His lips are blue, his face pale, his hoodie soaked through with blood. It’s on the crypt behind him, like he’d been standing against it when he was shot, and when she reaches under his chin to check for a pulse, his eyes stare back at her, empty.

She screams.

Grace is at her side in an instant, checking for a pulse alongside Mattie’s bloody fingers, hissing curses under her breath when she can’t find one either. Mattie pushes the hoodie up over his chest, out of the way, and presses her palms flat against the bullet wounds like she can do anything now to stop the blood.

She told him.

“I told him, I told him to be careful, and this is what happened! I should have made him stay behind, why wouldn’t he listen, why--”

“Hey, hey.” Grace’s hands find her face, fingers wrapping around her chin. “You can’t do this here. Help me get him to my truck.”

Mattie nods, blinks the tears from her eyes, and gets her shoulder under Sharky’s arm. Grace helps her lift him, and together they drag his body through the woods around to the back of the church where Grace’s pickup is waiting for them.

They lay him down in the back, and Mattie hesitates by the tailgate as Grace moves to climb in the driver’s seat.

The engine turns over and covers the sharp cry Mattie releases when a bullet hits her shoulder, but it doesn’t cover the sound the tail light makes when it shatters.

White lights surround her and she falls to the ground, vertigo making her retch. She wants to tell Grace to go, to take Sharky back to Fall’s End and leave her here to whatever punishment John has cooked up for her for taking his home and kidnapping his dog, but she can’t make her body obey her.

She loses consciousness just as one of John’s Chosen starts to haul her upright.

#sharky boshaw #sharky x deputy #far cry 5 #oc: mattie covington

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darkpoisonouslove · 5 years

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“Steel Becomes Stronger Wrapped in Flames but What about Your Soul?” Chapter 1

Summary: Valtor is fighting Oritel on a missions his mothers sent him on to retrieve an artifact for them. But only when he admits to himself that it isn't them he's fighting for he manages to gain the upper hand. He is faced with a hard choice when winning the battle would mean losing his reason for fighting it in the first place, though.

I'm... not sure what really happened here. The original direction of this was perhaps lost a little but hey, we get Valtor x Griffin angst from Valtor's PoV for a change so...

The blades clashed and the sound entered his body, his veins to tangle with the adrenaline flowing through them. It was exactly what he needed, what he’d craved for so long now. Training didn’t have the same effect when there was no opponent against him and he wouldn’t waste his time sparring with any of his covenmates who couldn’t rise to his level no matter how hard they tried. Not that Oritel was a match either but it was all he could hope for nowadays. Marion was not on the battlefield now that she was pregnant and Griffin was obviously avoiding him which he preferred to keep that way. He didn’t need the feel of her magic all around him when a physical fight was so much more rewarding and helped focus his restless energy and pour it into the battle.

“Feeling tired?” Valtor mocked when Oritel barely blocked a swing that would’ve cut him in half a moment later. He was bursting with energy, not only because he had the power source Oritel could only get to feel when his wife was around, but also because he had undying anger in him to fuel him through everything and he knew how to use it, too. It would take extinguishing his rage to beat him and nothing could do that. Something impossible would have to happen to defeat that emotion that had turned more or less into a companion, a home when he had nothing else. “I may let you die with Marion and not make her suffer your demise if you surrender now,” Valtor pushed to even the playing ground as much as possible. It wouldn’t be a challenge otherwise.

“I’ll never lose to you,” Oritel seethed just like he’d expected he would, the self-righteous anger coming out on cue as just another proof he was so easy to manipulate and steer right where Valtor wanted him to go. And once he lost himself in the raging sea he didn’t know how to navigate, he would lose his control too, throwing caution and planning to the wind and diving into battle headfirst to seek his death and prove Griffin had been wrong to join him and his friends in their hopeless quest to win against the Coven, to win against him. “My resolve is stronger than yours and so is my sword,” Oritel growled like a madman and pushed him away before attacking with all the force he could muster while Valtor’s words were in his mind and were doing their job of tearing his confidence and any beginning of a strategy to shreds.

Valtor evaded the strike with ease, making Oritel look like a fool as he lost his balance and almost fell, the force he’d wanted to hit him with becoming a rock that was weighing him down instead.

“Your sword won’t save you no matter how special you believe it to be,” Valtor taunted, hiding behind the smug sound like Mother Lysslis had taught him to. It wouldn’t do to show his own outrage at the fact that Oritel dared to challenge him just because he had a spark of the Dragon Fire woven in his weapon. That power belonged to Valtor only and he’d make sure to take it from Marion too. “The Dragon Fire isn’t yours to use,” he said, unable to contain himself. He was done with having things taken away from him. It was him who’d take from now on.

“It’s not yours either,” Oritel bit back. “It’s Marion’s and you’re just a fraud, an experiment gone wrong that should’ve never happened in the first place but those three witches don’t have any sense left, just their pursuit of power,” Oritel spoke, making his inner flames burn and reach to get out to prove him wrong. His Dragon Fire was just as natural as Marion’s and even more powerful. It was the winning side of that opposition and he’d show them all how wrong they were to think otherwise. Death was always stronger than life and he’d teach them that lesson the hard way as they didn’t leave him any other option with their refusal to see it and accept it.

“Even your wife won’t be able to save you,” Valtor glowered at him, giving himself a pause for a second to let the words sink in before attacking again. It was time to put an end to that fight. He’d drawn it out to entertain himself but he was getting bored, not to mention annoyed by Oritel’s point of view on the matter that he neither appreciated, nor had the desire to hear. They weren’t in a romance novel, that was for damn sure.

Oritel blocked his strike with ease this time, his gaze pushing into Valtor’s just like their swords were as they were trying to cut through each other. “That’s where you’re wrong,” Oritel said, his voice too calm as he was too sure of himself and Valtor didn’t like having the balance of power being tipped away from him as if he’d had the rug pulled from under his feet. He’d fallen too hard already to do it once again. “Marion is my strength and as long as I have my family to fight for, you will never be able to defeat me,” Oritel said, the fire in his gaze so familiar it made Valtor wish to break his eyes to pieces so that they wouldn’t be able to harbor what had once been a reflection of his own but was now only a broken memory that cut through him and made his muscles weaker, and especially his heart. “My sword will always be stronger than yours because it’s forged and yielded with love.”

“We’re not in high school, Oritel,” Valtor said, choosing to focus on the naivety and ridiculousness of the words instead of on the feelings they carried. Keeping your focus on what mattered was key for winning and he couldn’t forget that lesson after his mothers had made sure to drill it into his head. His education may have been more unconventional but that was exactly what would bring him victory. “Save your speeches for the drama club,” he said through gritted teeth, trying to keep out the memories of the words that could’ve passed for poetry–the most beautiful poetry in the world–he’d been saying himself some time ago. The element of past was the important part in that thought. It was all behind him now and he was a weapon himself now just like he’d always been. And he would gladly go through Oritel if that was what he needed to do to accomplish his goal.

Valtor pulled back, just for a moment, just to gather the momentum he needed, and jumped right back into battle with a series of smooth, swift strikes that had enough force in them to cut through a fortress but Oritel had no problem avoiding or blocking them, sending sparks flying from their clashing blades. Sparks that only set Valtor on fire with the rage surging through him and almost made him release his magic to see Oritel burn as well but that would be a hit against himself and his own ego so he held back, holding on to the last ounce of respect he had for himself.

“You’d think differently if you’d felt anything similar,” Oritel said, allowing himself the smugness over the trap he’d pushed him into, daring him to prove him wrong when he knew he couldn’t. Or rather, he wouldn’t. There was an easy way to prove him wrong but it would mean sacrificing his pride and he’d already lost too much to all of his enemies, old and new. “But I don’t expect you to understand,” Oritel spoke again, daring to insinuate he wasn’t human enough to have love flowing through his veins and it made him wish to let out the demon in his essence and make him regret ever challenging him and trying to make him admit things that would unravel him or choose to accept the monstrosity being pushed on him from everywhere. “I’m fighting for a cause, and you’re just fighting for yourself,” he threw in his face, so lost in his tirade he didn’t realize he’d pushed him past his limit. But that was okay with Valtor. It gave him the power to make him pay for it.

He used the energy, the madness he got from the image of her invading his system and put it towards defeating Oritel and making him cower away rather than on keeping the memories of her warmth and his desire to give her everything out of his head. It made him reel, the feeling of pain and sadness intoxicating and charging him with determination because without her he had nothing and he’d never been satisfied with that. So if he couldn’t have her, he’d have what he’d wanted for the two of them.

He’d have the world at his feet and everyone begging him for mercy and he’d have none for them like they hadn’t had any for him. He would make them all regret ever getting in his way and hurting him. And he would make her see her mistake, would make her wish to come back to him, would make her give him her heart again. And he’d prove her wrong, too, by keeping it safe even when he had all the power to destroy her and tear it to shreds. But he’d never been the monster she–and everyone else but that hardly mattered to him when it was the judgment in her eyes that made him bleed and threw him in pain–had tried to make him out to be.

He was so fast, like a lightning, almost like Mother Tharma’s winds, and Oritel didn’t even see him coming, his sword forced out of his hands before he could comprehend what was happening. Valtor had him pinned against the wall, the dangerous edge of his blade pressed against his throat and needing just a little push to sink in and spill his blood. And Oritel had already pushed him too far. Not to mention the poetic justice in it for all that Oritel had dared spit in his face.

He was more than tempted to see the look on his face as death took over him and realization of the pain Marion would have to go through sank in. And the thought of having Marion suffering the same fate he’d had and being weakened by the loss of her partner had him convinced to press the sword harder in Oritel’s neck and see him bleed out slowly, his nostrils flaring from the smell of the first drops of blood as he nicked the skin and the widening of Oritel’s eyes to accommodate the immense terror that filled them luring him even more into the idea to have someone else in pain other than himself.

“Valtor,” Griffin’s cry cut through him worse than Mother Belladonna’s frost that was always so striking against the heat of his inner flames. It made his hold on his control slip, his hand shaking and forcing him to withdraw the blade a little to make sure he wouldn’t make a mistake. He couldn’t let her see him so lost in his thirst for vengeance. It would give her the wrong idea. And she already knew how much she’d hurt him so his last argument to hold his position and let his intentions play out crumbled under the logic that had been her religion and she’d made him believe in as well, taught him how to control his impulses and use his brain, be smarter and more strategical. And his plan would crumble if he affirmed her belief he was a monster like the three that had raised him.

She wasn’t supposed to be there. He couldn’t explain her presence, couldn’t find a logic to her showing up only now if she’d been there the whole time. Had she been hiding from him or had she not sensed his presence? Which answer was less terrible? And what had made her come out? Worry for Oritel or worry for him and his soul, worry for their love that would die if he allowed himself to kill now?

He let go of Oritel and threw his sword on the ground, for it was useless to him. He wouldn’t need it ever again because he’d proven he was stronger than Oritel but he couldn’t fight him, couldn’t hurt him if he wanted to keep the source of that strength alive. Her eyes were already full of too much doubt, and the pleading... The pleading had that edge of confusion that ripped through him with the uncertainty of being able to give her what she wanted. Because he couldn’t tell what she wanted anymore. She’d told him she’d wanted a better world for dark magic users and she’d told him she’d wanted him, but she’d ran away from him when he’d tried to give her exactly that and she was now begging him, silently, her eyes torturing his soul with the watery agony in them, not to hurt their enemies. But maybe they were just his enemies now. And he had no idea how to deal with the fact that they were her friends because that put them on opposite sides and made him fight her when she was what he was fighting for.

“Griffin,” he said, allowing himself to say her name with reverence at least once more because he wasn’t certain he’d be able to do that the next time he saw her. She was avoiding him and the fires she’d set in his soul when she’d left him were burning bad enough to churn even the love he held for her so he wasn’t certain he’d be able to keep it alive for much longer. It was the last time he could promise her he wouldn’t hurt her and everything that came in the future was more than uncertain and unstable like he hadn’t been used to it being when she’d been in his embrace, grounding him and showing him what he truly wanted to have.

He left without the artifact he’d come for. He couldn’t make himself fight her for it when he knew that could be the last time he was capable of making that choice while he still wasn’t blinded by the fire burning in his core. Even if he risked having it extinguished by his mothers. Perhaps that would be better as it would leave him no opportunity to hurt her. Even when she was the one thing that had the power to hurt him worse than any sword would ever manage.

#winx club #winx valtor #winx oritel #winx griffin #griffin x valtor #marion x oritel #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing

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dfroza · 3 years

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Today’s reading from the ancient book of Proverbs and book of Psalms

for September 4 of 2021 with Proverbs 4 and Psalm 4, accompanied by Psalm 77 for the 77th day of Astronomical Summer and Psalm 97 for day 247 of the year (now with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 2nd revolution this year)

[Proverbs 4]

Gather, children, to hear your father’s instruction.

Pay close attention so you will understand,

For I am passing down to you important precepts.

Do not abandon these valuable life lessons.

Back when I was young—the very image of my father,

and yet from my mother’s view, still her only boy—

My father, with his years of experience, became my teacher.

Father: Son, grab on to every word I say to you—hold them close—

stay true to my instructions as you live, and they will serve you well.

Whatever it takes to gain Wisdom, do it.

To gain understanding, do it! Never forget this!

Never stray from what I am telling you.

If you don’t forsake Lady Wisdom, she will protect you.

Love her, and she will faithfully take care of you.

Gaining sound judgment is key, so first things first: go after Lady Wisdom!

Now, whatever else you do, follow through to understanding.

Cherish her, and she will help you rise above the confusion of life—

your possibilities will open up before you—

embrace her, and she will raise you to a place of honor in return.

She will provide the finishing touch to your character—grace;

she will give you an elegant confidence.

Hear my words, my son, and take them in;

let them soak in so that you will live a long, full life.

I have pointed you in the way of wisdom;

I have steered you down the path to integrity.

So get going. And as you go, know this: with integrity you will overcome all obstacles;

even if you run, you will not stumble.

Tighten your grip around wise advice; don’t let it slip away.

Protect Wisdom, for without her, life isn’t worth living.

Do not start down the road of the wicked—

the first step is easy, but it leads to heartache—

do not go along the way of evildoers.

Stay away from it; don’t even go past it—

and if you find yourself anywhere near it,

turn your back and run as far as you can in the opposite direction.

For evildoers are so twisted they cannot sleep unless they have caused harm;

they’ll lie awake all night until they figure out a way to cause someone to stumble.

For they feed on evil the way most eat bread;

they drink violence the way most guzzle wine.

Yet the way of those who do right is like the early morning sun

that shines brighter and brighter until noon.

Evildoers travel a dark road because they love to hide their deeds in darkness;

they can’t see the perils ahead that cause them to stumble.

My son, pay attention to all the words I am telling you.

Lean in closer so you may hear all I say.

Keep them before you; meditate on them;

set them safely in your heart.

For those who discover them, they are life.

They bring wholeness and healing to their bodies.

Above all else, watch over your heart; diligently guard it

because from a sincere and pure heart come the good and noble things of life.

Do away with any talk that twists and distorts the truth;

have nothing to do with any verbal trickery.

Keep your head up, your eyes straight ahead,

and your focus fixed on what is in front of you.

Take care you don’t stray from the straight path, the way of truth,

and you will safely reach the end of your road.

Do not veer off course to the right or the left;

step away from evil, and leave it behind.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 4 (The Voice)

[Psalm 4]

For the worship leader. A song of David accompanied by strings.

Answer my prayers, O True God, the righteous, who makes me right.

I was hopelessly surrounded, and You rescued me.

Once again hear me; hide me in Your favor;

bring victory in defeat and hope in hopelessness.

How long will you sons of Adam steal my dignity, reduce my glory to shame?

Why pine for the fruitless and dream a delusion?

[pause]

Understand this: The Eternal One treats as special those like Him.

The Eternal will answer my prayers and save me.

Think long; think hard. When you are angry, don’t let it carry you into sin.

When night comes, in calm be silent.

[pause]

From this day forward, offer to God the right sacrifice from a heart made right by God.

Entrust yourself to the Eternal.

Crowds of disheartened people ask, “Who can show us what is good?”

Let Your brilliant face shine upon us, O Eternal One, that we may know the undeniable answer.

You have filled me with joy, and happiness has risen in my heart, great delight and unrivaled joy,

even more than when bread abounds and wine flows freely.

Tonight I will sleep securely on a bed of peace

because I trust You, You alone, O Eternal One, will keep me safe.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 4 (The Voice)

[Psalm 77]

For the worship leader, Jeduthun. A song of Asaph.

I cry up to heaven,

“My God, True God,” and He hears.

In my darkest days, I seek the Lord.

Through the night, my hands are raised up, stretched out, waiting;

And though they do not grow tired,

my soul is uneasy.

I remember the True God and become distraught.

I think about Him, and my spirit becomes weak.

[pause]

You hold my eyes wide open.

I am troubled beyond words.

My mind drifts to thoughts of yesterdays

and yesteryears.

I call to mind my music; it keeps me company at night.

Together with my heart I contemplate;

my spirit searches, wondering, questioning:

“What will the Lord do? Reject us for good?

Will He never show us His favor again?

Has His loyal love finally worn down?

Have His promises reached an end?

Has the True God forgotten how to be gracious?

In His anger, has He withdrawn His compassion?”

[pause]

“I can’t help but be distraught,” I said,

“for the power of the Most High that was once for us is now against us.”

I will remember the actions the Eternal has taken,

reminisce on Your ancient wonders.

I will reflect on all of Your work;

indeed, I will study all You have performed.

O God, Your way is so different, so distinct, so divine.

No other god compares with our God.

You, God, and Your works evoke wonder.

You have proved Your strength to the nations.

You used Your great power to release Your people:

with a strong arm, You freed Jacob’s children, and Joseph’s.

[pause]

The waters saw You, O True God.

The seas saw You and swelled in sorrow.

Even the deep trembled.

Water poured from the clouds,

and the sky boomed out in response

as Your arrows of lightning flashed this way and that.

The sound of Your thunder whirled within the wind

as Your lightning lit up the world.

Yes, the whole earth trembled and shook.

Your way ran through the sea,

Your path cut through great waters,

and still no one can spot Your footprints.

You led Your people as a flock

tended by the hands of Moses and Aaron.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 77 (The Voice)

[Psalm 97]

The Eternal reigns powerful over all;

let the earth sing with joy;

let the distant islands celebrate.

Clouds and deep darkness encircle Him;

righteousness and justice are the bedrock of His rule.

Fire precedes Him;

it burns away His opponents on all sides.

With His lightning flashing about, He illuminates the world;

the earth watches and trembles.

Like wax before the flame, mountains melt when the Eternal appears,

the Master of the whole earth.

The heavens display His order and perfect justice;

all peoples witness His magnificence.

Those who worship idols,

who boast in the impotent creations of human hands, will be shamed.

Worship Him, all you gods.

Zion heard and was glad,

and the daughters of Judah celebrated

because they saw Your justice, O Eternal One.

For You are the Eternal, the Most High, over the entire world;

You far exceed all gods.

Hate evil, you lovers of the Eternal.

He protects the souls of those who follow Him;

He rescues them from the devices of the wicked.

Light is sown in the just;

as it grows, it brings joy to the pure of heart.

Celebrate the Eternal God, all you who are faithful;

offer thanks to His holy name.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 97 (The Voice)

to be concluded with these lines:

For he sows seeds of light within his devoted lovers,

and seeds of joy burst forth for the lovers of God!

So be glad and continue to give him thanks,

for God’s holiness is seen in everything he does.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 97:11-12 (The Passion Translation)

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joyfullynervouscreator · 7 years

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Doors of Durin pt 3

Chapter 3 – Eregion

Eregion was a funny place, Narví thought, filled with wooden arches and birdsong instead of the ringing of hammers and the deep tones of Khuzdul mining songs. The Elves mostly ignored her presence it seemed – not because they were impolite, and a few were even helpful – but because it simply didn’t seem to register that there was a Dwarf walking around the place. Celebrimbor’s house – he had built it himself, he told her, with obvious pride; Narví had refrained from explaining to him why the north corner foundations would be sagging within fifteen years – was a sprawling construction that seemed to draw on several styles of construction in an eclectic mash-up that somehow created a functional design. She thought she saw some details that looked almost Dwarven here and there, but he had not pointed them out when he gave her a tour on the first day, and she had not asked, still feeling a little insecure for having left the Mountain. It wasn’t the first time she had done so, though she usually did not travel alone; for official visits there was always a bevy of followers; servants, other dignitaries, guards. Amad did not like leaving her home, so, before Durin had married, many official duties that rightfully belonged in the queen’s purview had fallen to Narví.

Their work went quickly, when they could actually agree on things. That, however, did not seem to occur more than once a week at first, and so the project kept crawling slowly towards completion. Narví was frustrated. Not only with the Elf, whom she would swear disagreed with her half the time only to see her riled up and spitting with anger. She could deal with that; it wasn’t the first time she had worked with someone like him, and yet this was different from all the other collaborations she had been involved in; this work – this Elf – was different.

The Elf.

The Elf was a problem.

He wasn’t a bad person, she had decided, though he seemed oddly naïve at times, quick to offer apology for any perceived affront.

The problem, if she was honest with herself, came from how… not-uncomfortable she felt in his presence; confusing herself with their friendly banter and easy camaraderie. She had expected to long for home, and though she did feel a pull towards her own workshop, she felt far less homesick than she had done on trips to the other clans. Of course, she could still see her home in the distance, knew exactly how to escape Ost-in-Edhil if needed, how to make her way home, back to the sheltering bosom of her kin. But she didn’t want to, and that unsettled her. Tossing in her bed at night – she had resolved to make properly darkening shutters after the first night; who knew the moon could be that bright – provided no answers, and only made her cranky the next day.

Khalebrimbur had obviously realised her crabby mood, Narví thought, decisively telling herself that she did not miss the witty banter he usually threw at her. Staring at her preliminary drawings, she blinked slowly, feeling pleasantly full from dinner – roast venison – and barely listened when the elf began chatting about some feast or other they’d be having next week; a celebration of the Equinox.

“Did you sleep well?” the soft words broke through her comfortable slumber. Narví jerked awake, flinching away from the surprisingly compact muscles of the arm she had been leaning against. The firmness of his bicep should not have been so surprising, she thought waspishly, Khalebrimbur was a smith after all! She could feel her cheeks burning, grateful that her beard covered most of the red skin.

“What?” she asked, pretending she hadn’t been snuggling into his warm arm and praying to the Maker that she had not drooled all over him or something equally disastrous. Sneaking a look, his blue tunic – did he know those were the colours of her Line? – was perfectly dry, if slightly creased; she realised she had been clutching at his forearm, wrinkling the loose sleeve in her sleep.

“Perhaps you ought to get more rest,” he chided softly. “You fell asleep about an hour ago.” Narví was certain her face was on fire. “Is your bed here uncomfortable?”

“Err…” she paused, uncomfortable with the scrutiny of his toffee eyes. Instead of meeting his piercing gaze, her eyes followed a strand of his dark hair where it wound is way down past his pointed ear and over his strong shoulder. “No. It’s fine.” The smile he gave her was soft as he pushed his way up from the table.

“Well, I shall escort you to bed then, Lady Narví,” he said, his eyes crinkling in another smile. Narví wondered how her name could sound so different in his accent compared to some of the other Elves around, but it was hardly the time for asking. “We have done much work of late,” Khalebrimbur added, oblivious to her train of thought, “and I have been remiss in not ensuring you have adequate time to rest. Forgive me, my lady, I am not used to living so closely with a mortal.” From anyone else, Narví would have considered the words a rebuke – as though her mortality was a choice – but Khalebrimbur’s honest face seemed genuinely concerned for her, disarming her temper before it could flare. He bowed, offering her his arm. Narví sighed; it was slightly awkward, with their differences in height, but she put her hand on his anyway, letting him steer her out of his workshop and through the gently winding corridors of the elven home. When they reached the door of the room she had been given, he left her with another polite bow. Narví stood there, gazing after him for quite a while before she managed to rouse herself enough to open the door and find her bed.

After that night, Narví noticed that some sort of physical barrier had dissolved. Khalebrimbur no longer went out of his way not to touch her, instead moving economically through their shared space and occasionally brushing against her with an arm or a hand. At first, it was odd, but she couldn’t claim that she minded; the Elf was proving to be surprisingly good company, and she had even managed to begin a tentative acquaintance with a few of the other Elves in the house. Khalebrimbur did not live alone, even though he was unmarried, sharing his home with the widow of the elf who had died to protect him in a war he didn’t want to talk about. Their son – who answered to the unwieldy name of Nurtalëon – was a pleasant companion, Narví found; often willing to show her around or make his mother tell stories of an evening; even when Khalebrimbur did not feel like talking, which happened every now and again. The first time he had spent a whole evening answering in monosyllables and staring at the flickering flames, Narví had worried, but Loremistress Nyarmë kept her from dwelling on her brooding host until it was time to sleep. Since the night Narví had fallen asleep on him – and it was odd that Khalebrimbur had never mocked her for that, really – he had been solicitous to the point of annoying about ensuring that she had adequate rest.

In truth, Narví loved her life among Elves, finding more enjoyment in ‘her’ Elf’s company than she had thought she would. Khalebrimbur was good at what he did, even if he frustrated her no end about minor details; working with him was no trouble, and they often sparked new ideas in each other simply by coming from two so different ways of thinking about the material and the problem. They were both perfectionists, she knew, and butting heads was inevitable during any project. On some days, she would call them the best of friends, but on other days he was the perfect tool for driving her up any and all walls he could find. Working with him was unlike anything she had done before, even for projects where she had worked with equally exacting smiths of her own kind. She gave as good as she got, of course – never let it be said that a Child of Mahal would be bested by some Elf when it came to arguing or stubbornness – but sometimes she would catch him staring at her, a peculiar expression on his face as if he was thinking about a complicated puzzle. Those looks unnerved her, making her feel like he was trying to see into her soul, wonder at the fondness growing there; unexpected, but Narví knew it to be a true friendship.

@life-is-righteous @pandepirateprincess @sassytyphoondetective @mainecoon76

#Celebrimbor #celebrimbor/narvi #narvi #eregion #doors of durin #Small Ships Club

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jubilantwriter · 7 years

Text

A Benchful of Memories (Abandoned)

Chapter 3 - Untitled (Contains the final outline)

(Previous) (Last)

Once you get the okay from your human nurse, you dress up and head out to the park. With a backpack filled with your essentials, you slowly make your way to your favorite bench, only to find someone already sitting there. The sunlight makes the white of the bones shine brighter when you realize that ah, it’s the skeleton from before.

What was his name again? Um, something with an S you think.

Ah, well, it doesn’t really matter right now. He probably doesn’t remember you anyway. You’ve only met like, once? And that was maybe a few days ago? You don’t think you made a lasting impression anyway.

As you sit down, he cracks an eye socket open (how?) and watches as you set the backpack down next to your feet.

“Well, didn’t expect to see ya so soon.” Welp, he remembers you. Just avoid saying his name and maybe you’ll be okay?

“Me neither honestly. I didn’t think you’d come back to this park.”

“Heh.” He closes his eye socket and slumps a bit. “‘s nice and quiet. Like it here. Why are you back?”

“I come here pretty often. I like it here too.”

“Somethin’ we have in common then.”

“Yup.” He doesn’t say anything else after that, so you bend down to pick through your backpack and grab a sheet of origami paper. As you sit there making a tulip, the skeleton starts to snore.

Loudly.

...how?

He doesn’t have a nose. You blink slowly before shaking your head. He’s a magic skeleton, he can do whatever he wants no matter how anatomically impossible it should be. The fact that he’s even being held together by nothing but magic should be enough proof. As you finish the tulip and move on to make a lily, you start wondering more about your bench buddy.

...

And that’s the end of that chapter lol.

HERE’S THE OUTLINE! It’s been a year since I last touched this, so like, bear with me.

A Brief Introduction to the OCs:

Rajena (rah-jen-ah):

Based off of axolotls

Kind, bubbly nurse who has mediocre healing powers. She specializes mainly in studying souls.

Her name is based off of the word “regenerate”, mainly the first few syllables of the word

This is due to the axolotls ability to regenerate severed limbs (don’t actually hurt these babies tho)

Importance: she was supposed to be the Insert’s voice of hope, someone who could encourage them

Supposed to grow extremely close to the Insert

Comforts the Insert when the ~scene~ happens

The only one who can tell how long the Insert has since she is the only one with permission to see the Insert’s soul

Which is why she tries hard to foster hope (HP) inside the Insert

(SPOILERS) it doesn’t work out in the end

Miss Millie:

Nurse in charge of Insert - most likely a character based around JUSTICE

Southern flair; she’s a very tough but loving person

The mother figure that Insert never had

Wants to exhibit righteous anger but can’t

Has known Insert for a long time - they were admitted at a young age due to an unspecific disease that made them highly susceptible to catching viruses and made them ill easily = hereditary

Most likely a fake disease - I derived inspiration from one of the characters in Persona 3 (both are very different however)

She very much wants to see the Insert live a normal life if possible, so she encourages Insert to go out and make friends - enter monsters

She wants to protect Insert for various reasons

Leads to a moment where she accidentally brings up the hopes of Insert, only to let Insert’s hopes be crushed horribly

Kelsy:

The female cousin - I forget what soul aspect she was based off of, and reverse searching the name isn’t coming up. But I’m gonna take a guess and think it was BRAVERY

I think they were supposed to be twins? Kelsy would be the elder

She and her brother are super close with Insert

She will get into fights on the behalf of Insert, especially when it comes to Insert’s parents

She hates Insert’s parents

The other half of the reason why Insert’s hopes get destroyed

Ben:

The male cousin - I forget once more, but he is either KINDNESS or PERSEVERANCE

The smarter of the twins, and definitely the more calmer

While he’s the more rational half, he tends to fail in actually making sure his sister stays under control when she gets too passionate or emotional

This leads to an outburst that Insert overhears that makes them do very reckless things

Teaches Insert things because he wants Insert to get a taste of school life, even if it’s a shoddy imitation

Wants the best for Insert

Hates Insert’s parents as well

Younger Sister:

She had a name, but I don’t remember what I was gonna call her, nor the aspect she was gonna be focused around

Was supposed to resemble the life that Insert wish they had

A complicated relationship with their parents

Tries very hard to be there for her sibling, but ultimately fails in bringing about the one thing they want

Loves the origami crafts - the one who suggested they do it actually

Originally just stuck around Insert out of pity and obligation but grew to love her sibling due to the patience they exhibited for her

Their parents are not that patient

Blames herself

The Parents:

Think of Insert as a burden

Still pays the hospital bills and gives Insert an allowance regardless

Focuses mainly on the younger sister as a result

Never gives Insert the attention and validation they crave

AND FINALLY THE OUTLINE:

Basically Sans and Insert meet up whenever the skies are clear and the weather is deemed “good” in a way that won’t wreck the Insert’s health

They chat about Paps, the rest of the gang, Insert’s cousins and sister and nurses

One day Paps meets them, and they all get along swimmingly

Paps suggests that they one day eat dinner together

“I WILL MAKE MY SPECIAL FRIENDSHIP SPAGHETTI! IT WILL BE AMAZING, HUMAN!”

Reveals that they practically live at the hospital and can’t really go out that far

Pap shouts “NONSENSE!” and brings the party to their hospital room

Millie gets excited when they visit - friends!

Younger sister gets properly introduced a chapter later

Sans and Insert continue to bond over things

Insert reveals why they’re so into origami

They heard of a story once about a girl who was supposed to make a wish after making 1000 paper cranes

The sad part was that she died before making them all

They lend him the book, “Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes”

It was the one gift that they got from their parents that they cherish

Sans learns more about the destructive history of humans and how innocents can easily die from things they didn’t deserve to get

Insert reveals that they love flowers, but because they always die, they’ve resorted to making origami flowers to not only pass the time, but to replace the real flowers in their room

Less death to clean up

Sis and Kelsy get into a fight about the parents

Sis tries to defend them stating they’re just busy, but Kelsy gets upset and says that they’re just avoiding Insert because they don’t want to deal with them

This argument starts to escalate, and Ben ends up forcing Kelsy and himself to leave before it gets out of hand

Sis cries and Insert apologizes

Once Sis leaves, Rajena and Insert have a talk

HP has been declining, and Rajena has been getting worried

The truth comes out: “Honestly? I’m just waiting to just... you know, die. It’ll be easier on everyone. On my family. My friends. I mean, all of us can tell. I’m not gonna live long. And. That’s. Okay. No one lives forever after all. I’m just... a burden. It’ll be better if I just died already.”

Yeah that’s right they’re patiently waiting for death. It’s why they’ve never actively looked for friends or started any relationships - they saw it as a pointless endeavor that would only serve to hurt more people. Why create more pain when they should strive to minimize?

This also implies that they can be self-destructive - there are moments where they “forget” to take their meds, or purposely do things that can actively harm their health in the efforts of speeding up their death, not because they are impatient, but because they don’t want to make anyone else wait any longer than they have to

This is very worrying, but before Rajena can do anything about it, she gets called away to care for another patient

Insert realizes that they are lonely. They accept it.

On a day with Sans, he realizes some of these self-destructive tendencies - notices that Insert isn’t very careful around streets, easily gets cuts or scratches from the outdoors and doesn’t care to clean them when they are in a state in which infections are easy to get, etc etc

He’s gotten close enough to them that he does care if they get sick, knowing their disposition

Casually steers them away from hurting themselves, making comments about how they’re not gonna get any sharper by hanging out with those thorns, or that sidewalks prefer if they walk on them, and not at their sides despite what their name may imply

Eventually just keeps them from moving too far from his side since it’s easier to keep them from doing stupid things by having them not stray too far from him

Coaxes out more info from them

Wishes to one day see the stars, but they can’t leave the hospital at night

He says that one day, he’ll help and bring the stars to them instead - it makes Insert laugh

Insert meets the rest of the monster gang

Fun and happy times! The humans and monsters grow closer, Sans and Insert more so since they start trading books, discuss dreams and wishes, maybe even reveal their insecurities

Sans fears repetition and waking up to Groundhogs day, that everything will have lost meaning and that nothing he does will change that

Insert wants validation and affection from their parents, fears being a burden, wonders why they were born

They both promise to be there for the other if something goes bad

Sans reveals that he’s been going on walks because Paps told him to get exercise - that’s how he meets Insert

Turns out that he’s been adjusting pretty badly to the Aboveground - hasn’t been going out much as a result

The park was the closest thing near his house

Insert allowed him to chill and not be bothered

Then they started to talk

Origami was productive and made him feel like he was accomplishing something

The books were interesting and led to discussions he missed having

Insert helped bring about a pattern that got him active again

Around this time is when they both start to crush on the other, but they never admit it

Things have been going pretty good

Gradually getting excited to live life

Time for Insert’s b-day

Excited because even their parents come for their bday usually

Sis and Millie gets them pumped up

Everyone comes

except for parents

Insert waits for them to come through the door

And waits

The day is almost over

Kelsy calls the parents outside the room and ends up getting into an argument that turns into a yelling fest

Ben doesn’t move to stop her in time

“What do you mean you can’t come visit them?! They are your child!”

“You can’t just fucking say that-!”

“THEY’VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU!”

“YOU CAN’T JUST LEAVE THEM HERE!”

“YOU CAN’T SAY THAT ABOUT THEM!”

Yeah they hear everything

Their mind fills in the blanks and they quickly spiral into despair

Unwanted unneeded unnecessary burden no-good-child no one loves you a child no mother loves you worthless why do you exist go away you’re just dragging everyone down how could you say you love them when you’re making them suffer stop it stop it just stop breathing you can’t do anything right can’t even die fast enough they’d be happier if you just-

Visiting hours are over, everyone has to leave

There’s a thunderstorm the next day - Insert sneaks out by breaking their window and leaving through there

Chaos, no one knows where they are and how long they’ve managed to stay out

Sans comes to visit but meets a distraught Rajena

He finds them some time later, hunched over and crying next to the bench

They’re wet, cold, and already sneezing and coughing

He tries to get them to move, but they refuse to

Teleportation powers

They scream and thrash at him when they end up at the hospital

He dodges of course

He talks them down from their hysteria

Hugs and comforts

“You’re not worthless. You’re an irreplaceable being, y’know? Don’t need nobody to give you a reason to live. You just gotta. Because no one else can be you. Plus, you make lots of people happy.”

“Like who?”

“Like me.”

“...I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothin’ to apologize for. It’s not your fault all of this happened.”

They end up getting reaaaally sick

They can’t go out anymore

Everyone visits as much as they can

Slowly getting better but then

Uuhhh parent drama happens and it stresses them the fuck out and ends up making them worse

Parents low-key tell them to just expire already

High School Level Despair

But Sans helps them get through it because they promised right

But they’re HP has taken a fuckton of hits already

Rajena is doing the best she can but by now it’s just prolonging the inevitable

They end up bedridden with one HP and declining health

Doctors conclude that it was bound to happen soon anyways - no they are not being heartless, they’re just as sad

“Memento mori, right?”

But Insert doesn’t want to die now, because they have Sans and Rajena and their cousins and sister and friends, they have hopes and dreams and things they wanna do, and now they can’t do that because they decided to purposely fuck up their health

They break down, and Sans can’t do anything but hug them tight

Gradually, they come to terms with their regret and knows that they can’t change their actions

Chooses however to not blame anyone, or themselves

“On the bright side, I kinda got to decide how I died, right? Dying because of the rain, it has a romantic sort of sense to it.”

“There’s nothing romantic about dying, though.”

“...Haha. Yeah, you’re right.”

They end up crying together

Rajena notes their declining health once more, and ends studying their soul - everyone knows why

They all gather for one last get to together in the hospital room

It’s all games and origami and marathons and pizza and laughter and fun

Sans is oddly detached in a way, but he slips Insert a note saying he’s got one last thing for them

INSERT LAST CHAPTER

oh yeah Sans’ nickname for the insert, Bud, is a pun on the fact that they really love flowers, he considers them a friend, and a bud is like, a baby flower. lol

#incomplete work #undertale #sans (undertale)#self insert #original characters #hgklaOIJFKLASDF #that's a lot of words #the ocs actually had a lot more to do but we all know that the real meat of sans/reader fics are the romance aspect

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sailorgreywolf-legacy · 8 years

Text

Tierra Firma

A/N: This is the first of many asides that are from Spain’s point of view.

Spain ordered for certain things to be brought to his chambers immediately. He had work to do. Although he had triumphed over The Aztec Empire, he was not yet done. He needed this land to be his, completely and officially. The shimmering, extravagant capital city had made it clear that there was wealth here. If he could control this land, Spain could be richer than any other country in Europe, richer than he ever dreamed possible. He, the discarded bastard son of Rome, would no longer be a collection of warring kingdom; he would be an empire of his own. He now held everything he needed to establish that dominance in the form of a young boy.

Aztec’s son had cried against him as they had left Tenochititlan, but the tears had dried quickly, leaving only dry shudders in their place. Apparently exhausted by the grief, he had fallen asleep. Spain’s heart had fluttered as the child wrapped his tiny arms around his neck instinctively for comfort. Something paternal that Spain had not thought himself capable of stirred deep within.

For a while, the child had been peaceful. He had awoken on the ship once Spain had already ordered it to set sail. Spain was glad that the boy had been asleep when they had rowed out to the ship, otherwise it would have been hard to get an irrational child onto the row boats when he had never left his city before. Spain doubted that the child had ever been on a seafaring vessel before, and explaining that the sea would not swallow him whole would not be easy with no language in common. He wouldn’t understand this was for the best. This was much easier with the possibility of escape back to the savage jungle gone.

But now the boy, who did not yet have a proper Christian name, was awake and had decided to sit in the corner of the room. His silent stare communicated a mix of emotions. His gold eyes looked as though they were attempting anger, but were still too lost in sadness and fear. A meek knock on the door of the cabin, and Spain knew that at least one of the items he had asked for had been brought to him.

He opened the door to a timid young Mayan girl, who would serve as translator. It was impossible to communicate with the child, since he spoke no Spanish and Spain knew nothing of the savage tongue. He immediately instructed her, “Talk to him. Ask him why he is looking at me like that.” It was really not necessary that Spain get an answer. He already knew what emotions must be warring in the child’s mind. He was grieving for his mother. He was leaving his homeland behind. Both were weighing heavily on him and Spain knew it. Likely, the feelings would be paralyzing for a while.

The translator girl kneeled down and bowed her head to the boy in a gesture that seemed reserved for royalty before speaking in the Aztec language. Spain could feel himself growing impatient waiting for the answer. He reminded himself that this was the only translator he had and he could not kill her, even if her service was annoyingly slow. But he wished that he could simply speak to the boy.

He watched as the boy responded to her, but he could only guess at the meaning of the words. It was maddening to be so reliant on another person. Finally, she turned back to him and said, “He wants to know where he is and how soon he can go home.” The question seemed to be strange. Spain had thought he had made it clear that there was no possibility of Mexica going back to that strange city with its towering pyramids and long causeways. But, he had to remember how young and sheltered the boy was. He could not possibly understand that his past was receding away with the shoreline. There was only one way to make it perfectly clear.

Spain turned to the door of his cabin and said to the translator, “Make sure he follows me. I have to show him something.” He assumed that she communicated his message to the boy, and he opened the door to the cabin. He charted a quick path to the upper decks, certain that this was the only way to make his point clearly. Spain stopped only momentarily to look behind him to make sure that he was being followed. Once he was certain that he was, he walked all the way to the railing of the ship.

Once there, he turned again and waited as patiently as he could for the boy to reach him. He reminded himself again that the child was young and could not keep up with a full grown man. Well, as much of a man as Spain could be at the age of 18. He had only recently come to terms with the idea that he was a fully fledged country. Especially with his brother surpassing him in all exploration. But, this conquest would change all of that.

The child finally stopped right next to Spain and looked up at him. Spain made sure to look straight at the translator before pointing out across the waves and saying, “You came from there. But, that is not home anymore.” He turned sharply on his heel and pointed the other direction, “That is where we are going. My home lies beyond this ocean in Madrid.” He used the name of the city even though he knew it would mean nothing to the boy. He might as well start getting the boy used to the sound of the word.

Mexica was looking up at Spain with wide, wondering eyes. The sunlight played off the gold shards in his eyes, making his eyes seem even wider. There was something entrancing, Spain noted, about how the color in the boy’s eyes shifted to reflect his emotions. It was the same eye color as Aztec, but in the child it didn't remind Spain of a feral cat.

Mexica spoke slowly and the curiosity in the words was clear across the language barrier. When he stopped speaking, the translator said, “He wants to know how this is possible.” Spain smiled to himself. To a European country, there would be no wonder in sailing. But, this child looked so impressed that it was hard not to smile at it. With a slight laugh in his voice, Spain said, “We’re on a boat, it allows us to travel over the ocean. Explain that to him.”

The girl looked at him with confusion and said, attempting to explain, “We don’t have words for that, sir. I don’t know what to say to him.” Spain sighed. He didn’t need this frustration, especially with Mexica expecting an answer from him. He said, employing the most commanding tone he could, “If you cannot explain, then what do I need you for?”

If he was still wearing a sword, he would have put his hand on the pommel to make his threat clearer. She clearly understood, her eyes filling with terror. She quickly said, “I will try to find other words.”

She then kneeled down next to Mexica, made the same gesture of respect, and then spoke again to him. Spain watched as she attempted to convey how sailing worked with a few words and her hands. But, the expression on the boy’s face indicated that she was making very little sense. Spain sighed again before saying, “Stop, you’re only confusing him.”

Spain glanced around, looking for a better way to explain. His eyes lighted upon the provisions that were kept on deck for the crew while they worked. The hard biscuits would serve well enough for an example. He walked over and grabbed one before returning to his newest colony, who was now making a charmingly haughty face. How typical, Spain mused, for the heir to an empire. In a man, the expression would have been impudent, but on such a small child it was actually amusing. With time, Spain could train out that pride. The child would learn to be a colony with time, just as Hispaniola and Cuba had. For now, Spain didn’t need to correct it.

Spain drew a knife to start working on his demonstration. Mexica’s face immediately flashed fear and he put both of his hands over his stomach, which seemed like a strange response to the appearance of a knife. But, Spain felt a small twinge of guilt at the look of fear on the child’s face.

He quickly carved the biscuit into the shape of a little boat. It was rudimentary, but it would at least show the way that a hull could float in water. It would not show how a boat could be steered, but that was not the important point. Once he was done making a crude boat, Spain put the knife away as to not scare the boy. He didn’t mind using fear to keep other colonies in line, but he didn’t want this one to fear him for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. The paternal feeling that had stirred earlier was telling him to be gentler, at least with this one.

He turned on the mortal girl again, “Make sure he follows me.” If this demonstration was to be successful, then he needed to have an audience. Spain walked over to a barrel of water kept on deck, and pulled open the top. This would only take a few minutes and then everything would be put back in place by mortals. Then, Spain looked behind him to see if he was indeed being followed and it appeared the boy had understood to follow without any translation. Spain wondered idly how long this would last. Surely when the child became more comfortable, he would drift away.

But, for now, he was going to continue with his plan. He placed the impromptu boat in the water before turning back to Mexica. He was far too small to be able to see the surface of the water himself without any help. Spain knew that the biscuit was hard enough that it would not dissolve in water if left there for at least another ten minutes. Without a qualm, Spain kneeled down and offered his hands to Mexica, who considered him with suspicion for a second. Considering the righteous destruction Spanish soldiers had inflicted on the Aztecs, Spain could understand the hesitation. But, it would be easier to not force him quite yet. It was not in Spain’s nature to be patient, but for this instance he could.

Slowly, he saw curiosity overtake caution. Mexica let himself be picked up, but the look on his face showed that he was not yet placing trust in his conquerer. This, Spain noted, was something he would have to improve on. Either he harnessed the fear, or build trust. Trust would be harder, but more permanent.

Just to stabilize himself, the boy put his arm on Spain’s shoulder. The Spaniard felt the same warm feeling rise in his chest, making him smile in spite of himself. It took him a moment to remember why he had picked the boy up at all. There was something so perfect about having this weight in his arms that felt right. He looked at the young boy and realized that the child was looking at the model boat with the same wide eyed wonder and a sweet, innocent smile. It was so perfect, so pure. Spain found himself continuing to stare at that smile, entranced by the innocence in it.

How could this boy be the child of a woman who offered the hearts of her enemies to the gods? He had none of his mother’s savagery, perhaps his nature was inherited from his father. To further amuse the boy, Spain gave the little boat a slight push. As it moved, the Mexica’s smile widened as he understood. Spain felt himself cheered by the other’s excitement.

But, the moment shifted as further understanding dawned on Mexica and his face beyond to fall. The beautiful excitement was replaced with something akin to horror. He turned and looked back at the sea, back to where he had come from. His eyes glazed over, as though he was trying and failing to see lands that were now far away. Mexica reached out his hand towards the shore that he could no longer see. The corners of his eyes began to fill with tears again. And it began again, the mourning.

Spain wished he would smile again, the look had been so endearing. He used the hand that wasn’t holding the child to take hold of the outstretched hand. He folded it gently against the boy’s chest. Those expressive eyes turned to Spain again, this time both questioning and hurt. The child didn’t speak any Spanish, but Spain didn’t need any language to understand the emotion.

It was best that Mexica didn’t know the truth about his mother’s death or this grief could turn to hate. It was best that he thought small pox was the culprit. Spain put his hand to the boy’s face, trying to express comfort without words. It was all he could do for now; once the boy learned his language everything would be easier.

For a moment, they looked directly at each other and understanding passed between them. But, there was still that undeniable sadness in the depths of the Aztec boy’s eyes. Spain realized that there was a mortal standing nearby, look at him with an impatience that was only restrained by discipline. It was only proper to allow him to deliver whatever message he had been tasked with. Spain turned to the mortal and said, “What is it?”

The man, apparently relieved to finally be acknowledged, replied, “The things you requested have been brought to your cabin.” Spain simply nodded to show that he understood. Then he looked around, realizing how lost in the moment he had been. The translator was looking at him with an expression of shock, as though he was committing the worst of heresies. Was it really so taboo to treat Aztec royalty the way he was doing? Was this boy’s flesh really so sacred to her? Well, when she was educated by a priest she would realize her folly.

But, Spain’s own men were also looking at him with a strange confusion. Instead of confronting any of the looks mortals were throwing at him, he resolutely turned and carried the boy back below the deck. He knew that the translator would have to follow, or fear consequences for her uselessness. Once they reached the cabin, Spain finally put Mexica down. The child had been surprisingly peaceful in the Spaniard’s arms. The lightness when he left also felt strange to Spain. Spain shook off any thought that he was doing something wrong and turned to the tub he had ordered.

It was important that he began to civilize the child as soon as he could. Instituting a standard for dress and hygiene was the first step. He had done this before with every other colony. Spain took the pitcher that had been brought to fill the tub. The water was not hot, but it was as warm as could be expected on a ship. As the water splashed into the tub, Mexica looked at it with an expression of confusion. Surely it was not the concept of bathing that escaped him; Spain had noted how almost unnaturally clean the Aztecs had been. Perhaps it was only the idea of doing so in a tub instead of the river.

Still, Spain didn’t have time to wait. He spoke to the translator again, “Do whatever you have to to convince him to get in the tub.” Then he returned to his own concerns. Was it best to baptize the child now, or wait until he could understand some part of the latin? The longer he went without a baptism, the more peril his soul was in. There wasn’t a reason to delay, but it would have more meaning if the child had some understanding of the church. Spain decided that he would sleep on it and decide in the morning. It would be easy once he decided, since his personal chaplain was on hand for his own confessions.

For now, he would concentrate on the physical rather than the spiritual. When he looked again, Mexica had somehow been coerced into the tub. He was shivering slightly in the lukewarm water. There was something precious about it, this boy stripped of his regalia, made completely human. He did not look like a strange gilded and feathered creature. He was like any other child, but his round face seemed, if possible, even sweeter. His shaking made him seem all the more fragile. Again, Spain wondered how this child could be born of a woman so unnatural? They seemed to share none of the same traits.

Spain kneeled for the second time that day and reached for a cloth, which he dipped in the water. Then, he reached for Mexica, but the boy pulled away. Distrust flashed across his eyes again. The only way to show that Spain wasn’t going to hurt him was simply to start. Thankfully, Mexica couldn’t flee too far from him. Spain touched the cloth to the dark skin and the child winced, but it became clear almost immediately that the cloth was not a threat.

With an almost comical ruffled pride, Mexica allowed Spain to run the cloth over his body. There was admittedly little grime for Spain to get rid of, but he preferred to think that he was washing away all traces of barbarism and creating a clean slate on which he could create a perfect colony.

He noticed as he ran the cloth over the boy’s chest that there was a black band around his arm. He immediately turned his ministrations to it, hoping the remove the pattern from the skin. But, the band did not react to the water or the pressure of the cloth. Spain dare not press too hard in case he hurt the boy. But, the dark pattern would not yield. Spain had seen truly permanent marks on skin in envoys from deep, black Africa. But, he had never imagined someone would place dye permanently in the flesh of a child so young. But, this acted like no paint he knew. For now, Spain had to let it stand.

There was one aspect that did require immediate attention. Spain stood up and walked around the tub so that he was behind Mexica. Then, he kneeled down and, as carefully as he could, took a handful of the boy’s long black hair. It felt like black silk in his hand, and for a moment the thought of sparing it crossed his mind. But, no civilized colony could have hair that rivaled most girls. Spain would grant no exceptions. He drew his knife and cut straight through the hair.

A few strands of black hair escaped his hand and swung forward around the boy’s face. But, they would soon be dealt with. First, Spain put the hair he had already cut on the floor. Then, he took his knife to the pieces that had attempted to escape. As he cut away the curtains of black hair, he realized that there were more markings across the child’s back. These were in the shape of a stylized eagle. Spain resisted the temptation to run his fingers over it. It was a mercy that the boy had stopped moving, even shivering. His stillness made it easier to cut his hair and shape it into something that looked decent. Spain would let a proper barber fix his mistakes when they reached Madrid. For now, the important work was done. He sheathed his knife, and the sound of metal sliding into a scabbard seemed to serve as a trigger for the boy. His little shoulders began to heave again as sobs echoed from his chest.

Spain sighed again and prayed that God would grant him the patience for this. But, each of these bouts of melancholy only affirmed Spain’s decision to lie about his mother’s death. The boy was an innocent and would likely crumble under the knowledge that he was in the care of the man responsible for his mother’s death. It had been a necessary death though; the woman had been beyond hope of saving. For now, the lie was also necessary. Perhaps in the future Spain would be able to tell him the truth, but that would have to come in time. If he needed to maintain the lie forever, he would.

To remedy the sobs, he grabbed a towel and offered it to the boy. Mexica’s eyes were filled with pain again as he looked at Spain, but he stepped out of the tub into the towel anyway. Had he not seen joy and light in those eyes, Spain might not have believed that it existed.

He had had clothing already made for the boy and left on the bed in the chamber. Figuring that it may be better for Mexica to be with his own kind, Spain swiftly instructed the translator, “Make sure he gets dressed. I will return soon.” He closed the door quietly behind him, and finally allowed himself to take a calming breath. He was not used to these emotional changes. Mexica could go from being curious to sobbing far too quickly.

Spain could not remember himself ever mourning for Rome’s abandonment like that. The nearest he had come was sobbing over the death of Queen Isabella. She was as close to a mother as he had, and when she died it had been hard. But, he had been a teenager. Now, he wondered what it would have been like to lose her before he was able to stand on his own.

A voice pulled him out of his thoughts, “I’m sorry if this is impudent, sir. But, what are you doing?”  Spain looked up to see Cortes standing directly in front of him. He responded with a voice that resonated authority, “What do you mean?” The mortal didn’t mince words as he fixed his dark eyes on Spain and said, “Why are you keeping that savage boy?”   Spain caught the implication and immediately bristled at it. He had killed many, but the idea of killing a child was beyond repulsive. He gritted his teeth and said, “I don’t expect you to understand the ways of my kind. As long as I have that child, I have the right to all his mother’s wealth.”

Cortes showed his usual brashness when he quickly replied, “If that’s the only way, then keep him under lock and key. Do not parade him around in front of the men. Do not treat him so kindly.”

Spain scoffed. He had been nothing to favor the boy; certainly not anything he had not done with the others. He said, slowly, “I am not treating him any differently than any of the others and I have yet to have a problem.”  He didn’t want to discuss this with a mortal, especially because something about this conversation was unnerving. But the man did not relent, “With all due respect, sir, they were sparsely inhabited islands. I would not expect them to resist. This one is different. You fought his mother. With that blood in his veins, there is no chance he will submit to your rule.”

Spain shook his head, refusing to cave to such logic. He could not fear a child, especially not this boy who had such sweet moments. He had his rebuttal ready, “He is just a child. He is not capable of that kind of will.”

This time the mortal scoffed and the sound was both a breech of discipline and a strong dismissal, “I may not completely understand your kind, but I know this: Children grow.”

The country ran one hand through his hair out of frustration. He wanted nothing more than for this conversation to be over. He did not want to listen to these words. He responded with as much tact as he could, “I will teach him. In a hundred years, he will be unrecognizable as her son.”

This he expected to be the end of the conversation, as he had laid out his entire plan. He intended to civilize Mexica as New Spain and use the income to expand his influence in Europe. For once, they would all be forced to respect Spain. He would no longer be the half-Muslim outcast, nor would be forced to grovel to his brother.

Cortes did not allow the conversation to end though. He said, “With time that boy will become the image of his mother. Better to get rid of the threat now.”  The feeling of disease finally took shape and rose to Spain’s lips. He knew now why this conversation had felt so wrong. He said, his voice taking on a strangely sinister tone, “If the Moors had followed the same logic, my Roman blood would have sealed my fate and neither of us would be standing here now. If that is all, I have a colony to attend to.”

He left the mortal standing there, but he heard one more question, “Was Rome your father?” Spain looked back for only a moment to say, “Ferdinand of Aragon was the only father I needed.”

Then, unencumbered by any other awkward conversations, Spain returned to his cabin. When he reached the door, he realized that the Mayan girl was standing outside. He ignored her though; he was done with her services for now. He entered the room, where only a few candles were lit.

Apparently, the girl had only done half of her job. Mexica was curled up asleep on Spain’s bed with the white linen shirt balled up in his arms, as though he had been holding onto it for comfort. It was still early in the night, but the trauma of the past few days must have been enough to exhaust a young boy.

Spain didn’t feel particularly tired, but he lied down next to the boy on the bed anyway. He contemplated his young colony. Without curtains of hair obscuring it, it was clear that his face had an angelic beauty. In the peace of sleep, he looked like a dark skinned cherub. The savage patterns on his arm did not ruin the picture of serenity.

Certain that the boy was deep enough in sleep to not notice, Spain put his hand on Mexica’s cheek. That almost paternal feeling stirred in him again. Perhaps he had lied to Cortes; this one was different, even special. As he ran his thumb over the skin of the boy’s cheek, he whispered, hoping the words would find their words into the boy’s dreams, “You are going to make me very rich, Nueva España. I will teach you everything I know and you will be my greatest possession.”

The idea lighted on his mind, he would baptize the boy tomorrow and give him a proper Christian name. The name was already formed in his mind. This proud, fascinating little boy would be named after the great hero of Greek antiquity. Spain smiled to himself, the name of a general and a conqueror would fit him. He would be Alexander.

For a reason he could not quite place, putting that matter to rest quieted Spain’s mind. He leaned forward and kissed Mexica on the forehead, and brushed back small bits of black hair that were still too long. In his heart, Spain knew that this would all turn out well. He felt it in his very soul.

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