#well at least they have one (1) canon item description to make me go !!!!! for a possible ship

[malignedaffairs]

Look, my life is so hard. I want to draw Morgott sm*t but my choice for a partner is between OCs and two spirit ashes we never even see a face of :(

[transfemininomenon]

it's been talked to death about the way that from soft games handle their telling of lore & in particular the use of item descriptions to do so. that in particular has been super interesting to me from the beginning, and so i decided that i was going to do a lil list of my three personal favorite lore twists/implications that come from item descriptions

3. Nomadic Merchant's Set - Elden Ring

the lore twist: mentions of the mysterious frenzied flame show up throughout the entire game in various ways, namely in incantations & areas/enemies that have been consumed by the frenzied flame. it's portrayed as an incredibly powerful but maddening thing, and its origins are mainly left a mystery

also throughout the game there are various nomadic merchants who assist you by offering different kinds of items, as well as some offering little bits of lore & quest hints. they're portrayed as very kind and helpful, and are most notably found by following the sound of a beautiful, somber tune that they all seem to play

eventually, exploring deep, deep underneath the capital of the Lands Between will find you discovering what is in my opinion the most harrowing sight in the entire game - piles and piles of corpses, all in different poses of absolute agony and horror. and as you enter, you hear a familiar, now haunting tune as you find the last few remaining merchants still remaining deep below

you finally come across their armor set at the very bottom of a deep chasm, where the harrowing truth of both why so little of these merchants remain, and also the origins of the frenzied flame

2. Talisman of Beasts - Demon's Souls

the lore twist: would just like to say that anyone who's been a fan of these games for a while knew this one had to be here - it's truly THE original big one when it came to Lore Twists through item descriptions

throughout demon's souls there's mentions of both the Old One and an unnamed God. the Old One is an ancient demon that is the progenitor of all other demons throughout the game and the source of the deep colorless fog that is engulfing the world. this Old One can not be killed - it can merely be lulled back to sleep, and is stirred by use of soul magics, which it is also the source of

the unnamed God, on the other hand, is the source of miracles - divine magic as opposed to soul magic. servants of this God use their miracles to help fight against demons, and view miracles as heavenly acts as opposed to the demonic acts of soul magic, with one clearly good & the other clearly evil

however, this talisman ultimately reveals that the Old One and God are in fact one and the same, and that both soul magic and miracles ultimately come from the exact same source

1. Ringed Knight Set - Dark Souls 3: The Ringed City

the lore twist: disclaimer with this one in that this one is a lot more of a Personal Interpretation & a lot less concretely canon than the other two on this list, but it's my personal favorite of the lot for reasons that i will explain and i simply had to have it

a very big part of the lore of dark souls has to deal with the curse of undeath, with those cursed with it unable to truly die and steadily becoming hollow shells of themselves as they are repeatedly resurrected. this concept of undeath is explored in various different ways throughout the entire series, and the protagonist of each game is some form of undead. all undead are branded with what is known as the Darksign - a burning red circle

the origins of the curse of undeath are left vague throughout most of the three games, though it is claimed that it was created when Gwyn, leader of the Gods that ruled in the Age of Fire, refused to relinquish said Age of Fire to make way for the Age of Dark, an age ruled by men instead of the gods. the full extend of how it was created or how it is transmitted remained a mystery, and at least for me it very much seemed like the curse happened accidentally, all part of Gwyn's desperate attempts to keep going what he felt was right

that is, until, we finally enter the Ringed City - the second DLC for dark souls 3, and the final bit of content for the entire dark souls trilogy. throughout the series the subject of Man and their relation to both the Dark and a thing known as the Abyss are explored a lot, and in the Ringed City it is explored even more, a lot of which is very much meant to be left to interpretation so i won't comment on it much, but amongst other things found in the Ringed City are various enemies marked with a terribly familiar burning red circle

upon finding the armor of the knights of the city, the truth becomes revealed - early man found their own smidgens of life within the Abyss, and the gods fearing this decided to place a brand upon the armor of those men. a brand eerily familiar to that of the darksign, what would later become the signature sign of one cursed with undeath

the implication thus, at least to me, becomes that the curse of undeath was willingly created by the Gods in order to prevent mankind from finding their own forms of life, to prevent them from rising to the same status as the gods who ruled over them. what once seemed like an accidental thing now was revealed to be purposely done, and the sheer weight of that combined with this revelation and answer coming at the very end of the series after the question being established from the very beginning is why it is my personal favorite item lore twists

[kerubimcrepin]

Exploring the dofus-la-serie.com website - Part 1

The website is kind of broken, which makes me quite sad. Though that's life for you.

Character Profiles:

I am not translating this because as fans of this franchise, you probably know all of these words. (Well, except gouvernante. That can mean "housekeeper". He isn't calling her their governor. Though she should be.)

I am not even going to mention that Kerubim is here twice. Sometimes, a second Kerubim appears in a random spot among the characters while going to this page or refreshing it. Just another one fun thing about this being an eleven-year-old website for a series that has been over for years.

I wonder if, in-universe, he's the one who drew on their portraits, or if it was Joris's doing, influenced by Kerubim's stories?

Love how Atcham isn't mentioned, but his pandawa drinking buddy is. Also, that neither of them have commentary by him.

The character pages themselves have unique character art:

As well as short descriptions of the characters.

Because the entire site is saved on web archive, and probably won't go down anytime soon, (despite its buggy state,) and these not offering any new, groundbreaking information — I will not be posting most of them here, save for the main ones:

Joris:

Kerubim:

Also, a note: this calls him a "papa poule", which I decided to google, to hilarious results:

Thank you, dofus-la-serie.com... for everything. I already noticed, in the past posts, that it's actually weird and off-putting that Joris has no friends, and that it might be Kerubim's fault, but we never really see him make parenting decisions (COUGH-COUGH-COUGH besides the decision to constantly endanger and neglect Joris but EHHH I spent 50+ posts talking about that in the show liveblogs) in the series due to its slice of life format.

I'm glad to know that at least one canonical source describes him as overprotective, bearing, and anxious parent, (but not to a helicopter-parent level). That's actually quite valuable!

Simone:

Pupuce:

Multiple notes here:

The description does not seem to use explicitly masculine pronouns for Pupuce, who, as we know from Joris, is a girl. This is just an error on the Google Translate's part.

PUPUCE IS A CAT KIN/CAT FURRY????????????

You know what, actually considering Joris himself is a cat furry, but in a much more subtle, subdued way, her being his pet is a match made in heaven. Two creatures who wish they could be cats, breaking bread and drinking tea together. Love wins.

The broken "find the object" minigame:

One can only be thankful that it's not more broken — because 2013 was prime time for flash games, and yet, this game does not seem to use flash technologies.

When you click anywhere on the screen itself, instead of the UI, the game, and the page itself freezes. It's a shame — I bet the game was fun, back when it worked.

I had taken it upon myself to download and archive the music from the minigame, so, here it is:

Using archive.org I was able to get to the next page, the link to which is usually invisible and also unclickable in the minigame:

Kerubim's Collection (link included so you don't have to suffer like I did)

It's quite a long list, with many items, but I am not Ronik, this show's biggest, and probably, by now, only fan, if I don't read all of this and bring the most interesting parts to you.

Firstly, thankfully, all of these are, for the most part lore-less. Just little blurbs of the episodes those appear in, whether you can find them in-game, and a hint as to where to find this in the broken minigame. But there are some gems:

Kerubim doesn't like Joris's photography hobby (...I sure do wonder why!)

HE'S A SORE LOSER ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED IN THE NOFFOUB EPISODE. LMAO. "Deceitful Osamodas"....

"I'm cautious" "Simone whyyy did you put it here??" How these two people hadn't killed Joris fr is still beyond me.

He's genuinely insane.

[whimsikarren]

WhimsiKarren’s Games of the Year

In no particular order.

Let’s get Elden Ring out of the way. It’s not my favourite of the fromsoft games as the top spot there for me is Sekiro, but it is at the very least tied with bloodborne for being my favourite of the more proper souls games. There's not much I can say that hasn't already been said about it.

Lets you marry another lady as a lady. Perfect game.

Tunic

If I were more inclined to make a list, this one might be number one. Tunic is a game that hits me, specifically, the way games like La Mulana and Ittle Dew 2 do. It's got fun exploring and combat but the real meat, the real fun, is the elaborate world spanning puzzles and secrets. These games feel few and far between and I eat them up everytime I find one. Ah...

An aside, is outer wilds a secret explory puzzle game? I keep hearing about it and have yet to try it... Might do that soon.

Also. Not sure it's all that gay. Not really enough characters for that though. Somehow my favourite game despite lack of gay. Impressive.

Last Hero of Nostalgaia

this one came out of left field at the end of the year thanks to a friend. This souls-like game quite effectively nails the demons's souls/dark souls 1 feel and might be one of the better souls games not by from ive played. It's got a bit of a 4th wall breaking stanley parable aspect to it that's neat and has a sort of puzzle mechanic with gear where you can unlock effects by bringing the gear to a scenic location hinted at in its item description. Pretty neat all around! I haven't finished it yet but I'm close and even if it nosedives I'd recommend it for how much I've gotten out of it already.

not all that gay but there's a couple cool ladies.

Splatoon 3

Not as good as octo expansion, but a damn fine expansion to the game. Story mode had a bunch of cool and fun levels that make me look forward to its dlc where I can get my favourite videogame couple back. Played the hell out of its multiplayer in September and fell off as always, but I enjoy the time I spent with it. Feels good to control, is a blast to play, high recommend if you wanna jump and shoot.

once pearl and marina come back it will return to being canonically gay. almost perfect game.

Floppy Knights

A cute little strategy game with a deckbuilder element mixed in. It's not the most addictive turn based grid strategy game I've ever played and I did get bored towards the end and haven't finished it, but Im certain I'll go back and complete it eventually. For the first 3/4ths of the game I'd say it was well worth playing. And you get the delicious art from the artist behind Dicey Dungeons! It's beautiful and cute!

There's a rivaly between two girls. Maybe gay? Unknown...

Signalis

Oh damn this horror game! Not yet done this one either (man im slow at games; not enough time to finish everything!) but this is amazing! The art style is incredible and while the limmited inventory is a bit ridiculous I am in love with the aesthetics. Could do without the screams on the enemies tho. Definately the best horror game i've played in long time.

also seems pretty gay from where I got. Pretty good game.

[artemis-entreri]

[[ This post contains Part 2 of my review/analysis of the Forgotten Realms/Drizzt novel, Glacier’s Edge, by R. A. Salvatore. As such, the entirety of this post’s content is OOC. ]]

Genre: Fantasy

Series: The Way of the Drow: Book 2 | Legend of Drizzt #38 (#35 if not counting The Sellswords)

Publisher: Harper Collins (August 09, 2022)

My Rating: 2 out of 5 stars

Additional Information: Artwork for the cover of Glacier’s Edge and used above is originally done by David Palumbo. This post CONTAINS SPOILERS. Furthermore, this discussion concerns topics that I am very passionate about, and as such, at times I do use strong language. Read and expand the cut at your own discretion.

As of this point, I am still finishing this document. I will be posting the subsequent sections. The table of contents will be updated when it is complete.

Contents:

Introduction

I. Positives I.1 Sublime Similes and Marvelous Metaphors I.2 Other Effective Imagery I.3 Consistent Lore and Decent Worldbuilding I.4 Respectable and Respectful Characterization

II. Neutrals (you are here)

III. Negatives (Technical Writing)

IV. Negatives (Characterization)

V. World Breaks

VI. Religious Commentary

VII. Ego Stroking

VIII. Problematic Themes

IX. What’s Next

Neutrals

In this section, I will discuss the elements of Glacier’s Edge that aren’t intrinsically good or bad. These consist of new characterizations and lore introduced by the book. 

First, Jarlaxle’s wondrous hat appears to have gained a new function. In combination with his portable hole, the mercenary leader was able to utilize this new function to avoid being trapped in an icy tomb at the end of Starlight Enclave. We weren’t given details about how he’d managed to escape that fate in the previous book, but we were able to infer based on how we’ve seen him use his portable hole in the past that Jarlaxle laid it down to literally make a hidey-hole from the storm. Glacier’s Edge confirms this, as well as showing us a new feature of his hat:

This is no mundane umbrella, and not the least because it spends most of its time as a fashionable chapeaux. Apparently, in its umbrella form, the hat can withstand quite a lot of weight. Certainly, this newest function comes at an awfully convenient time, but this is Jarlaxle we’re talking about, and he’s already got so many magical gadgets for every occasion that an additional one hardly causes one to bat an eye. As far as Salvatore-invented magical items go, it’s also not all that ridiculous, so it’s just another feature to add to Jarlaxle’s long list of possessions.

It seems that the canonical appearance of drow is different now. Although they’ve often been portrayed with gray skin by both official and fan artists, prior to the uncovering of the aevendrow, drow have always been described as having black skin, or synonyms of black like ebony and obsidian. They’ve also often been explicitly stated as coal-black. That description is different now:

The unnamed woman in the passage above is Dab’nay, and although we haven’t been explicitly told what her skin color was before, shades of gray were never mentioned for drow by Salvatore prior to the recent drow updates. It doesn’t matter either way, but it’s noteworthy that he’s employing this change.

Aevendrow official stats haven’t been released yet as of this point. It is curious to me though that at least in Glacier’s Edge, it seems that aevendrow do not possess darkvision, or even lowlight vision:

As always, I’d like to play Devil’s Advocate, so let’s examine the above passage from the perspective that what we see here does not necessarily indicate that aevendrow do not have darkvision. Assuming that aevendrow can see in total darkness like their Lolthite brethren can, it’d be a lot less likely for an aevendrow to be afraid of the dark, which Allefaero is exhibiting not only with the squeezing shut of his eyes, but also the description of the darkness “closing in”. When we feel something closing in, the sensation comes from either a literal physical restriction of the space around us, or what feels like such, as caused by a restriction of our ability to see. A creature that can see in darkness would not experience this feeling of being closed in anymore than we would feel that way standing outside under a wide open sky. Assuming that the timid Allefaero is afraid of the dark despite being able to see in it, Galathae certainly isn’t timid, and the darkness is described as closing in about both of them, not just the scared young wizard. 

More telling than that though regarding aevendrow not having darkvision is that Galathae measures their position based on what she feels, not what she sees. The only reason for a creature to rely more on their senses other than sight is if those other senses are more powerful than their sight, and while drow have better senses than humans, we’ve never been given any indication that their other senses are more keen than their sight. Furthermore, Galathae has to feel about her belt to find the lantern instead of just looking down to find it. The fact that she brought the lantern is pretty conclusive evidence that they can’t see in the dark, but perhaps Allefaero is a darkvision-blind individual among aevendrow and the lantern is for his sake. However, this possibility also falls away when we’re told that Galathae only sees things that are glowing, rather than the shades of gray melding into colors where there are light sources, which she would’ve perceived if she had darkvision. It is thus safe to infer that Galathae cannot see in the dark. 

Of course, it is always possible that only Galathae and Allefaero do not have darkvision among the aevendrow, but setting aside how stupid it would be to send two individuals like that into a dark space instead of pairing each with someone who has darkvision no matter how formidable they are, all the other aevendrow teams are similarly equipped, namely, with light sources. All of them need a light in order to conduct a proper investigation of the cave, which they would not need had they darkvision. It is the case that darkvision only allows seeing in shades of gray and that illumination is necessary for seeing color, but the shades of gray of darkvision do not omit any details, it would be the same as looking at a scene under sharp light but without hues. It's worth noting that this is distinctly different from how real life low-light goggles work. Most of the earlier generations of modern light intensification systems required significant training to use successfully as they suffered from issues with edge definition, fine detail, depth perception, and dependence upon moon-reflected infrared radiation. Darkvision is magical in nature, allowing it to not suffer from any of these issues and allows for crisp, clear and easily usable vision. 

Galathae and Allefaero are delving into very dangerous territory, one in which a light would draw unwanted attention to themselves. Logically, they’d only use a light if they can’t see without it, which indeed seems to be the case, further backed by the description of what happens once they uncover their light:

This passage summarily describes the experience of a creature that can’t see in the dark suddenly having their surroundings revealed with light. The position that I took while playing Devil’s Advocate does not hold; aevendrow, or at least Galathae and Allefaero, do not have darkvision. That being said, it’s very likely that they’re not the only two that are that way, as many similar aevendrow exploration teams are being sent into similar caves. 

So, why would aevendrow have lost their darkvision? Perhaps you’re thinking, millennia of differentiation and evolution away from their Underdark counterparts ridded them of the necessity for darkvision. There is validity to that, however non-drow elves have darkvision, and they spend all of their time on the surface world. One could argue that surface elves have darkvision because it’s helpful at nighttime, but the thing is, darkvision under nighttime makes the world look like a colorless version of the world in daytime, with it being painfully bright on cloudless nights. Darkvision is overkill even for fully overcast nights, yet non-drow elves still have it, so it’s pretty odd that aevendrow do not. In fact, it’d make even less sense for them to have evolved out of it while their surface cousins did not, since we’re told that where the aevendrow live, there are entire seasons in which the sun does not rise. Sure, they’ve got the Merry Dancers, but those would be hidden by the numerous ice storms that the region also experiences, and it’s questionable whether aurora borealis would be brighter than Selûne and all of its tears, as well as a night sky full of stars. It could just be something that Salvatore overlooked, as Jarlaxle apparently also lost his darkvision (which I will go into more detail about later). It’s hard to say at this point and too soon to tell for sure, we will have to see when WotC releases official stat blocks for aevendrow.

The final new piece of new neutral impact lore that I’d like to discuss is some new attributes being given to remorhazes, also known as polar worms:

We find out pretty early in the trilogy that polar worms play a big part in the aevendrow storyline, so it’s no wonder that they’re being discussed. However, the passage above also tells us how Callidae will have to open its doors to outsiders from the south lands. It’s very much a having their hands forced situation, as it’s either let out the secret of their existence or have no reason for that secret to exist. They might not know how to deal with excruciating heat, but a people who, oh, I don’t know, literally live with an active volcano that houses a fire primordial, certainly might.

Going back to polar worms, the mentioned information about them does not correlate to what’s been written about them in both the D&D sourcebooks and other official publications. There’s never been any indication that the remorhaz can age and develop without eating for decades. There’s also no precedent for them being able to eat or chew crystals. Up until this book, polar worms are known to prey upon other arctic creatures that shared their environments, such as elk and polar bears. In fact, its hunting tactic is adapted to the acquisition of live prey, as stated in the 5e Monster Manual: “When hunting, a remorhaz burrows deep below the snow and ice and lies in wait for the faint vibrations created by a creature moving above it. While hidden under the ice and snow, it can lower its body temperature so that it doesn’t melt its cover.” The changes introduced by Salvatore seem unlikely, as that would be quite the elaborate adaptation for a creature that doesn’t need to eat for decades, or one that can sustain itself on crystals. However, fundamentally, it’s not a huge deal, and it’s an observation made by a member of a group of people who haven’t had much direct chance of studying a living remorhaz, so it can be written off easily enough as an unreliable narrator’s words.

There is no existing lore about the relatedness of remorhazes and dragons. Dragons can indeed go decades without eating, as there is precedence of dragons slumbering for very long periods of time without waking up to eat. There isn’t much information about whether dragons can grow and develop without sustenance, but given the wide multitude of things that dragons are capable of, that hardly seems like something they wouldn’t be able to do. The lack of previous indication about remorhazes and dragons being related is not challenged here, as the statement is an impromptu hypothesis from Allefaero that we never hear about again. Hopefully it stays that way.

Polar worms making a sound similar to a cat’s purr when they’re chewing or eating also doesn’t have any precedence in existing lore. It is yet another minor factoid that can be attributed easily enough to an unreliable narrator, as Allefaero states they’ve “been known to” rather than testifying to hearing the sound himself. Furthermore, even if the sound does in fact exist, different people often interpret the same sound in different contexts, what sounds like a purr to one person can very well sound like a growl to another.

Although Allefaero’s mention of polar worms “training” their teeth on crystals is presented with a greater degree of certainty than the mention of their purring, this behavior is also one that he has not personally observed. There is, yet again, no precedence in existing lore about whether remorhaz teeth grow continuously, and if they do, whether they grow like rodent teeth or like shark teeth. Rodents do have to chew hard objects to keep their teeth from becoming too long if their normal diet does not do the job, however it is rare for their teeth to fall out. Sharks, on the other hand, grow new teeth to replace ones that have fallen out as a result of getting stuck in their prey. Allefaero likens the remorhaz to both rodents and sharks, which, like much of Salvatore’s attempts to sound deep, doesn’t make a whole lot of sense when one puts some thought into it. As I doubt that we’d get an official answer from him about how remorhaz teeth regrowth works, I’d guess that, based on what’s presented in Glacier’s Edge, that a remorhaz’s existing teeth grows continuously like a rodent’s so that they would have to chew hard objects, like crystals, to keep them from growing so long that they stab themselves in the mouth, but at the same time they also grow back lost teeth like sharks do if they lose their teeth from getting them stuck in their prey. While it is true that all of this is stuff that feels like it was made up on the spot to make the plot work, it’s not the most ridiculous thing that Salvatore has done.

All in all, the information discussed in this section are entries that should go into character and creature bibles that the author himself doesn’t seem to keep.

[pandoricpies]

Theory: MC’s Choice

Based on the short questline from the Jorvik Stables Open House with Sabine - boy did those get my gears turning. Squeeee is one of my headcanons actually becoming canon-

I’m sure you all have a general understanding of where I’m headed with this whole ‘choice’ idea - that is, in short, being a choice of light vs. dark, good vs. evil. What if- just what if- the MC was given that choice? What sparked me into thinking this could actually become canon (and not just my personal angsty OC dark rider headcanon) was that whole dialogue section with Sabine (along with a few other clues/hints). She was really pushing the MC to be defiant towards their Soul Rider friends - granted these small mischevious acts such as letting the Sunfield animals loose don’t exactly chalk up to world domination standards, but they are still inherently “evil”. Kinda draws on that ‘planting a seed of evil’ idea - a small start is still a start. Also, wtf was up with the description of the jacket Sabine gave us - “do you dare wear this in front of your Soul Rider friends?” I mean sure, that dark heart mark is on the back, but why would MC even accept it in the first place - much less, have a desire to be almost secretive about it (if we view the item descriptions as MC’s personal thoughts about said items)? That’s all fine and well, however that is one short scene out of an entire questline -  is it really that indicative of an MC that could go either way? However, this isn’t the only time we’ve gotten evidence towards this theory; I bulleted a few evidence points below with my personal thoughts about each, feel free to add your own ideas!

#1: Catherine’s Journal

- Specifically, the latter entries; reading over them, I noticed a certain trend towards the last few entries. Catherine began writing about having “dark thoughts” and seemed almost manic? when discussing the fact that others fear her (specifically in that case her Moon Sister and Eva; she describes knowing the look of fear “all too well”). Tying all of this to the MC and this theory, we know that both MC and Catherine posses(ed) extremely powerful magic - this magic not without its dangerous consequences when placed in the hands of teenagers. Could this ultimate power have been what drove Catherine almost ‘mad’ in a sense?

#2: Light and Dark (Black and White)

- Something I’ve noticed playing through the recent (past couple of years) quests is how stressed the ideas of “everyone possessing both light and dark” and “not everything in the world (motivations) is black and white” - Catherine specifically stressed those ideas for Justin’s sake in her diary, and referenced Thomas - who was pretty much predisposed to end up involved with Garnok like his father - in saying that he made the ‘right’ choice. This makes me think that potentially, the MC has the ability to be a ‘key’ for both sides; my final conclusion was this: MC is the final key needed for both the dark ceremony and the light ceremony - the dark ceremony being the key to Garnok’s prison, and the light ceremony being the only thing that can keep him imprisoned. This would also explain why Sands and Darko didn’t want to kill the MC in their encounters with them - as Darko said, he only wanted to capture MC. Essentially, the dark riders need as just as much as the soul riders do - this leads me to believe that Sabine was almost trying to recruit MC (or at least plant that seed) at the open house.  This could also explain why Catherine was so adamant with that whole “light and dark” idea - not only for her son’s sake, but for MC. MC has a choice of what cause they want to fight for - they truly do have the power to choose their own destiny.

As fun as it is to theorize and imagine our MC OCs being dark riders with tragic coming-to-evil stories, I don’t think this choice idea will necessarily work with the way the story and gameplay are currently set up. However, that’s not to say that we won’t possibly get a scene or two of the MC trying to make that choice or more of the dark riders trying to recruit them - it just won’t be truly our choice as players, as this would require the design of two completely opposite quest paths.

As always, I’d love to see your input; I’ve seen this idea swirling around ssoblr here and there, so thought I’d go ahead and give my own view/evidence on it.

[onesunofagun]

Undeath in the Era of the Hero of Time : 1

aka Seeing the Hero’s Shade in this TP replay shook up all my feelings of agony again and now I’m working backwards from there because I like to hurt myself.

Part One: An Overview of How Fucked Things Are ™

aka The Blood Soaked Hyrule of OoT’s time 

Take it as you will, in the Zeldaverse, the colour green has an overwhelming association with undeath. 

Sure, sure, life too, I hear you. Farore came down and produced all the living beings that would uphold the law, apparently (specifically not claiming monsters and demons, but that’s another thing). On the surface, that make sense. Forests, lush green fields, prosperity, all of those good things. Green the colour of the most common rupee, green the colour of the Hero’s tunic. Green the colour of magic, and potions that revitalise the body and spirit.

The thing is, revitalising the body and spirit is a flexible idea. To imbue something with new life and vitality can have a lot of implications, especially when you stop talking about the strictly living. 

I feel vitality is certainly the best word, not only because of it’s association with life and potency ala the Goddess origin stories, but in the ways that the game uses green itself, such as a measure of both magic and stamina. Green is the colour chosen to represent the unlocked potential within young Heroes. 

Vitality specifically refers to a state of being strong and active, and it also refers to the continuance of something to exist. That’s a great thing for plants, or economies, or a potion taken by a young Link who’s swung their sword around or fired off a spell one too many times and feels a little low.

But the dead, though?

As it happens, Hyrule is absolutely littered with human remains, in no small part due to the very recently ended civil wars. 

The Civil War, if you need the reminder, is described as a time when the many races of Hyrule were divided and each focused on establishing dominion over the Sacred Realm (because Triforce). I touched on this in my last meta post, but basically, its no holds barred to stop that from happening because if the wrong person gets into the Sacred Realm and makes a wish, it immediately malfunctions. 

The criteria for getting into the Sacred Realm and touching the Triforce without royally fucking everything, is basically impossible for anybody not chosen by Hylia. 

If you are neither of Hylia’s Bloodline (The Hyrulean Royal Family) or one of her Chosen Avatars (The current incarnation of the Hero), you are not supposed to touch the Triforce. Ever. You WILL be found wanting, it WILL shatter, the Sacred Realm WILL be corrupted by your selfish desires, it WILL unleash and onslaught of mystical influence (reflecting your heart) onto the country.

Now, if it’s Zelda or Link who touches it, that’s fine. Good vibes will pour out. An age of prosperity will ensue. The Sacred Realm is in its default state, a blank and neutral wellspring of magical force.

The game has been rigged from the get go because Hylia still had a job to do. She had to get creative because Demise almost captured the flag, so to speak, leading to the snafu of the Cycle and all that because she cheated at the game, but ultimately Hylia’s task was to guard the Triforce. And that still remains true, for the most part. The Hyrulian Royal Family (and the Shiekah by extension) had to stop at absolutely nothing to win the wars and unify the country, and retain the stasis of the Realm and Triforce, because that’s what their divine orders are.

That’s what they’re supposed to do, ‘the very reason that they’re born’, to lend a quote from King Daphnes. With Hylia on their side by default, they’re willing to do a lot of fucked up things to make sure that happens, ‘for the greater good’.

These dark times are a result of our deeds... -- TP Zelda

In OoT The Sheikah are known as the Shadow Folk. They are heavily associated with death, whether that is caring for the dead’s rest in the graveyard, or working as spies and assassins on behalf of the Royals, or dabbling in various forms of necromancy. Red eyes are an established trait of their people. I will note that, at least from a Japanese point of view, red is often used with the intention of intimidating evil spirits. But it is also a color identified with power and vitality.

So, one could suppose, the Sheikah red eye also symbolises power/control over evil and darkness (spiritually).

That’s a little something that plays nicely with things like the OoT Manga’s explanation of the tear on the eye (and the previous betrayal of the Royal family) and the high probability of a Shiekah faction defaulting during the wars and being banished with other traitors to become the Twili. I know the manga isn’t canon and also SS Impa has a tear, but if you squint, that might be because of her own feelings of personal failure to the Goddess after Hylia’s shedding of her Divinity. You could headcanon that. The existence of the Yiga later in BoTW as a similar happening of division and betrayal lend some more weight to things.

Also, Sheikah who defaulted during the civil war might have even been the ones who actually utilised the Shadow Temple. 

Headline: Necromancer ninjas in the process of torturing enough info out of the enemies of the Royal family, who were reportedly seeking the Sacred Realm, decide ‘hey fuck it, let’s take it ourselves’. 

That certainly fits into the description of, ‘interloper skilled with dark magic started to appear, seeking dominion of the Sacred Realm’, for me.

Anyway, to the point.

In ostensibly one of the most haunted areas of the game, Kakariko village, we’re treated to the Graveyard and the Royal Family’s Tomb, the Shadow Temple, and the Bottom of the Well. All of these showcase the obvious death and torture that went on, as well as the creepy byproducts of places so saturated with blood, pain, regret, and hatred.

There are skulls in little alcoves on the walls of the catacombs, literally built of bones, who deliver messages to Link. The ones that whisper these messages are all marked by the glowing green eye sockets. Here, the green is used to make the presence of a ghostly sentience inhabiting the skull. 

Unsettling. Musty. 4/10 heebie-jeebies.

The Deadhand, giver of childhood trauma that it is, really does its job to hammer home the fact that there has been so many deaths, so much anguish and horror, that those remains can seemingly form into entirely new monstrosities. An amalgamate of undead flesh and nightmare fuel, made up of the body parts of torture victims and the grudges of lingering spirits, seeking to consume the living vitality of whatever comes near-- Link wearing green around the thing might as well be red to a bull.

When defeated in game, it typically drops a small green pot that refuels Link’s magic.

This is a common theme with undead enemies, specifically the ones that are of the zombie flavour. Redeads, Gibdos, Deadhands. All of them generally give up, effectively, distilled magic as a drop item.

Terrifying. Probably smells even worse. 11/10 heebie-jeebies.

Literal torture device. So many people died here, the room has a green tinge to it. It is soaked in the spiritual imprint of the pain and anguish that took place here. Blood sits here looking freshly spilled, despite the civil war ending many years prior and the Shiekah having ‘died out’, save Impa.

Elsewhere in the temple and under the well, blood splatters are darker red and at least have the decency to pretend to be old. This means one of two things:

Impa still has to make sacrifices to the Seal that contains Bongo Bongo, or feeds people to the undead creatures who lurk down in the dark so they don’t wander up. (Cue the gasp of ‘so that’s why she let the Hylians into Kakariko! Every so often one of them goes missing!’)

Which is a fun dark headcanon to play with, but probably not the case.

Or more likely, the residual spiritual energy that the green haze suggests manifests fresh blood in a manner typical of extreme hauntings. For the victims, their hatred and pain persists so strongly, that their blood seeps up from the cracks no matter how long it has been.

Poltergeist shit. Slip hazard. 8/10 heebie-jeebies.

Then there is this. Some people say its just another torture thing, it could have been intended to convey some sort of acid dip. If not torture, maybe bodily disposal. And sure, that’s a reasonable guess. 

But it is at the very bottom most cavern of the Well of Three Features, and if it were acid-- for how long the bodies have just been marinating in it-- you can assume nothing would be left of them to stick out. And the fact that all the bodies are neatly spaced, with the arms oddly preserved. They’re presumably like that from lowering bodies in from the wooden beams, the victims may have been tied up with their arms straight upwards. 

But, given the Redeads wandering around nearby, I’m pretty sure that’s what this thing does. Make Redeads.

The liquid itself hurts Link, but Link is also alive, and this pool seems to be lacking much of a glow. It’s green, sure, but it’s not exactly teeming with energy. And I think that might be part of its designated purpose-- extracting that green vital energy from living prisoners, draining them until they’re dead. I’m talking juicing people and scooping out the good stuff like the pulp from a really disturbing OJ. 

But still steeped in the juice as a corpse, you’re basically pickled in magic brine, so then those gross husks crawl out as Redeads. (Hey, you know what’s handy in wartime? Scaring the shit out of enemy forces by sending some zombies at them. And if they kill them, you’ve lost nothing. If the Sheikah could actually control them? Undead soldiers. Excellent stuff.)

But all the pulpy good stuff is gone, and has been for a while, so most of the bodies in there haven’t pickled in enough magic to reanimate, I suppose.

Human juicer that churns out zombies. Out of juice currently. 6/10 heebie-jeebies.

Now, THIS is active zombie juice, if I’ve ever seen it.

This is the Royal Family’s Tomb, by the way. Note the skeletons, picked clean, missing a lot of bones. And that’s a choice they made, because there are also full skeletons around to find. 

There are plenty of Redeads down there, for good measure, so I’m going to assume the skeletons are potential graverobbers who were eaten. If Sheikah can presumably command the dead, then the Redeads down there might actually be a counter measure against thieves. If a thief freaks out in the dark when he realises there’s undead down there trying to eat their face, there is also a good likelihood they’ll trip and splash into this green death. A few seconds of exposure is probably enough to kill the average person, and then if their corpse stews for a bit, you have another Redead. 

Their living energy revitalises the goop. Their body becomes bolstered security measures. It’s a self sustaining system.

Horrific but effective. 5/10 heebie-jeebies.

Also, there’s a chance that a couple of the skeletons or one or two Redeads down there are the remains of the Composer Brothers. But they will get their own special part in this series, covering Poes in particular.

But for the moment, let it be noted: their eyes are also that ghostly green.

Poes are spirits that are unable to move on and who have the unfortunate fate, if left unattended, of turning into phantom monsters who forget their human selves and prey on the living. They tend to pop up the most in two places. One, the Kakariko Graveyard, is obvious and somewhat expected. Dead people, lots of lingering spirits, most of them probably Sheikah and Knights of renown who died in the line of duty. Understandable.

So when you apply the same thought to the fact that Hyrule field is the second most common place to find them, you may as well be concluding that it’s an enormous mass grave of war casualties.

We have established that mass quantities of concentrated death, especially earth that is saturated by the spilled blood of strong soldiers and highly skilled warriors (full of life and magic, as it were), can result in creepy shit made from human remains reanimating over time. 

Poes share their haunting of the field with these bumpkins:

These hauntings are not the result of Ganondorf, or the corruption of the Sacred realm. They are not a particular curse placed by anybody.

The Poes and Stalfolk are present in the game from the very beginning, and quite normal fare for Hyrulean life. Lon Lon ranch and castle town are walled off for good reason, and the drawbridge raises at night specifically in response to the literal skeleton monsters who roam around at night. 

Stalchildren, specifically, seem akin to the Deadhand in that they are not a direct reanimation of any one particular set of remains. Rather, they seem to be mutated amalgamations of various parts. In the case of the Stalchildren, they rise up under the dark of night, a not-quite-human formation of bone and magic. They seem to possess an aimless drive to attack, perhaps possessed still by the orders of the soldiers who died there. 

Interestingly, in a somewhat similar fashion to BotW’s blood moon reanimating the fallen monsters (due to the potency of Malice in the land peaking at those times), Stalchildren only seem to be active under the moonlight. They disintegrate when the sunlight touches them, which promotes the idea that they are the bones of the fallen possessed by the ghostly memory of the war.

They also appear to wear raggy leather kilts, which is a feature they share with the related monster, the Stalfos, who are often acting out the part of a soldier as well. Even better, those bastards are actually WEARING GREEN, to boot, which given the history of Hyrulean Knights prior and their uniforms (SS and Minish cap) is pretty self evident. 

Stalfos, however, are also confirmed as humans who have died under certain unique circumstance (such as the magical influences of the Lost Woods) and reanimated as a consequence of what I assume is basically magic poisoning.

It could be a bit like an overdose, succumbing under the intense mystical forces at play within proximity to the Deku Tree (which the strong of spirit can resist). It could be a draining effect, maybe even just a gaseous version of what’s happening when people come into contact with the green goo, except extracted by the forest spirits and plants (also possible that the strong of spirit might resist). That could go either way.

The forest absolutely does eat people’s spiritual energy, though. RIP to Grog and Link’s mother. They’re Stalfos now.

"Anybody who comes into the forest will be lost. Everybody will become a Stalfos. Everybody, Stalfos."

Upon killing both kind of Stal, however, the bones rapidly deteriorate into flames.

You guessed it: green.

I’ve already pointed out a BoTW reference already, but to add more context back into this thing about the tie between green and things in Hyrule that refuse to die properly:

That last one is cheap of me I’m sorry but we’ll get to him too

So we have established that green has an overwhelming association with not only life, but states of undeath.

The overview is, things were already pretty fucked in OoT Era before Ganondorf got the Triforce.

On to part 2!

[buckstaposition]

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

[flightrules]

Which Kind Do You Want to Be?

Chapter 3: It’s (not) fine

This was supposed to be a simple hook-up. Harmless entertainment for a couple of days on board the Razor Crest.

This is complicated.

Summary: This is a story about trust and kindness, loneliness and loss, belief and transgression. And two people crossing paths just long enough to find each other.

Chapter 1    Chapter 2    Read on AO3

Relationships and characters: Din/female reader (both similar age to Din in canon), Grogu, and a cameo from Peli.

Rating: Mature? Explicit? Anyhow, grown-up sexy stuff in later chapters. Please be old enough to be reading this kind of thing.

Tags and warnings: Moments of angst, domesticity, kindness, explicit consent, and Din doing his best to be a conscientious parent in the midst of everything. Heads up for descriptions of canon-typical violence, mention of past dubious consent, and a moment of (unintentional) violence between our protagonists. Ending is bittersweet.

Hyperspace is boring.

You should have run out to a shop on Tatooine to pick up a datapad or something. A puzzle. Hell, maybe some craft supplies. At least you’d have something to do. 

But then, you think ruefully, you'd been planning on doing him. Who could blame you if you'd been a little distracted.

You've already changed into clean clothes, after a quick few minutes in the cramped space that holds the sonic shower. Those things always leave your hair feeling dry and crackly with static. But, how extravagant to be able to shower at all.

The acid burn on your shoulder is still a little tender. When you touch it, you can feel it starting to scab over and your fingers come away dry, so you don’t bother trying to hunt up another bandage. You can always ask him later if you find you need one.

You check the rest of your clothes to make sure the blood and dirt stains have come out, then fold everything and tuck it all back in your pack. You toss the last few dirty items into the machine and start a new cleaning cycle.

Then you stand there, all by yourself down there in the hold, and spend the next two minutes watching the laundry timer count down. 

This is stupid. There's got to be a better use of your time. You can't go back up to the cockpit, that would defeat the purpose of having left. You'll give him whatever space he needs, for now. 

You’d love a closer look at that armory, but you know better than to mess with the man’s weapons. He did ask you to lock the safety on your rifle--for the sake of the child--but otherwise he’s left it alone. You’ll do him the same courtesy. 

Some of the other cabinets probably hide clothing, maybe other personal stuff. What else would a man like this own? Is there a library of data chips somewhere? Toys for the child?

Pictures of friends? 

There’s an open niche in the wall, on the opposite side from the armory, that you’re pretty sure  is a compact carbon freezing unit. 

Supposedly people aren't conscious inside those copper-colored slabs, but--you imagine being stuck in whatever pose you were in when the carbon jets hit you, for however long someone decided to leave you there. 

It makes you shudder. 

Further back toward the cargo door, duraplast cartons are lined up along the walls, secured with cords and netting. The floor in the middle is empty. 

Well, here’s something you can do. Your muscles are feeling stiff and a little achy, the aftereffects of fighting combined with the three-day trek. There’s enough room back here to do some stretches.  Maybe some bodyweight exercises, too. A couple days of rest wouldn’t do you in, but keeping fit is what keeps you alive. It's a good habit to maintain. 

You start by reaching both arms up above your head, trying to get some movement in your upper back, but your hands are flat on the low ceiling before your arms are even straight. Instead, you move on to a couple stretches with each elbow bent above your head, the other hand pressing down. The healing skin over your shoulder blade pulls a bit, but it doesn’t hurt too much. Probably good to stretch the skin there, too, try to keep the burn from contracting into too tough a scar. 

“Will we bother you if we’re down here?” His voice makes you jump. You didn’t hear him come down the ladder but there he is, the child at his feet. 

His tone is neutral and that shine is gone from his eyes. Whatever was going on earlier, it seems to have passed. You're not sure if asking right now would be welcome. 

The child’s watching you with interest. The pose you were in probably did look funny. But, you remind yourself, it's also perfectly normal. You can't do the work you do--or the work you're pretty sure he does--without maintenance.

"It's your ship," you say. "Will it bother you if I keep going?"

“We can stay busy up front for a while.” 

As you work your way through sit-ups, push-ups, lunges, and squats, you can hear the soft murmur of his voice. It sounds like he might be reading the child a story, but it’s not in a language you recognize. Once you hear, “No, we’re not playing that right now. It’ll be our turn soon.” 

You find yourself wrapping up your routine a little early, interested in what game the child might have in mind. You duck back past that carbon freezing nook and find the man seated at a little fold-down table, the child in his lap. They’re looking at a data pad together. 

“Having lessons?” you ask. 

“Just looking at pictures.”

“What language were you speaking?”

His head turns toward you like he's about to answer but then he pauses, lips parted but face blank. Then he sits up a little straighter, upper body going stiff even as one hand's still holding the datapad for the child. “Mando’a,” he says. “We don’t usually speak it in front of outsiders.” 

“I never heard you, then.”

“No, I’ve already--” he looks down at himself, at the shirt and trousers, so different from the armor. “It’s all right.”

You have a very uncomfortable suspicion that it isn’t. 

You think again of asking but he’s already getting to his feet, child held in one arm, and he’s setting the datapad back behind a cupboard door. 

"Trade places?" he asks. 

So you were right, he's got his own workout to keep up with. "Do you want me to watch the little one?"

"No, thank you," he says. "We have our routine worked out together."

This you've got to see. "Can I keep you company?"

When he doesn’t answer right away, you figure he's going to say no. That's all right, you felt a little awkward at the thought of him and the child watching you, and you're used to having your face and body out in the open. You’ll ask to borrow the datapad or something, keep yourself distracted. And maybe afterward, you'll find out what was going on with him this morning--and get back to what he seemed to want when he asked you to stay. 

The child is smiling up at him and waving little hands your way. 

The man uses his free hand to fold the table up against the wall and stow the chair flat beneath it. A quick tilt of his head looks like, Fine, come along.

So you do.

You perch atop one of the stacks of boxes while he warms up. He’s got some of the same stretches you use, and some you haven’t seen before. The best part though is watching the child. When the man shifts into a lunge, one arm stretched forward and the other behind, he’s got a miniature mirror at his side. The child’s balance is wobbly but his little mouth is set. 

When they switch to pushups, the child climbs up to sit between his shoulder blades and you’re a little worried you’re going to die right there, watching the two of them together. You can usually make it to about 25 reps before your arms give out. He’s somewhere around 40, the child holding on to the neck of his sweatshirt and giggling, before he gives up on the last one and lets his chest hit the floor. The child pats his hair as you hear a mumbled “dank farrik” from down there against the durasteel. 

“You ok?”

He rolls over, moving slowly enough that the child can clamber down from his back. “I must have pulled something in my shoulder. Hasn’t been right since we got back.”

Up until now he’s done every movement perfectly, hitting each pose with more precision than you could manage even on your best day. “It’s been hurting all this time?”

He bends one knee and sits up, leaving the other leg stretched out. “It’ll heal.”

“Can I help?”

He’s giving you a strange look, eyebrows raised. You’re not sure why. “Help how?”

“Maybe I can help you work some of the knots out of the muscles. If you didn’t do real damage, I mean.”

Whatever he was thinking, your answer must have cleared it up, because his face settles into a more neutral expression. “Sure.”

The child has wandered a little bit away in the meantime, and when you look over he’s playing quietly with the netting that holds the crates in place. The openings are just the right size for his hands and feet, and he’s using the net like a ladder to climb about. You’re not so sure about how high up he’s getting. The crates are stacked only a few feet tall, but that’s already two or three times his height.

The man seems fine with it.

He’s not your kid, you remind yourself. “All right. Let’s see what we can do.”

It’s been a long time since you’ve had someone to do stretches with. Same for him, he tells you. Learning to fight meant injuries, and as a teenager he’d learned to take care of others’ hurts as well as his own. That was, he says, a long time ago. 

When you learned to do partner work, it was about making bodies feel good. That was a different time, in a different world. Back when you had a home to go to.

He still remembers the movements, and it comes right back to you, too. Except, it turns out he’s terrible at it. 

“You’ve got to let your arm go,” you tell him for the third time. You’re kneeling beside him and trying to help him roll that shoulder, one hand over the joint and the other supporting his upper arm. At first his muscles were so stiff under your hands that nothing moved at all. Now he’s getting ahead of you, anticipating the movements instead of relaxing into them. 

“This isn’t going to work,” he says. 

“Not if you keep fighting it, it’s not.”

“It’s not going to work.” You’re startled how quickly his tone’s turned angry and how roughly he pulls away. 

“Hey,” you say, dropping your hands. “I’m trying to help.”

“It’s fine.”

Things are clearly not fine. “What’s going on here?”

You’re not at all expecting what he snaps back at you. “I can’t take care of another being.”

Oh now, that is not fair. You're not looking for handouts. He <i>asked</i> you to stay. “Fuck you.” The words are out of your mouth before you can catch up to them. “I take care of myself.”

He looks a little shocked. You’re not sure if it’s because of his own words, or yours.

“We already said no strings. You’re not the only one who means what they say.”

He sighs, and just as fast as it appeared, the anger's gone from his tone. “What we started last night. Don’t people get attached?”

“I wasn’t planning to.” You can hear how cold your own voice still sounds. 

His gaze strays toward the child, who’s now perched halfway up a stack of boxes, hands and feet curled in the netting, big eyes watching the two of you. The wrinkles in the little forehead have deepened. 

You try to soften your tone. A child deserves to hear gentleness. You point between this man and yourself, and it’s a choppier movement than you intend. "What do you think this is?”

He gets to his feet and goes over to pick the child up, carefully separating the little claws from the netting. He rubs the little one’s back briefly before settling him in his arms. He always holds the child facing out, so he can look at the world. You wonder if that’s because he’s not used to holding babies, or if he’s projecting. You doubt he'd ever choose to sit with his back to a door. 

“I don’t know,” he says. 

Your defensiveness drains away as you realize, looking up at him, he really doesn’t. What have I gotten myself into? You know what you want, and it’s standing in front of you wearing way too much clothing. Those curls tumbling, just a little too long, over his forehead are killing you. 

But your brain is finally catching up. The casual tumble you had in mind, the chance to blow off some steam with a friend? That’s not going to happen. Not with this man, not with whatever is happening for him here. 

“I don’t know either,” you admit, surprised to hear yourself say it. 

“I can’t make you any promises,” he says.

“I never expected you to.”

His hands, so carefully holding the child, have blue and purple bruises on the knuckles. Yours look like that too, skin over the knuckles still swollen, bruises tending toward dark purple against your darker skin. 

You’ve seen what his hands can do. There was a moment, back there in the jungle, when the child was already in your arms. The kidnapper you’d snatched him from was lying in the dirt, fingers clawing at metal gauntlets as gloved hands closed around his throat. 

This man standing in front of you now, looking soft and serious and no longer angry: he was kneeling astride the kidnapper’s chest. When the body under him went limp, he shifted his weight, moved one hand to the top of the kidnapper’s head and the other below it to his chin, and gave a single sharp twist. 

If this man ever has to make a choice, you have no illusions about who he will put first. 

He paid you for three days of your time, and that time is long since over. You owe each other nothing. You get to your feet, too, so it feels more like equals. “Can we agree on one thing for now?”

He waits. The child watches you placidly.

“Until we get to Pavotha. And as long as we're safe on this ship," you add, because things can change, and you want him to know that you know. "Until then, can we trust each other?”

You’re expecting him to put a condition on it. As long as you promise to leave when we get there.

He reaches out with the hand that’s not holding the child, and waits for you to grasp it. 

You reach back across the space between you and rest your hand in his. 

By the time he finishes his workout, it’s well into mid-day and the three of you gather at the little fold-out table for a meal. You've each had a quick few minutes with the sonic shower, trading places in the cockpit again so you could each get into fresh clothes. The air smells of ozone as the laundry machine runs another cycle.

There are chairs for the adults. The child sits right on the table, choosing the bits he wants from a ration pack. 

“Have you been to Pavotha before?” you ask. Whatever’s between you still feels fragile. Best stick to neutral topics for now.

“A few times.” He turns to speak to the child. “You can eat those first, but you better finish the rest. You’re not getting mine.” The child burbles indignantly back at him. “Complain all you want,” he says. “I spoil you enough.” It’s the most indulgent-sounding scolding you’ve ever heard. But the child gives a sigh--sounding for all the world like his father--and starts eating the rest of what’s in his tray. 

“Rumor says there are Mandalorians there. I’m hoping they’ll know more than I do, about how to find the child’s people.”

Rumor says? “Can’t you just send them a message?”

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“But they’ll help you if you find them?”

“Yes, we--” he stops, and for a fleeting moment his expression is one of unguarded panic. He rests his forehead in one hand for a moment, then swipes his palm down his uncovered face. “Gods, I’m-- I haven’t even thought that far. I’ve been so tired.” 

The child is still munching contentedly on his rations. He stops long enough to offer a piece of flatbread to the man, who regards him seriously. “No, thank you. You’ll be hungry later if you don’t eat that yourself. No,” he goes on, almost to himself. “He’s a foundling. They’ll help.” 

So much for sticking to neutral topics. You’d thought you understood what happened last night, but it’s increasingly clear you have no idea. “What haven’t you told me?”

“What do you know about Mandalorians?”

Not a lot, truly. You know that if you see someone decked out in that armor, it’s wise to get out of the way. You knew when he offered you a job, there was a strong chance he’d be good for the money. You know you don’t see Mandalorians often, but you never thought much about why. 

The child goes on eating, pausing now and then to drink from a little cup that’s just the right size for his hands. As the man keeps talking, though, the child scoots over closer, until he’s nestled up against one forearm. He leans in, chewing on a strip of dried meat while both of you listen. 

Your own food sits forgotten.

He told you already how the tradition of wearing Mandalorian armor goes back hundreds of years. You already know that when he let you help him remove his helmet, his armor, he was choosing to set aside a promise he’d once made. You saw for yourself, last night, how raw he’d been feeling before you even met him, and you saw how quickly, given the chance, that had turned into shuddering tears. 

You hadn’t known, because he hadn’t told you: How his people are scattered. Hunted. That the armor isn’t just a symbol, it’s their survival. That what’s left of Mandalore is a fragile chain, stretched across the galaxy. 

And now one more link is broken. 

This wasn’t your doing. You know that. You don’t need to fix it. 

You can’t fix it. It’s not about you. 

You get up anyway, step around the tiny table to his side. “Are you going to let me hug you?”

He’s still looking straight ahead, at the place where you were sitting. He doesn’t look at you, but he nods. 

It’s completely awkward, you leaning down to get your arms around him, the child now trying to snuggle closer, and him still sitting straight and stiff. Finally you can feel him start to let go. His chest rises and falls with a deep, measured breath. His head and shoulders lean into you, muscles finally going soft. 

A moment later he mumbles something against your shirt. 

“What was that?”

He lifts his head, looks down at the child. “Naptime. I need to go settle him down, or he’s going to be a terror all afternoon.”

[missmillyashford]

Eight Hundred Eyes Are Better Than One - Reaction

I should have done this a long time ago but I just reread this chapter and reacted to it as I went if you’re interested @anbu-legacy

Because I’ve had a grudge against canon Jiraiya for so long it’s been an interesting but slow process of adjusting to this (better) version of him where his awful traits either don’t exist or are slightly more subdued, and traits I could actually appreciate are more emphasized. And saying that, I love this image of this giant, flamboyant man being so unsubtle about his summons that he just wakes up not just Kakashi but his entire FLOOR. Nice one. This man is a spy theoretically and I love that juxtaposition. At least it makes it easy to let Ryouma know they’re leaving.

“Dodomeki?” he said quietly. 

Boyfriends, Kakashi reflected, were supposed to be reassuring. “I’ll bring you an eyeball,” he promised. 

“Gross.” 

This reminds me of that time Kakashi found a weird creepy bug in that one cave during the kiri mission and instead of leaving it be like a normal person he decides to pick it up and bring it all the way back to the team to scare Ryouma with it. I always find it super funny when Kakashi pulls stuff like this, terrorizing his poor teammates with gross unwanted show and tell. I personally would love a gift like that, though. I am totally someone who would probably keep particularly interesting animal body parts preserved in a jar somewhere in my house because I find anatomy and physiology interesting. I once had the opportunity in one of my university classes to hold a horse’s brain and was quite enthralled. I just wanted a good look at it and was really curious what it would feel like.

“Just bring yourself home safe.” 

“Always do,” Kakashi said, which was mostly true. “Captain, too.” 

I’m reacting to this on a reread so hahaaaaaaa. Nice one, Kakashi. Your poor hands.

I would say I can’t believe that Kakashi actually WENT INTO THE ROOM to wake up Raidou and Genma, but this is Kakashi, so I can. He could have just knocked on the bedroom window, or just gone to the door, like a person with basic social skills and a modicum of decency. Kids these days. No respect for the general concept of privacy. Sheesh. Boundaries. I’m glad I’m not them. I will admit that I laughed though.

Raidou jerked, sat up wildly, and blurted, “What the hell?” 

“Taichou,” Kakashi said, with a little wave. 

Genma exhaled, tweaked the sheet so that it covered Kurenai more fully, then sat up — a much smoother operation. “Hatake,” he said tightly, visibly trying for calm. 

“Lieutenant,” Kakashi said. And, for good measure: “Yuuhi. Well done.” 

Asdfghgfds. This bastard. I love and hate him. DK is always so good at this sort of humour with Kakashi and it never fails to get me.

I feel bad for Genma and Raidou and Kurenai right now though because they didn’t even get to TALK properly the next day after getting together before Raidou had to leave.

Kakashi felt his spine stiffen. Reflexive, pointless defense of his parents, who had raised him on legends and myths, told in the few quiet moments between everything else. 

I really love the callback to Don’t Fear the Dark. It’s really interesting when we get little glimpses at what Sakumo was like, and what his family was like before it fell apart. The defensiveness about it has my heart hurting, because it’s one of the few tiny pieces he still has of his father. Speaking of Sakumo, mythology/legends, and Don’t Fear the Dark, I remember that there were traditional masks of demons and things in their home. For a very long time I’ve been very curious to see what the Hatake estate looks like, and what other personal items from Sakumo and their life before are still there. Here’s to hoping we’ll get to see it one day?

I like how these legends have been woven into the worldbuilding too.

Usagi thumped him on the shoulder. “Better dodge, then. We’ll bring some of her scrapings back in a jar for the lab.”

Genma would probably appreciate some jar-scrapings, though. 

Genma’s my type of person. I appreciate him.

I’m really enjoying getting to know a little more about the relationship dynamics of the members of team thirteen. Ginta and Usagi’s relationship is so fun.

I love Goya purely on the basis that she’s a badass archer lady with wicked aim and I feel like that’s understandable and valid.

While Raidou and Usagi bartered for shelter, and Jiraiya signed autographs for the goat herder’s starstruck daughter, Kakashi watched a handful of goat kids bounce back and forth over a fence with blithe disregard for its actual purpose.

The goats hopping over the fence makes such a great image. I adore Tarama the goat village, purely because of the goats. And the Katsuko callback.

I am weak to the characters being dumb reckless idiots experimenting with jutsu for science so I was LIVING for the thunderstorm Ginta-Kakashi shenanigans. I’ve also always loved thunderstorms so I might be extra weak to lightning users. Just casually detonating each other’s jutsu and hoping they don’t explode each other irreparably in the process. Good fun.

Actually getting so see Kakashi split lightning was so cool. We keep hearing about it in canon and legacy so to finally see it is so satisfying. I like the description of sharingan vision as “he tracked the bolt zig-zagging down as if it were made of syrup, oozing through superheated air, long, lethal fingers branching out towards them.” And I also particularly liked this line:

The lightning snapped towards him like a massive, elemental predator scenting blood. 

I am very amused:

In the dizzying aftermath, Kakashi had just enough time to think ow and awesome before the next strike threatened, and they both ran like hell for the village. 

Usagi’s childish glee is so great. And yeah, I feel both her reaction AND Raidou’s are pretty appropriate. But still, lol:

“When did you turn three hundred? Your rookie just did the coolest thing ever. Stop being miserable about it.” 

“You want him?” Raidou said. 

“Yes,” said Usagi instantly. “Hatake, you’re mine, get over here.” 

“Wait, no,” Raidou said. 

I’m glad Kakashi is being appreciated.

The conversation Raidou and Kakashi had about KureGenRai hook up was veeeeery interesting. I wasn’t expecting Kakashi to react so harshly. I guess it is hypocritical of Raidou to say what he said then do that, though Raidou has a point that it’s to protect rookies from senior officers. Lieutenants and Captains are different since they’re closer in rank. I’m guessing that Kakashi is kind of frustrated with how he and Ryouma have felt like they’ve had to keep their relationship secret for fear of getting in trouble, even if same rank liaisons are technically not against the rules, unwritten or otherwise. Because of Raidou’s whole boundaries thing and general testiness about that kind of thing?

I’m curious to see how keeping it a secret from Ryouma will go. How long will they even want to keep it from him, and if they do want to keep the secret how will Ryouma feel about both the relationship and Kakashi’s secret keeping once he finds out?

Another thing I’ll be curious to see is if this at all changes if Kakashi wants to keep his relationship with Ryouma secret still, and if so from who. I’d doubt it would since there are other factors but still. I am looking forward for when people find out, but at the same time I’ve been enjoying it being private. I think a temporary shared secret like this can feel kinda intimate so long as it doesn’t overstay its welcome. And we get scenes like Kakashi panicking and hiding in Ryouma’s bathroom while Ryouma clumsily lies and implies he may have hooked up with an Uchiha to evade arrest so that’s a bonus. I think being able to have their own relationship exist in isolation from judgements and comments from the outside allows them to take some pressure off their relationship, and gives them time to figure each other out and how to just be together unhindered. I can see why they’re doing this the way they are.

A mass grave. Whoever had dug it — Kusa ninja, most likely — had missed the small body on the hill. 

“Poor bastards,” Usagi said quietly. 

Kasumi, of all people, went back for the body. 

I like this detail about Kasumi.

“Now we track,” Jiraiya said. He gave a little wave in Kakashi’s direction. “Do the nose thing.” 

Some days, Kakashi didn’t feel entirely respected in his workplace. 

Loooool

It took two more days to even get close to the Dodomeki. For Kakashi, it was like living in dual headspaces — the clean, sleek arrowhead mind of a predator, and the disordered tangle of everything human. Team Thirteen, with their… themness. Jiraiya — firmly, unignorably himself. The discomfort of Raidou and the unhappy friction between them. No Genma to smooth down the rough edges. No Ryouma to distract with chatter or an unexpected, brilliant idea. 

I really liked this section for a couple reasons:

1)    I like how when certain members of the team are absent it highlights just how important they are to the entire team. Genma the vital lynchpin and mediator; Ryouma the emotional heart, friend, and innovator. I also appreciate that it’s not just their skillsets that are addressed either. They’re valuable for things like their kindness, level-headedness, and company.

2)    I love the acknowledgment of duality of Kakashi’s headspace and social interactions. The headspace required to do his job as a tracker vs. working as part of a team of antsy, ridiculous people are very different. The interactions he is going to be having with the wolfdogs that don’t even so much as speak human vs. his human coworkers are going to be very different too. Kakashi having an entirely different headspace with the dogs  to the point he actually separates it from being entirely human (like referring to “humans” as if it were a group he isn’t entirely part of) reminds me of all the way back to the thread Lost in the Dark when Raidou sees Kakashi speaking to the entire pack for the first time. He realizes Kakashi’s social skills have likely been influenced by his exposure to the dogs he grew up with. It was such an interesting revelation to me. This is the part I mean if you’re curious:

What followed was one of the strangest conversations Raidou had ever witnessed. Kakashi, with his economy of speech and movement that seemed so disjointed in human interaction, slotted into place as naturally as breathing. Raidou recognized that questioning head tilt echoed back by listening dogs; the silent, watchful glances that lingered a second beyond comfortable; the predatory edge polished like a fine weapon. Here, Kakashi’s hair and mask just looked like markings, no more notable than that shepherd’s black-tipped ears, or that hound’s white-ticked coat.

It explained a lot.

I really liked seeing Raidou defend Kakashi from Kasumi’s crochety and unjustified remarks. Progress!!! I’m proud.

I’ve probably said it before and I’ll probably say it again, but I always love your dialogue. There’s so much personality and liveliness in it. The banter is so entertaining. Usagi and Ginta especially right now.

I know the mythology the Dodomeki comes from is very different, but there is something about the descriptions of her that make me think a lot of what I felt watching the Netflix the Witcher series. Which might not mean anything to you if you haven’t seen it. Similarly horrifying and deadly and gross. It’s great.

The entire fight scene had my heart pounding. It was so intense and fast-paced. So many close calls and how fast she was was so terrifying. We just saw Kakashi with his sharingan so fast he was able to split a lightning strike in half, yet she’s so fast he can’t even hope to keep up. Fuck.

Abe had to chase him nervously around, attending to whatever bits of Jiraiya’s face he could reach, until the medic finally lost his temper and ordered Jiraiya to sit. 

I loved this.

I don’t have anything interesting to say about them theorizing about her sickly state, but I am very intrigued. I also love when little bits of real life actual science are incorporated in fantasy like this (ex. the mention of ketosis).

I am still very very worried for Kakashi’s hands. I suspect he won’t get out of this entirely unscathed even after treatment.

[cruelangelstheses]

to build a home

fandom: dragon age rating: G characters: merrill/isabela, varric words: 1.1k additional tags: canon compliant, fluff, act 1, pre-relationship description: varric brings isabela along to get some housewarming gifts for merrill. a/n: hi!! i’m running @merribelaweek and today (sunday) is the first day so i wrote this for one of the prompts, “act 1”! title is from “to build a home” by the cinematic orchestra

read it on ao3

—

“No offense, Varric,” Isabela says as they wander the streets of Lowtown, “but why did you choose me for this expedition?”

Varric stops at a merchant’s table and starts sifting through the knickknacks, holding each one up and examining it in the sunlight. “Because, Rivaini,” he says smoothly, “you’re the only other person I know who has responded positively to Daisy’s integration into our little gang...and who actually has coin to spare.”

Isabela snorts. She was about to mention the Hawke siblings, but they certainly can’t afford anything unnecessary, and a housewarming gift for Merrill, while sweet, would definitely count as “unnecessary.” Aveline could probably buy something small, but she looks at Merrill like the poor girl is about to burst into demons at any moment, and Fenris and Anders don’t match either of Varric’s requirements.

“It’s a nice idea,” she says as she scans the items for sale. “I just…I’m not very good at giving gifts, I don’t think. I have no idea what she’d like.”

“I think she’d be happy to have anything,” Varric replies. “It’s the thought that counts, right?”

He’s right; of course he’s right, but Isabela still finds herself hesitating to even pick anything up. How is she supposed to know what Merrill would like? They only just met. Still, she forces herself to take a closer look at the little trinkets. Surely there’s something here that Merrill could use to brighten up her home.

At first, nothing sticks out to her. Varric has already chosen a little green amulet, a plain and simple thing that would go well with most of Merrill’s belongings. Other than that, though, she doesn’t see anything that really screams “Merrill.” Then, just as she’s about to give up and move on to another merchant selling similar goods, something catches her eye.

Near the back of the display, partially hidden behind some Andraste-themed statuettes, Isabela finds what looks to be a small wooden halla figure, hand-carved. She can’t find a name etched anywhere on it, but it’s most likely Dalish—and, she’ll admit, it’s a cute little thing.

“Oh, wow,” Varric says, glancing over at her. “Good find. That’s perfect.”

“It really is,” she agrees as she starts to pull some coin out of her bra.

Varric raises an eyebrow. “You know, if you’d just wear something with pockets, then you wouldn’t have to do that.”

“That’s a lose-lose,” Isabela says. Then, shifting the topic of conversation back to Merrill, she adds, “Hey—is this really enough, Varric? It doesn’t feel like enough.”

Varric chuckles. “Gotta say, Rivaini, I never took you for a philanthropist.”

Isabela rolls her eyes. “Oh, shut it. I just feel like...well, she’s in such an unfamiliar place, and she doesn’t really have anyone. The least we can do is make her feel more comfortable at home.” Immediately after she says it, she scowls and presses a threatening finger into Varric’s chest. “Never breathe a word of this to anyone, dwarf, or you won’t be breathing at all before long.”

Varric holds his hands up innocently. “Hey, my lips are sealed.”

Isabela huffs and shakes her head. “Why do I not believe you?”

As they walk away from the merchant’s stand with their gifts, Isabela racks her brain for another idea. It feels like they’re missing something. Suddenly, it hits her.

“Daisies!” she blurts.

Varric narrows his eyes. “Yeah, what about her?”

“No, not Daisy; daisies,” Isabela says. “You said she keeps picking flowers out of people’s gardens in Hightown, right? We should get her some.”

Varric laughs. “You know, for someone who claims to be bad at giving gifts, I’d say you’ve got a knack for it.”

“Shh. Don’t tell anyone.”

—

Merrill’s house in the alienage, while small, is relatively clean, but Merrill still apologizes for what she perceives to be a huge mess. Isabela isn’t really the best judge of what a nice home looks like, though, considering that she’s spent most of her life either on a ship or in any number of cheap taverns, of which the Hanged Man is only the most recent. Compared to that and most of their other companions’ homes—Gamlen’s house, a dilapidated mansion, the literal fucking sewers—Merrill’s place seems positively cozy.

“So, what brings you two here?” she asks, curiously eyeing the bouquet of daisies in Varric’s hand.

“The Rivaini and I thought we’d get you a couple of housewarming gifts,” Varric explains with a smile. “To make you feel more comfortable here in Kirkwall.”

“Oh, please,” Isabela says, feeling her cheeks heat up just slightly. “It was Varric’s idea. He just invited me along.”

Merrill covers her face with her hands. “Oh, that’s so sweet of you both! Are those flowers for me?”

“Indeed they are,” Varric replies. “Do you have an empty vase anywhere?”

Merrill jumps up from her chair. “Oh! Yes, I do! Hang on!”

She scurries across the hall into her bedroom and returns half a minute later with a nice little vase full of water. She sets it down in the center of the table closest to the front door, and then Varric drops the daisies in.

“We got you some other things, too,” he adds, pulling the amulet and the statuette out of his coat. This is one of those times where pockets would have actually come in handy—not that she’s ever going to admit to Varric that she might have planned poorly for today’s excursion.

Merrill gasps and reluctantly takes the gifts from him. “Oh, these are both so lovely,” she coos, turning the amulet over and over in her hand, then turning her attention to the halla figure.

“I found that one,” Isabela says sheepishly. “The halla. I thought it would be perfect for you.”

“Oh, it is!” Merrill says. “And I know just where to put it, too!”

She runs back across the hall, beckoning for Varric and Isabela to follow her.

The bedroom is much more spare than the main room; it could definitely use some livening up. Merrill places the halla statuette on the little side table next to her bed. “That way it’s one of the first things I see when I wake up, and one of the last ones I see when I go to sleep.”

Isabela turns her face away from Merrill so that she won’t see her blush.

“That’s sweet of you, kitten,” she says with a smile.

“No, you’re the sweet ones,” Merrill replies. “Thank you so much for doing this. My house feels livelier already.”

With that, she leans down and wraps her arms around Varric, then turns to Isabela and hugs her, too, her small and dainty body fitting itself snugly against hers. Everything about her is soft: her clothes, her skin, her hair, her voice.

Isabela could almost cry. She won’t, obviously, but she could.

[sepiadice]

DiceJar Campaign 0.3: Holes, Doors, and Blood (2020/03/13)

Finally killed my first PC as a GM!

Yup… Wasn’t intentional but… well, dice made things interesting, so I have to work with it.

We also didn’t have our rogue, which is unfortunate as she’s an enjoyable member, and also there were a lot of traps and locks this time.

The content went through almost the remainder of what was prepared for the previous session. I’d like to get through the content a little faster so the group can move on to actual role-play opportunities, instead of dungeon crawling. It’s an unfortunate result of my experimental Game Mastering a Module, and I’ll likely try and stick to homebrew in the future.

Or, at least, look for modules with more emphasis on socializing.

I did a medium job preparing this session. I got complacent and let the session slip far to the back of my mind leading up. I found my sweet spot session 2, so I need to keep that standard.

Cast

Mogui (IndigoDie): Druid. Does what he’s told by his employer. Indigo has played this module before. Yot (LimeDie): Cleric. Looking to redeem himself for past failures. Lime will commit to bits. Bernard 'Bean' Dipp (NavyDie): Ranger. Trying his best despite being so young. Navy doodles when he’s bored. Delilah Dunford (VermilionDie): Rogue. Searching for an identity beyond her family. Vermilion could not make this session. Game Master (SepiaDie/me): The world (a dusty, dusty world). The walls probably have stories to tell. I’m desperately trying to keep ahead with drawing the map.

Session Three

We reopen in the loot room we ended in the last session. Navy is given his rewards and I expound on the uses of the various items they received.

Now given the opportunity to read his letter, Navy delays long enough to wonder if he’s chosen to make Bean illiterate, but eventually he takes to giving the description: his mother wrote it, opening with a joke, and giving random updates about life in town despite the letter needing to have been placed before the arrival of the party, but it’s an opportunity for the players to expound on their families, so maybe his mother is a little airheaded?

The letter canonizes a High School which has a football team and a glee club. Will anything come of it? Probably not. Did I say with a sigh ‘Guess that’s canon now…’? You bet I did! Always say yes! Improv!

The party headed back into the room with the pool, tested the other door to find it locked, and moved towards the wailing.

The chamber to the East of the entrance contained several walls crisscrossing. A door stood locked to the south. The puzzle of this room is walking around various hidden pit traps while finding three switches that must be held down at the same time to unlock the exit. I originally ruled the switches take a few minutes to reset so the party can run to get to the door, but then I remembered Delilah is technically still there, so I reverted it to operate as written.

Bean and Yot both took turns falling in holes as Mogui moved around cautiously and managed to jump clear of the one pit he did accidentally trigger.

The three maneuvered around the chamber until they found the necessary switches, activated them, and Delilah held open the door so they could get through.

Walking through the next hallway, they finally reached the door for the room from whence the wailing was emitting.

They all decide to ignore it.

Which means they’ve skipped some plot exposition. Oh well, keep rolling and adapt.

Instead, they go down a fork and into an empty room, which formerly held a giant beetle, but I cut that combat as being wholly unnecessary. Instead, our party continues through into the next chamber, which has a fight I did not cut, as I thought it would have narrative value.

A fire pit smolders in the center of the room, a charred corpse within. Upon the arrival of our party, a dark apparition arises and squares up to fight our heroes.

Bean had acquired an Oil of Magic Weapon, granting his bow Plus-One Status, and rendering it a magic attack, so he’s able to harm the shadow.

Yot, meanwhile, uses Holy Flame. Fun fact about our apparition: it was born because a pyrophobic man burned alive in a structure already pretty rife with necromantic energies. That terror and agony was all it took to create the shadow.

So the enemy is real mad at being set on fire, sending out psionic screams for flavor.

Mogui just watches the fight.

After a few rounds of Magic Bow and holy flames, the Shadow perishes. Victory music for everybody!

The party leaves the room, continues to ignore the terrified wails, and enters the last available door.

Within is a round, domed room, with a wooden pillar, standing on an outcrop over a pit at the center of the room, that fires blunted arrows. This is felt to be rather unpleasant, and the party discusses how to deal with it.

Eventually, they check out the door, and find a mechanism built into it.[1] The party attempts to break the mechanism.

Bean then enters, and is pelted by blunt arrows. He walks around and tries to open a southern exit, finding it to be locked, so Bean attempts to approach the trap. Unfortunately, he takes enough nonlethal damage to get knocked out. Whoops.

After waiting for the mechanical whirring to stop, the other two call after Bean, receiving no response. So they cautiously enter.

The trap is now docile. And the southern door is unlocked.

So, what happened here, by the text of the module, is that the trap keeps running for ten rounds, at which time it’ll be exhausted of arrows, and the south exit will automatically unlock. The hope was the party would take the tower shields from the wood golem of last session to block the arrows.

Because of how they broke the activating mechanism (as they snapped off the metal arm in the door hinge that turned the machine off and on), I decided that now once it turned on, it couldn’t turn off. So after Bean was knocked out, the trap kept running until it ran out of rounds.

Don’t ask how the trap’s supposed to keep pelting adventurers inside the chamber after the door closes. Magic I guess.

Stop asking how traps work.

Mogui investigated the south exit while Yot checked on Bean. The door was, of course, unlocked, to the annoyance of Navy, and Yot was taking his sweet time healing Bean, but soon the party was on their feet again and ready for whatever came next.

The final room of the floor widened as it went, the ceiling supported by four columns. Stairs to the south lead to the… basement? Second basement? The crypt’s already underground, so what terminology applies here, I’m not…

Also, there’s two statues in recesses of the south wall. The Module text doesn’t call any attention to them, but they’re probably Kassen.

Our heroes enter this room, get to approximately the middle of the room, and four skeletons, with talon-like clawed fingers and blood dripping from their bones, step out from behind the columns, and menace the heroes.

Combat begins.

As does a series of horrible rolls from both parties. Just a lot of do-nothing turns. Yot tries to bash the skeletons and misses, Bean fires arrows and the closest he got sent the arrow through the ribcage of one skeleton. The skeletons weren’t faring much better, three of them crit fumbling at some point, which I interpreted them as falling prone for a turn.

The rolls were so bad I gently reminded my party that I set up a dice-roll bot in the Discord channel, if they wanted to put Roll20’s die-roller into dice prison. They didn’t go for it.

Back and forth the combat went, the skeletons getting a couple lucky hits on Bean. Eventually, and tragically, those lucky hits added up and Bean hit zero. Navy started making Death Saves, a realm where the exhaustingly low rolls followed and brought him to his death.

NavyDie then spent the rest of the combat doodling an increasingly elaborate death scene, with grave stone, candles, what was either a pentagram or an alchemy circle,[2] and death himself. Whatever self-amusement was needed.

As a narrative-first GM, Player Characters dying in combat is not something I enjoy. I am now in an awkward position of needing to figure out how to proceed and keep Navy involved. If he still wishes to play, of course. A couple options immediately spring to mind: bringing in a new character will be narratively awkward at this point, as we need to justify why the ignorant town would send back up, or why a kid is running so late; there’s an available NPC I could give Navy, but he’d be an odd (but doable) add; or, and this is an idea I like most, I can bring Bean back for a price…[3]

But I need to talk it through with NavyDie first.

Back to those still alive.

Mogui maneuvers to keep a safe distance, eventually coaxing one of the four skeletons back to the previous room, running a circle and returning to the main combat room, closing the door behind him. I rolled a die to determine the nature of the skeletons, and concluded they’re running on animalistic instinct, and thus can’t operate a door.

Also, this cuts down on enemies to delay the fight and rewards IndigoDie for clever problem solving.

Yot, growing tired of not hitting with his Mace, starts using Holy Flame again, forcing the Skeletons to use the horrible dice rolls to avoid damage instead of Yot using the same rolls to cause damage. Progress starts to get made.

Mogui turns into a tiger and starts running about and attempting to hit the skeletons, but still no luck.

There’s also some talk about how the skeletons aren’t taking attacks of opportunity, which had a very elegant explanation: I totally forgot about that mechanic, and I also just plain hate attacks of opportunity. They feel cheap and punish players for not carefully considering every minutiae of their actions.[4]

Eventually, the skeletons are finally either redead, or trapped in another room.

With one dead, the remaining three party members stare towards the stairs to the next floor. As the only escape is to fight the skeleton in the previous room, they mostly consider what difficulty they’re prepared to face.

Of the three sessions played thus far, this one felt of middle quality. I forgot to read my opening crawl text, and I waited until the last minute to write notes for the remainder of the floor (after copying over the leftovers from session two). Neither the combat with the Shadow (where I forgot to implement the smoke in the eyes mechanic the module wanted me to) or the Bloody Skeletons (with horrible dice rolls)[5] felt particularly fun or worthwhile. I’ll probably look to cut more superfluous fights going forward.

I’m also looking forward to moving out of the dungeon. I am learning a lot, as was my goal with running this module, but I’m missing being able to Role-Play as GM.[6] I’m certainly learning to answer questions the text didn’t bother to address, and also how annoying module formatting can be with where it explains things.

When I find time, I should sit down and design a dungeon of my own. That would also be a good learning experience, and also let me feel more at ease with making world-based rulings on the fly and implement elements I like and minimize those I don’t.

There’s just so much combat and map-based traps written in this thing. Makes it too difficult to abstract out the traps and rely on theater of the mind.

Most important take away: Attacks of Opportunity are dumb, and I hereby houserule them away.

I’ve already set things in motion for fun plot developments after this session’s events and feedback received, and hopefully the next write-up will come in about two weeks.

Until next time, may your dice make things interesting.[8]

-

[1] The party is really interested in the actual mechanics of these traps, which the module doesn’t explain, forcing their poor GM to try and reverse engineer it, and maybe I need to start shrugging and saying ‘I dunno, magic I guess.’ [2] Which is a good way to lose a sibling. [3] Just sent Navy a text asking if he’d like a level of Warlock. This could be fun. [4] Also, my experience with another player exploiting the mechanic to attempt to kill me. [5] Though based on his recap, IndigoDie enjoyed the combat for the bad rolls? Interesting guy. It felt like a bad joke that kept repeating to me, and I failed to improvise an Out for those involved. [6] Especially since Indigo sidestepped the opportunity I did have![7] [7] Whatever. Gives me time to give the man a less stupid name. [8] Despite working it into the opening, this sign off still doesn’t sit right. Feels too long… Magazines have little icons to mark the end. Maybe I should do the same?

[fantroll-purgatory]

@theshieldswordandcrown

I’d like it if you guys could look over my tea man for me! (Art by my friend lythaeriahomestucks. I haven’t made him a sprite yet.

Oofadoofa it’s been a while. Hi I hope your roleplay group is fun!

World: Alternia, but the draft is a lot further off than in canon, because none of my group is interested in roleplaying interstellar space battles or politics, especially considering the amount of setup that would have to go into making deep space believable. Though I think Friendsim’s stated they’re dragged off planet at 9 sweeps, so he’d still have a little time before getting dragged underground anyway.

Name: Oolong Matcha. Yes, they’re both types of tea. It started off as a quick joke, but I’ve grown to love it. Not only is matcha green, like his blood, but he’s a gardener, and really enjoys tea.

Mmmmm I mean joke trolls are famously canon in Homestuck. See: SWIFER EGGMOP or the salt and pepper shaker troll BUTTT mmmm. I feel like naming a character based at least partially on Japanese monks Oolong would deserve some side-eye. But I like the matcha bit! So let’s see…I like him being a gardener since monastic gardens were very much A Thing, and one of the famous still-extant ones is at Rievaulx abbey, so maybe we give him RIVULX, which sounds sufficiently trollish and is obvious enough for someone to get the reference.

Age: 9.69 Sweeps, or 21 Earth years.

Theme/Story: He’s partially themed after monks, specifically Irish and Japanese, which was originally an excuse for his bald head, but ended up influencing his clothing, calm demeanor, and lusus. I was also, oddly, thinking of 4chan – not maniacs like /pol/, but just average people who don’t get out enough, like to chatter about anime or cooking, and generally act like a bit of a dipshit. Fatherhood is definitely a theme with him as well – he’s already a father figure to two other trolls.

Hmmm. I like the broad concept, but I think we can tighten up a little on the “monk” theme by expanding it. Review Goals: General overview, classpecting advice, filling in missing details like fetch modus or lunar sway, etc.

Strife Specibus: He greatly prefers to snipe threats before they reach him, but if he’s forced into melee, he’ll grab a pipe and go berserker nuts. He takes satisfaction in neutralizing threats, especially if he’s protecting someone or something. He’s not averse to talking things out, but dislikes putting others on the line.

Hmm. None of that is a strife specibus, though I suppose you’re going for riflekind and pipekind. Generally void players use fistkind since it’s the absence of a weapon, but if you want to give him another option besides hand-to-hand melee may I suggest poisonkind? He could use something from his garden, like monkshood :3c. Or if you want to give him a melee weapon he could use the sansetsukon per the 36th Chamber of Shaolin, which would double as a symbol reminder since he could arrange the segments in a backwards s. Fetch Modus: ;;3;; I have absolutely no idea.

What about a clue modus where the items are obscured but contain details describing them? With the caveat that some of them will have similar color/taste/textures listed. I think this might be fun because there are actually *two* famous detectives with the last name Monk, Adrian Monk and William Monk.

Blood Color: Jade.

That works great, especially with Friendsim’s reveal that many jades are indeed monastic/cloistered.

Lunar Sway: Not sure.

Given that he’s a monk and you have painted him as someone unlikely to cause conflict or rebel against the system, I think he’d be a Prospit dreamer.

Title: Knight of Void, someone who exploits what little secrecy and irrelevance he has for all it’s worth. He was first conceived as a Bard, to fit into a fansession, but I eventually decided it didn’t fit what the character had developed to be. 

Symbol and Meaning: I made it up, and it doesn’t have a name. It’s an infinity symbol, broken in the center - like this, but flipped 90 degrees clockwise. I guess it could tie into his aspect by…destroying infinity, I guess, but I really haven’t put that much thought into it.

If we’re going by the EZ, he would be Virittanius, the Deliberate. Which I think fits him quite well! It also looks like a further corruption of the sign you gave him, so I may toy with that a little in the redesign. Handle: I feel like I might have given him a serious handle at one point, but if I did, I forgot it, so for now, it’s oolongMatcha. Just his name. Considering his classpect and desire for secrecy, this makes about as much sense as a rain barrel made out of crackers, but I’m not sure what to give him.

Since his new initials are RM, maybe revenantMyiopsitta. Revenant, of course, to hint at the fact that he’s part of the blood caste most commonly associated with rebirth after death, and Myiopsitta being the genus for two types of parakeet: the cliff parakeet and the monk parakeet. So we have his true identity as well as the unusual nature of his hive, both concealed in plain sight. Quirk: he types in all lower case and likes putting his horns in his emoticons! ’:)  Maybe doing it like (:; would make more sense, as it’s his right (our left) horn that’s busted.

I like it! Depending on his redesign you may also want him to uƨe backwardƨ ƨ’ƨ to mimic hiƨ ƨymbol.

Special Abilities: Supreme Dadliness. Jokes aside, he’s a crack shot, even with his impeded vision, and has been successfully flying under the radar his whole life.

If you still want him to be a crack shot even with the changes I suggested above, maybe he uses blowdarts to poison his enemies from afar?

Lusus: His father is a MASSIVE white snake; I was thinking some kind of constrictor. Personality-wise, he’s close to a prototypical 50s dad. He’s a safe haven for his son and those his baby cares about, and is exceedingly patient, to the point of letting a small child fingerpaint on him. He’s also willing to carry Oolong in emergencies, though I’m not really certain that would work in real life, movement-wise.

I feel like the snake can be a little overplayed as a lusus. If we want to give him something similar to a mother grub as a jadeblood, why not a massive butterfly based on the monk/dusky friar? It also gives you the mechanics for how his dadderfly would carry him around in emergencies.

Interests: He used to spend a lot of time alone on the internet - I originally conceptualized him as a very lonely NEET, to the point he had to find his wallet to remember his own name - but has become more adventurous and friendly, spending more time with his girlfriend and friends (and he has friends now!) He’s very proud of his garden and fruit trees, some of which are rare, difficult to grow properly, and/or dangerous (offering more security).

Huh! You don’t explain *how* he goes from isolated to friendly, but I’d hope that gardening is a way for him to reach out to others since it’s a hobby you can commit to on your own but bond with other hobbyists.

Hive: He lives out in the woods by himself, though not so far from other trolls that he can’t take the day to go shopping or see his mate. His hive is surrounded by his garden on all sides, and has a very visible path down the center (making it easy for him to see anyone approaching, and shoot if they’re a threat). Trees surround it, and dangerous plants are strategically placed to make going through his garden unpleasant at best (it also makes weeding a pain, but he thinks it’s worth it). His hive is especially unusual in that the porch is raised up to the second floor with large poles, and you have to use a ladder to get up to it (unless you’re snakedad, in which case you go up the poles). He has a remote so he can let it down from the ground, as well as access to it on the platform, so he can let people up himself. I don’t think the ground level has a door. I’d be happy to submit pictures, if you want.

Feel free to show us pictures, but I like the concept a lot!

Appearance: Tall and rail-thin, excepting his oddly curvy hips. (I figured due to jades being majority female, developing jade males might be exposed to more than the usual amount of estrogen and androgens. Also I’m way more used to drawing women than men and his initial outline was a gal for like ten minutes.) He shaves his head bald. (This is because A) I didn’t want to bother trying to figure out men’s hair - I almost never draw dudes - and B) he’s partially themed after monks, who often shave their heads. I don’t remember why he says he does it.)

…man, I’m gonna take issue with the way you phrased this description. There’s a lot of gender essentialism going on in your explanation there, and given that a number of us mods are trans and nonbinary I feel obligated to point out a few things:

1) Trolls are bugs. They’re not even mammals. They aren’t exposed to androgen or estrogen or any hormone to give them a certain body shape. It is quite heavily implied that when the mother grub gives birth it is to a bunch of larvae.

2) I know that Homestuck lore has given us largely jade girls and one jade trans guy but that’s no reason to assume that jade men are broadly more “feminine” by default in *any* dimension

3) Even if trolls *did* work like humans, it rubs me the wrong way to see someone talking about a man’s “oddly” curvy hips like I’ve got guy friends both trans and cis with wide hips and the only reason to remark on it at all is because We Live In A Society that forcibly genders people in relation to physical characteristics.

…So I am otherwise taking your description at face value. ______ Matcha is tall, rail thin, with curvy hips and a bald head. I will probably add some little fangs, per the Alternian fashion guide.

He wears leggings (unless it’s very hot) and long tunics or robes, usually tan, with his symbol emblazoned on the breast. He goes barefoot if he can. His right (our left) horn is broken, due to an accident in his youth (I think he fell onto something?), amusingly improving his vision, since his unbroken left horn points in front of his left eye, obscuring it somewhat.  His face could almost be described as delicate, and his default expression is calm.

I don’t knooooow that tan is a color trolls wear all that often in Alternia, so I will see how I can rework that in the redesign. I get him being barefoot, but I may give it a shot spriting him monk shoes for if he wants to go on an outing. :3c For his broken horn…hm. When we see trolls with physical damage, it is almost always something more significant than just “childhood accident” (see: every troll in Homestuck except Equius who somehow had like 3 simultaneous accidents?). I have an idea for his horns that I will get to in the redesign, and I will probably add a hook to his front horn, both because it’s a jadeblood trait and because it seems suitably horrifying to constantly have a sharp implement millimeters from your eye.

Personality: Oolong is a nice, fatherly young man, well regarded by most he meets. He really really likes tea. He has a beautiful, dangerous mafiosa matesprite in a rustblood named Andora Ingenu, and they adore each other. He’s also taken on the substitute dad role for an adorable young fuschia who lives in the swamp near his forest, Lillie Waters, teaching her how to cook (and keep her tools clean) and rescuing her from other fuschias. He’s very protective of his and his loved ones’ privacy and safety, and spends a LOT of his time in the massive gardens around his hive, of which he’s deservedly proud. He is very good at being sneaky, and sometimes takes the time to run around seeing what he can get away with, especially in the realm of snatching seeds up for his garden. He sells whatever plants he can grow for money, especially fruits and vegetables, but he doesn’t really enjoy sales. He doesn’t put a lot of stock in blood superiority, but doesn’t make a big deal out of it. He’s oddly well adjusted for someone who spent most of his life alone.

I like this description! Also looking at his close compatriots, it looks like I can swap the tan in his design for rust or fuchsia. We already see jadebloods wearing a fair amount in the red/burgundy/purple spectrum, so it should fit right in with the others.

Land: I don’t remember if I’ve come up with one. If I did, I feel like it may have heavily wooded areas, dark and tangled and difficult to navigate.

Hmmm. What about Land of Rough and Reflection (LORAR)? Covered in rough terrain, with pools to contemplate oneself. Unbeknownst to your troll, there are switches at the bottom of each lake (deeper than he could ever hope to dive and hold his breath) that must be flipped to drain the lakes and free the consorts from the underwater caves in which they’ve been trapped for generations. His land would initially seem completely empty and without guidance, and it neatly parallels his own situation before he began to socialize.

I hope you like him! :) I’d love to see what you guys think of him.

He’s certainly an interesting troll, and I hope I’ve helped by way of sharpening up on his theme! Let’s move on to the redesign.

Top to bottom as usual!

Hair - I gave him some stubble courtesy of fan-troll (I have never managed a post without plugging fan-troll/tajazzled’s sprite sheet and I’m not gonna stop now)

Horns - I wanted to make his other horn sort of…curve away from his head so it looks like his symbol from above?

Eyes and brows - they didn’t change but big ups to fan-troll for giving me bases to modify!

Mouth - this is a modification of Sollux’s mouth but I gave him lil fangs and a little lower lip definition

Robes - I just modified some of Kanaya’s robes, appropriately enough! I decided to go for a red/pink shade that was between rust and fuchsia so he could fit in while subtly broadcasting his allegiance

Shoes - they’re John’s but with buckles! :B monk shoes

Aaaand that’s about it for my critique! I hope this helped!

-TR

[sarah-writes-stories]

Chapter 5: Bleeding Love

A Post-Canon Inuyasha Romance/Adventure Epic

Find it on: Fanfiction.net / AO3 / Wattpad

Words: 3,248

Full Chapter List & Description is here.

Prologue  •  Chapter 1  •  Chapter 2  •  Chapter 3  •  Chapter 4  •  Chapter 5  •  Chapter 6  •  Chapter 7  •  Chapter 8  •  Chapter 9  •  Chapter 10  •  Chapter 11  •  Chapter 12  •  Chapter 13

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As they'd approached the village, Inuyasha and Kagome were noticed by several villagers who'd all bowed and called out joyful greetings to Lady Kagome and Lord Inuyasha as the two had walked by.

"Whelp, that's it," grumbled Inuyasha, "I bet by morning the entire village will be buzzin' with the news that you've returned. I betcha the Headman himself will come looking for you before you're even done breakfast." The thought made Inuyasha miserable. Just more people he had to share Kagome with. Keh!

"Why would the Headman come looking for me?" Kagome wondered aloud.

"Because you're a walkin', talkin' legend, that's why!"

"Excuse me?!"

Inuyasha explained, "Damned Shippō and Miroku couldn't keep their traps shut after Naraku had been defeated. They'd tell anyone and everyone who'd listen all about our final battle. As though it was anybody else's business!" He was getting worked up all over again at the memory.

"Everyone… and I mean everyone… knows who you are now, Kagome. I've been stopped at least once in every town we've ever gone to for an extermination, just so that someone or another could ask me if I was THE Lord InuYasha and where they could find the great and powerful Shikon Miko!" Inuyasha was practically fuming.

"You've got to be kidding me?!" As he'd spoke, Kagome's face had taken on a progressively more flabbergasted look.

"Afraid not." He grumbled some more.

"But why do they keep calling you Lord Inuyasha?" She questioned.

"It's the bastard's fault." He growled out the words. "Everyone knows who bloody Lord Sesshōmaru is. Lord of the fuckin' Western Lands." He rolled his eyes at that before continuing, "Kaede must have cornered him and convinced him to leave Rin here in the village after the final battle, but he still visits her every couple months or so… And well, people started putting two and two together that we were related…" He said the word with a gag. "And the next thing I know everybody's whisperin' about how Lord Inuyasha is the second son of the Inu No Taishō! Not like I can't hear their damned whispers." He pointed gruffly at the ears that stood at attention atop his white-haired head.

"I can't believe that Sesshōmaru would leave Rin here!" Kagome said with surprise, latching onto the most shocking part of his diatribe. "Those two always seemed so… close."

"I think Kaede said something about it being in Rin's best interest to grow up with her own kind. There's an understatement for ya! I think they're figuring that when she gets older she'll be able to make up her own mind about whether or not she wants to stay here or go back with him. Either way, Miroku's been enjoying the situation way too much – that baka – because no matter how many times I tell everybody to stop callin' me that, they just keep on doin' it anyway!" He flung his arms up in the air in a helpless gesture at his last words.

"I'm sorry, Inuyasha. I know your… relationship… with Sesshōmaru is a sore spot for you." She half-smiled, half-frowned at him in commiseration.

"Let's just stop talking about it, already." He grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Of course." Kagome was contrite, having obviously hit a nerve. Inuyasha could see the regret on her face and immediately his foul mood was replaced with a desire to ease her burden.

He put his arm around her shoulders, giving her a light, reassuring squeeze before releasing her. "It's okay, Kagome. I've learned to just ignore it."

Kagome smiled up at him, but before she could say anything else her stomach let out an embarrassingly loud growl. She reddened in embarrassment immediately. "Err… Um…. This walking, talking legend may have missed lunch." She smiled up at Inuyasha weakly.

He chuckled and shook his head. "Well then, whatcha waitin' for, wench? Let's go get you some dinner."

And in the fading light, the two of them continued on toward Sango and Miroku's home.

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Kaede had held back her tears when she'd finally laid eyes on Kagome's face.

In the midst of treating a sprained ankle earlier that day, Shippō had barged into her hut and squealed at the top of his Kitsune lungs that Kagome was back.

And as astonished as she'd been to be proven wrong – that the well had, indeed, opened up again – she was even more relieved and overjoyed for Inuyasha. Perhaps more than most, Kaede knew how much the hanyou had suffered without Kagome by his side.

Kaede smiled at the young girl from where she sat around the fire in Sango and Miroku's home. She cared deeply for Kagome – as one would a daughter – no less because she was the reincarnation of her beloved sister… But as the evening's celebrations wore on, she began to watch the young Miko carefully.

There was something… different… about the child. Kaede could tell that Miroku sensed it as well. She'd caught the monk giving Kagome assessing looks from over the rim of his rice bowl. Still, it hadn't stopped the Houshi from teasingly asking what exactly she and Inuyasha had been up to all afternoon.

Kagome took it all in stride. "Wouldn't you like to know." She winked, and Miroku wasn't sure what to do with this newly mature, unflappable Kagome.

Kaede smiled again. The sheer joy of their reunion celebration was undeniable, and though she may still have a twinge of concerned curiosity in the back of her mind, she did not let it show on her face.

The rest of dinner was spent in happy conversation, each adult taking turns to either feed, cuddle or play with the younger children. Rin, however, had been slowly inching towards Kagome with a guarded look in her eye. Kagome could tell that the girl wanted to ask her something, and she waited patiently for Rin to be ready to speak.

"Kagome-sama, this Rin hopes it's all right… But since you've been gone she's has been using your strange yellow bag sometimes." She bowed then. "I'm very sorry!"

"You mean my backpack is still here?!" Kagome was genuinely surprised by this.

Inuyasha piped up then, "Don't ya remember? You left it in the village when the final battle with Naraku began. Somehow, it survived all the destruction. Your bow is here too, you know." He added as an afterthought, "I found it at the bottom of the well after I…" He trailed off, not willing to finish his sentence out loud.

‘After I'd been ripped away from you without even the chance to say goodbye,’ he thought to himself morosely.

Rin seemed oblivious to the depressing turn of Inuyasha's thoughts, instead continuing with her apology. "Hai. This Rin hasn't been using your bow, but she has been using your bag, sometimes when she goes out to tend Lady Kaede's fields and gardens, and sometimes when Lord Sesshomaru comes for a visit and we go for a walk or a short trip." The child bowed her head again. "Gomen-nasai, Kagome-sama!"

"Oh, Rin! Please, there's no need to apologize. You're welcome to use my backpack any time you need it. And please, call me Kagome-chan. I'd like us to be friends, if that's all right with you…" She smiled warmly at the young girl whose entire face lit up with a wide grin and a strong nod in return.

"This Rin would like that very much, Kagome-sa—" She gulped sheepishly at her immediate mistake before continuing. "Kagome-chan, I mean."

"Honestly, I can't even remember what it was I left behind in that bag…" She trailed off, not really expecting an answer to her musings.

"A comb. Some books. Some of those matches you were always using to light fires. Extra clothes, that strange brush you cleaned your teeth with, the tiny looking glass – thought that got cracked – and a tube of that gooey ointment you'd always put on cuts and things." Inuyasha listed the items off without hesitation, as though he'd memorized them.

He had obviously. They'd been all he'd had left of Kagome after she'd gone.

Sometimes – when he'd known that both Kaede and Rin were away from their hut – he would sneak in and go to the chest that Kaede used to store all of Kagome's things. Reverently, he'd open the lid, looking at each of the items in turn, before picking up the shirt of her old school uniform, the extra one she'd always kept in her bag. He'd inhale her scent deeply. It was the last connection he had to her, the last thing that proved that she'd once been real. But her scent had finally begun to fully fade from the items in the chest in recent months and it was like he'd had to mourn her loss all over again.

But now, she was back! She was back and– He glanced up at her only to find that she was staring at him with a strange look in her eye, one he couldn't quite decipher.

"What?" He asked, suddenly deeply embarrassed. "So I know what you left behind, so what?" He tried to play it off casually.

It was Miroku who took pity on his friend, changing the subject quickly. "Well now, my friends, it is not truly a celebration without a celebratory drink! Sango, my dear, do you remember where I put that fine jug of sake I received as payment for the extermination of that tsukumogami a few months back?"

Sango looked up from where she sat nursing Ichiro to sleep, "I think it's up on the top shelf in the kitchen."

"Wonderful! Now, who would like a drink?"

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The sake had flowed and the conversation had relaxed, though Kaede had declined the offered drink.

Inuyasha sat sipping slowly on his first dish – sake had never been his favourite – but the other adults were at the bottom of their second sakazukis when the conversation had turned back to Kagome's time in the future world and what she'd been doing over the past three years.

"…and Ayumi even convinced me to join the English-language Glee Club during our last year of school." Kagome finished.

"Glee Club?" asked Sango, getting up to take a sleeping Ichiro into the other room.

"Yeah, it was a club, a… group of students. We'd get together during the lunch hour twice a week to sing popular English songs. Ayumi convinced me to join with her. She thought it'd be a good way for us to improve our English language skills before grades had to be submitted for our University applications."

"So it was a… singing group?" Asked Miroku. "What did you sing?"

"Well, mostly popular English songs. Things you'd hear on English radio stations 'n stuff."

Miroku could tell that Kagome was feeling the effects of her sake with the way her cheeks were flushed and her words were slightly slurred. A wicked glint came into his eye then. Here was his chance! If she wouldn't rise to the bait before… He wondered how far he could tease her with this.

"Well, Kagome. If you can sing as you say, then you simply must sing for us!"

"Whaaaatttt?"

"But of course! Sing one of these English songs of yours. We have lived all these years in such a humble village, after all. Few singers or musicians ever pass through. I insist. You must sing us a song. Consider it my boon for hosting tonight's festivities."

Kagome grumbled under her breath then – something about having to 'sing for her supper' – but she considered his request.

The songs she'd sung in Glee Club had mostly been ballads and love songs. Sometimes while singing, she'd let her mind wander, imagining she was singing the lyrics to Inuyasha. And now, suddenly, she had the chance to do just that. Surely it wouldn't hurt to sing him a love song. None of them understood English, after all. It wasn't as though they would understand the words she was singing.

Her slightly inebriated mind latched onto the idea with all the bravery that the sake had provided. "Okaaaay…. But it'll be in English. Those were the songs we sang. It's not like you'll be able to understand what I'm singing about."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Miroku assured her. "I'm sure hearing your lovely voice will be more than enough for us to enjoy." He couldn't wait to tease her mercilessly about this in the morning.

Sango returned from putting Ichiro down then. Settling back down beside Miroku, she asked, "What's going on?"

"Kagome has just agreed to sing us a song, my dear!" His smile was filled with amusement and mischief.

"Miroku! Did you trick Kagome into singing? Kagome, you do not have to do that if you don't want to!"

But now, suddenly, the idea of being able to sing a love song to Inuyasha seemed too good to resist. She spoke up quickly. "No, I'll do it. I'll do it. But, like I told the others, it'll be in a different language."

Sango gave her friend a side-eye. She, too, could tell that Kagome was slightly inebriated. "Okay, Kagome, if that's what you really want."

Kagome sat for a moment, gathering her courage, willing herself to hear the notes of the invisible music she would sing along to inside her head. Slowly, she began…

Closed off from love, I didn't need the pain. Once or twice was enough, but it was all in vain.

As she sang, her voice grew in strength and sureness.

Time starts to pass, before you know it, you're frozen.

Everyone watched Kagome as she sang, her words laced with emotion, though none could understand what she was saying.

But something happened, for the very first time with you. My heart melts into the ground, found something true.

Then, slowly, the air around the Miko seemed to gain in density and weight, and as the group listened, it was almost as though they could hear the slight sound of instruments accompanying Kagome's voice.

And everyone's looking round, thinking I'm going crazy.

Sango looked at Miroku, curious to know if what she thought she was hearing was just a trick of her imagination, but the look on his face told her it wasn't. Kaede sat silently, studying Kagome as well.

But I don't care what they say, I'm in love with you. They try to pull me away, but they don't know the truth. My heart's crippled by the vein, that I keep on closing.

As they all watched, a faint pink glow began emanating from Kagome, becoming brighter and stronger the longer she sang. It seemed to pulse with the beat of her words.

Shippō, who was sitting in Rin's lap, gasped. Both children exchanged a look with jaws gaping open. Even Aki and Yuki had stopped to listen and watch from the corner of the room where they'd been quietly playing.

You cut me open and I keep bleeding. Keep, keep bleeding love. I keep bleeding. I keep, keep bleeding love. Keep bleeding. Keep, keep bleeding love You cut me open

As she reached the chorus, the power seemed to flow out from Kagome in waves that filled the room with a pink haze. None of them could speak, shocked into silence at what the were witnessing.

Trying hard not to hear, but they talk so loud. Their piercing sounds fill my ears, try to fill me with doubt. Yet I know that the goal is to keep me from falling.

As the pink haze swirled around them, the music that accompanied Kagome's words became louder. It seemed to fill the air, pulsing in time with the vibration of power that flowed out of her seated form.

But nothing's greater, than the rush that comes with your embrace. And in this world of loneliness, I see your face. Yet everyone around me thinks that I'm going crazy, Maybe, maybe.

Inuyasha sat bolt upright. 'I- I- I understood that!' He thought in shock. It was as though a translation of the foreign words his ears were hearing was echoing around inside his skull.

But I don't care what they say. I'm in love with you. They try to pull me away, but they don't know the truth. My heart's crippled by the vein that I keep on closing.

It felt as though the music was penetrating his skin, settling right down deep into his soul, into a place where words weren't really necessary but meaning was always understood. Inuyasha looked around the room. The matching shocked looks on the faces of the others in the room confirmed that they were hearing the same thing that he was.

Kagome was mindless to what was going on around her. She'd kept her eyes closed after she'd begun to sing and had yet to open them, not wanting to falter with embarrassment under their stares. Instead, she'd focused solely on the words, on how she felt about Inuyasha, and on how the words made her feel. She sang as though it was just for him, with all the confidence of knowing that he'd never understand her passionate lyrical confession.

And if she hadn't known better, she'd have almost thought that she could hear the music she was singing along to inside her head. Almost.

You cut me open and I Keep bleeding, Keep, keep bleeding love I keep bleeding, I keep, keep bleeding love Keep bleeding, Keep, keep bleeding love

The music swirled around them, pulsing with its foreign, future rhythm, the echoed meaning of her words settling into everyone's minds.

Inuyasha's heart clenched tightly in his chest, the powerful meaning of the words she was singing was not lost on him. He felt like he couldn't move, couldn't breathe, as Kagome's body swayed in time with the beat of the song that came pouring out of her very soul. Her hands moving expressively, punctuating the lyrics of the song.

You cut me open and I Keep bleeding. Keep, keep bleeding love…

She held the note of the last word of the song for a long time, and as she did, the music seemed to fade away, as the rolling waves of power that had filled the room retreat back into her small body.

Kagome finally opened her eyes then, blinking a bit after having held them so tightly closed for so long.

When she finally focused on the faces of her friends around the room she was not prepared for the looks of utter shock that were etched across each of their faces.

Kagome blushed furiously, looking down at her lap. "What? It wasn't that bad, was it?" ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ A/N: I do not own Inuyasha nor any of the characters created by Rumiko Takahashi.

I LOVE it when readers leave me a comment and let me know what they think! ❤︎

[aproblematicpanda]

Harry Potter? For the in-depth fandom ask

Hi thank you! ♥ I will use the books for my answers, since I didn’t really like most of the movies. I apologize if I mix up some of the characters, I’ve only read the books in my native language so I will have to google for some of the names in English. :’D

Top 5 favorite characters: Minerva McGonagall, Luna Lovegood, Fred & George Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Ginny Weasley. Other characters you like: The golden trio obviously, Molly, Dobby, Draco Malfoy, ... There are not a lot of characters I dislike. Least favourite characters: Umbridge, for obvious reasons. Otps: Hermione and Ron. Notps: I don’t think I have any? I’m not very invested in shipping when it comes to the HP fandom, I pretty much keep an open mind to everything? Except incest but I’ve never seen anyone ship anything like that, so. Favourite friendships: Harry, Ron and Hermione, obviously, and I also really liked Fren, George and Lee, and Lavender and Parvati. Favourite family: The Weasleys Favourite episodes: / Favourite book:  Prisoner of Azkaban is probably my favorite book. Favourite quotes:  "If you want to know what a man’s like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals." "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." "But you know, happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light." "Harry witnessed Professor McGonagall walking right past Peeves who was determinedly loosening a crystal chandelier and could have sworn he heard her tell the poltergeist out of the corner of her mouth, 'It unscrews the other way.’" "There is no need to call me ‘sir,’ Professor." And probably more. The books have so many amazing scenes, funny, inspirational, sad, hopeful, ... It was really hard to pick just a few. Best musical moment: / Moment that made you fangirl the hardest: Ehh... I mean, obviously I was rooting for Harry and the ending was a satisfying one, just like every other time Harry beat Voldemort, but the moment that made me fangirl the hardest would probably be Hermione punching Draco in the face. xD When it really disappointed you: The only truly disappointing thing about the book is how House-Elves are treated. Other than that, the only time I’m disappoint is literally every time JK Rowling decides it’s a good idea to open her mouth. Saddest moment: The moment Harry breaks down in Dumbledore’s chambers after Sirius dies gives me chills every. damn. time I reread the book. Most well done character death: Oh god, this is so hard because most of the deaths really hit me hard Favourite guest star: / Favourite cast member: / Character you wish was still alive: Honestly? Probably Hedwig. Maybe Fred. One thing you hope really happens: That JK Rowling’s Twitter account is banned so she doesn’t have a damn platform anymore. Most shocking twist:  When did you start reading: I think the first three books were already out when I started to read them. My classmates kept telling me to do it and I was in that annoying phase where I refused to dive into anything that was this massively popular - but I’m glad I eventually caved because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have grown up in this fandom and that means I would’ve had an entirely different experience. Now I can still say I grew up with the books and I’m glad I did. Best animal/creature: I’m a gigantic sucker for unicorns and I’m not sorry about it. xD Favourite location: I mean, Hogwarts is amazing, the descriptions of the castle never get old. Trope you wish they would stop using: Ehh... I honestly don’t know? One thing this book does better than others: I love how this show has such an inspired, dedicated, creative fanbase. The amount of HP related art, fanfiction, headcanons, ... out there is mindblowing. I’ve never quite seen that happen in any other fandom and it’s part of why I love this one as much as I do. Like how people can take a character that’s mentioned maybe a couple of times in the books and they create so much content for them to the point where I’ve actively had to stop myself from writing an answer to this questions because the answer isn’t canon, that’s admirable. Funniest moments: Fred and George wrecking havoc on Umbridge and finally leaving the castle after they get caught is without a doubt the funniest scene I can think of. Couple you would like to see: Like I said, I was never really into shipping anyone with anyone. I enjoy quite a lot of fanon ships I see on Tumblr, though. Actor/Actress you want to join the cast: / Favourite outfit: Every outfit I can think of is influenced by the movies so I don’t really have an answer to this. I would’ve loved to see Hermione’s dress to the Yule Ball, though, and the Patil sisters’. Oh, and Fleur’s wedding dress. Favourite item: The Marauder’s map. Do you own anything related to this show: No. What house/team/group/friendship group/family/race etc would you be in: I’m a Slytherin. Most boring plotline: I can’t think of anything. The passage that bores me the most is the one where the Minister of Magic meets the Muggle Prime Minister but that’s not a plotline. I guess everything is just so well thought of, everything that’s in the books in there for a reason and I wouldn’t cut anything out of it. Most laughably bad moment: As much as I dislike JK Rowling, she wrote seven brilliant books. I can’t think of a bad moment. There are plot holes, sure, and things that really fucking bug me, but no laughably bad moments. At least, not any that I can think of right now. The fact that she gave Cho Chang two last names as a name is a bad moment, though - but it’s not laughably. It’s just more proof that JK Rowling is a terrible person. Best flashback/flashfoward if any: The memories Snape shows to Harry, and the ones they both get to see of each other during their Occlumency lessons. Most layered character: I love the character development Ron goes through. Most one dimensional character: Ehh. There were a lot of important characters so it makes sense that not all of them got the layers they deserved. Right now nobody who’s relevant to the plot comes to mind as an answer? Scariest moment: Well, when Harry and Dumbledore came back from finding the fake Horcrux, that had me scared. Not for their lives (because it was obvious that Harry would live and Dumbledore would die) but because it felt like all of Dumbledore’s plans would be ruined so that’d probably be the scariest moment for me? Grossest moment: Ehh... I would probably throw up if I had witnessed Nagini sliding out of Bathilda’s dead body so I’m gonna go with that one, that must’ve been horrifying for Harry, especially because he spares Hermione the details. Best looking male: Well the books name Cedric Diggory as the most attractive one, so... Let’s go with that one then?  Best looking female: Fleur and Ginny Who you’re crushing on (if any): I would probably be all over Ginny if I had gone to Hogwarts. Favourite cast moment: / Favourite transportation: A Thestral! Most beautiful scene (scenery/shot wise): I really love the descriptions of Hogwarts. Unanswered question/continuity issue/plot error that bugs you: Oh god, so. many. Off the top of my head, here we go. 1. The carriages that bring the students back to the train station are mentioned specifically at the end of the fourth book and yet Harry can’t see the Thestrals until the beginning of the fifth book. 2. In what world are the Weasleys poor? Hermione specifically mentions in the seventh book that you can increase the quantity of food and Harry gets more wine for Slughorn and Hagrid with a spell in the sixth book, so no wizard or witch would have to spend any money on food, ever. And like with clothes and books and everything, why buy multiple ones? Just buy one and then duplicate it like when Hermione did it with the medallion? 3. Harry randomly remembering the phone number to get into the Ministry of Magic after almost an entire year, having heard them once: please. I started rereading the fifth book like two months ago for the gazillionth time and I already don’t remember them anymore. 4. Supposedly there’s a curse on the position as the DADA professor ever since Voldemort asked for the job, so there’s a new teacher every year, but Professor Quirrel is introduced in a way that makes it seem as if he has been teaching there for quite a while and other students (like Fred and George) treat him as such - seems to me like the curse was only activated with Harry coming to Hogwarts but that’s not what’s canon. 5. Voldemort conveniently waiting for the end of the school year each year to make his move. 6. The school year somehow always starts on a Monday and the Hogwarts express always leaves on September 1 which would mean that September 1 was a Sunday for seven years in a row. 7. Why, WHY, would they use feathers and parchment? What the hell is wrong with pen and paper? Or things like torches, when electricity has been a thing since forever? And the same goes for using owls to send letters, or the memos that are used in the Ministry of Magic: just text or e-mail, dudes. One sloppy ‘this doesn’t work here because there’s too much magic in the air’ just doesn’t cut it for me, especially because Harry does wear a watch, for instance. I probably have more but this is all I can come up with right now. xD Best promo: My childhood best friend bugging me about the books until I finally caved and started to read them. xD At what point did you fall in love with this show/book: Literally the first chapter.

Send me a show/fandom and I’ll answer

[neosaysno]

FantineAquane (Danganronpa)

So I decided to come back to this blog after a year, and I took on a new character. Meet FantineAquane, the SHSL Secret.

...

I’m already scared.

(CONTENT WARNING: Mentions of pedophilia and noncon. Seriously.)

Warning! Because of the nature of this fandom, I will be going into spoiler territory.

Name:FantineAquane Gender: DOB:13 October Blood typeO+ Height:1.78 meter Weight:55 kg

Okay, let’s unpack this, because there’s a good bit here. And we already have problems.

... FantineAquane is NOT a name. That looks like a username of some kind, and when I googled FantineAquane, I discovered that it was indeed used as a username! I also managed to track down the creator, but I’m not really going to bother...

Why is the Gender thing blank? Even if you’re nonbinary, agender, whatever, that would be listed. However, the rest of the profile uses “she/her” pronouns and calls her a “girl”, so I’m going to go ahead with calling Fantine a girl for the rest of this.

No issues with the birthday, but she’s slightly underweight, which is an unfortunately common thing in OCs. Thankfully it’s not too egregious (Less than ten pounds underweight).

FantineAquane is tall-slim girl.She has long straight-wavy purple-black acid type haired.She weared purple short jacket with a long sleeves,old white worned brassier and worn daisy dukes.She has big blue-bright cerulean eyes with long eyelashes.She has a faded scars inside her jacket.

That grammar... Ughhh. It’s not /that/ bad, but it clearly tells me the writer isn’t a native English speaker. Or if they are, they’re flat out terrible at it.

Pray for me while I decipher this. It feels like I’m solving a worse Metheus puzzle.

Tall and slim... Okay, she’s about 5′8, so she’s actually decently tall for a... wait, how old is she?!

This is an actual problem. We don’t even have a listed age range. This is a problem for a Danganronpa OC! Even the DR1 students at least had age ranges, from sixteen at the youngest, presumably. (Well, they were a year or two older because of the lost memories, but that’s not too much to bring up.) What IS the problem is that we have no listed age. Yes, I am nitpicking that.

And “acid”... I’m gonna assume that’s neon hair. I am not going to provide a visual reference because that would mean your eyes will hurt.

That’s not even that appropriate! We don’t see Danganronpa students walking around with neon hair! Ibuki and Souda are the only people who remotely fit that, and their hair is toned down enough to not be painful to the eyes. Our solace here is that the art doesn’t hurt to look at.

And why is she only wearing a jacket over her bra?! Where’s her shirt?! Even Aoi had a shirt! While yes, girl power and all, that’s just flat out inappropriate! I’m assuming this is JUST killing game garb, but I sure as hell hope Fantine wears the uniform during school years! Most, if not all schools would take disciplinary action if you walked in wearing that kind of outfit!

(Note, Angie technically is wearing a swimsuit, so I’m not going to bring that up, but the clothing description confirms that this is a full out bra that Fantine has, not a bikini top.)

No comment on the eyes, but the scars (or... scar? See, this is why you need to have decent grammar) don’t seem to be brought up elsewhere, so -1 point.

FantineAquane is a kind,curious,sociable,clueless,funny,sensitive girl.But instead she’s the revengeable and up raged girl as someone who insulted her as a prostitude and insulting her friends.She kinda bitchy as she loves the lust and sexual things.But it doesn’t mean she’s an idiot and prideless person.She wants to be a hopeful person who saves the suvivors from death.She can knows someone secret only a sight.

AUGH. This is pure word vomit. Gibberish. Nonsense. Whatever you want to call it. What the shiny mystical hell am I looking at?! None of these line up! This is complete nonsense! It’s like the creator just slapped all these personality things on without thinking about how they work together, or in this case, don’t!

And... “ She can knows someone secret only a sight. “

Oh god... is she a mind reader? PLEASE do not be a mind reader. I’m now actually scared to read through this more...

Super High School Level Secret

Super High School Level Hope (Her dream to protect the innocents)

Super High School Level Tackler

Super High School Level Fate

I should have known better than to wish for things. I have no goddamn words for this. This is in no way feasibly possible. I’m almost tempted to give up right here.

WHY is she the SHSL Hope?! Nothing we’ve seen here shows that she is a candidate! What the hell is Tackler? Secret? Fate?! These talents are an absolute disaster.

♢ Possible Execution ::

Gangbang Or Reveal Her Secret Until Death(Insane Diary)

I AM VERY TERRIFIED RIGHT NOW WHAT THE FUCK. DEATH BY GANGBANG?! SERIOUSLY?! WHY?!

Get me. The hell. Out of here. Insane Diary-whatever, how does that kill her? How does any of this work? I’m not talking about this further, I need to get out of this so I can get through the rest of this. This is the worst execution concept I have EVER seen.

FantineAquane was an orphan since she was a baby.In her surrounding,she become one of the insulted person in the homeless city.She been pedofilia with some citizens as her attraction makes all the men want to sex with her.All the fate has been changed as one city was ruined and rule by Super High School Level Despair.As she know the person who ruined all people lives,she attend the Hope Peak’s Private Academy as she wanna to prove that insulted person can help this city and ruined or realise all the Super High School Level Despair’s members.Without any letter that she needs to be that school student,she makes a bargain with Monokuma as she need to save the world with HOPE or die in DESPAIR.

WHAT THE HELLLLL

THIS IS JUST AIFURYEIULKEYHRLIUHE NOOOOO

I... I have no words. This so. BLATANTLY. Defiles canon that I feel like this person tried to rip Danganronpa off to make their own story.

And what the shit? I’m sorry, but this girl is not that attractive. Not nearly enough for “all the men” to want “to sex with her”. What the hell. This backstory is a mess. How can she attend Hope’s Peak without an invitation? HOW IS SHE STILL ALIVE IN THE POST-DESPAIR WORLD?! How is she not batshit insane?! Most people like her would be dead or have already fallen to despair by the time the first game takes place! And how-- How did Monokuma not let her in without wiping her memories first? What the hell is this?! Why is she trying to be the protagonist?! At least it potentially explains her horrendous choice of clothing...

I’m not even going to talk about this more. This is just a disaster and makes me want to get through this even further so I can scrub this OC from my brain.

♢ Likes :

Sex,electronic items,helping people,socials,solving clues,willing to friends someone,Yaoi

SELF INSERT SPOTTED, SELF INSERT SPOTTED!

No, seriously, whenever an OC has ‘yaoi’ in their likes, I default to Self Insert. And the creator legitimately put THIS in their profile. “Pro in Doujinshi,Hentai & Yaoi“ So... Fantine over here is a self insert on top of all of this.

Back to the actual review... yeah, if she was forced into prostitution, I have a feeling she wouldn’t actually like sex all that much, especially if she’d been forced into it from a young age. I don’t have much comment on the rest, as FINALLY something lines up with the rest of her.

♢ Dislikes ::

Being insulted,Having sex without taking permission to her,Being advice about her clothes,up of rage,her secret has been revealled

Welp, we’re back to impossible grammar. Semi-readable was good while it lasted, I suppose. The hell does “up of rage” mean?

Also, nonconsensual sex being in the dislikes makes sense, but... why not just bring normal sex over too? And what’s her “secret”? That she used to be a prostitute?

Aaand she doesn’t like criticism on her clothes. Lady, you’re wearing something that would get you kicked out of half the places I can name.

♢ Friends ::

Best friend:Nagito Komaeda,Aoi Asahina,Alter Ego,Leon Kuwata,Makoto Naegi,Sakura Oogami,

GODDAMMIT SHE’S A SEVENTEENTH STUDENT. AND HAS PROTAGONIST SYNDROME. Also, why is Nagito top of the list? He joined SHSL Despair. And she’s supposedly fighting despair. God damn, Fantine.

And I’m pretty sure NONE of these people would want to be around her, except maybe Makoto because he’s a nice person and would feel bad for her.

Friends:Souda Kazuichi,Gundam Tanaka,Hagakure Yasuhiro,Hifumi Yamada

Why is she friends with Hifumi? Oh, right, she’s a fujoshi. And I don’t think any of THESE people would want to be around her either. Ewwww.

Crush On:Chihiro Fujisaki,Alter Ego,

God damn. I think this chick would scare Chihiro more than she’d actually be a potential romantic partner. She’s like Chihiro’s total opposite, and no, opposites attract isn’t a thing here.

And is she using Alter Ego as a substitute after Chihiro dies? Not exactly unexpected...

Enemies:Monokuma,Junko Enoshima

Boriiiiiiiing. Generic good guy stuff. Because of course the bootleg SHSL Hope hates Despair. I’m going to give her the benefit of the doubt-- Wait, how would she know Junko was behind this? Did she somehow manage to not get herself murdered or executed? Ugh.

♢ Quotes ::

“Don’t judge the book by it’s cover”

“You have to kidding me?”

“Although all of you loves to insulting me,it doesn’t mean I been insulted.But you all gimme a great support”

“Don’t kill all these innocence suvivors except me!”

“You’re got it wrong”

“Monokuma,I challenge you for a fight between HOPE & DESPAIR”

“Although they’re diffent in executions or death,their hope is to kill and put you all in the hell!”

“Although I’m atheast,it doesn’t means I disrespect all others religions,especially Islam”

That grammar is back! How do you mess up the iconic quote?! How has she challenged Monokuma like that without dying?! How can she handle others insulting her like that even though she clearly dislikes it? What the hell is going on here? Well... She’s got a poor judge of character, because she’s saying all the killers’ intentions was to damn everyone else. Nope. Not true.

And that last quote seems a little out of place. I’m gonna assume it connects to the creator in some way.

-

Final Verdict

Unsalvageable.

I’m (not) sorry to say this, but FantineAquane, the SHSL Secret, is UNSALVAGEABLE. There’s just too much wrong with her to be considered remotely salvageable, and it’s better off to just scrap her and start from the beginning. This OC was a disaster from beginning to end.