#yes ofc this is a personalized attack on her and i did it on purpose to put us in a financially tighter position because obviously

[innielove]

i legit might not make it to graduate 😀👍🏻

[luckybunny555]

Secret admirer

You receive a strange gift and find out the identity of your secret admirer.

Amber Freeman x GN!/Fem!Reader(no pronouns but for sapphics)

Warnings: creepy behavior, stalking, cursing, usual Ghostface behavior, a little bit of trust issues, being "attacked" but not harmed, mentions of murder and violence(no big description tho), a little suggestive in the end(as a treat ;) )

a/n: Part 2. No bad ending, again. I mentioned a song at some point and if you don't listen to it while reading ur not getting the whole experience, disappointing. also, this one's a bit scarier than part one(at least in my opinion). I'm sorry if ur not actually a scared little bitch like I am, but I made the readed very scared because yes. I didn't proof-read the end bc I used every single brain cell I have to finish this today. I might read it later but no promises.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Because you were texting Amber, you didn't worry about walking home alone. The sun was setting, but you were reaching the front door already.

Amber

I can't believe you fell for that

You

Wha-

Mindy had a straight face when

she said that

I thought she just remembered

the movie better than me

Amber

I literally made you watch it a

hundread times

how could you not remember

also, lmk when you get home

You

what did u expect

I also closed my eyes a hundread

times bc I got scared

I'm already unlocking the door

Amber

ok good

told u you'd be safe with me

;)

You felt a warm feeling in your chest, stupidly staring at her message. The smile on your face was an evident sign of how whipped you were for her. Stepping into your home, you lock the door again, not taking your eyes off your phone.

Amber

I'm throwing a party saturday

My parents will be out, they

got a wedding or smth

ur coming, right?

Your smile grew. "Mom?" you shouted, your voice echoing through the empty house. You finally looked away from your phone, scanning the space around you. The house seemed empty, which was unusual. By that time, your mom should be home. All you could hear was faint music, which your mom probably forgot to turn off before she left the house. You walked towards the kitchen, answering Amber's text.

You

ofc, I never miss ur parties

Amber

Liar

You've missed 3 of my parties

You

ok true, but it wasn't on purpose

I don't have plans this saturday

You find a note on the fridge, "Meeting w/ client @ 5pm". Right. That's where your mom was. You place your phone on the counter, opening the fridge and looking for something to eat. Your phone vibrates again, another notification from Amber

Amber

brb, I'm gonna shower

You read the text from afar, still standing in front of the refrigerator. Grabbing a few ingredients, you place them on the counter, turning off your phone screen. More attuned to your surroundings, you recognize the song playing in the background. "We Belong Together" by Ritchie Valens. You didn't remember where you heard it, though. It was just familiar. And nice to listen to while you cook.

Focused on preparing your food, you're startled by the doorbell. You look at the door with your heart already racing. It was a mundane situation, but does anything feel normal when there's a masked killer around?

Slowly, you approach the door. But instead of opening, you look through the window beside it. No one was there. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, but you try to brush it off. "These fucking kids," you mutter to yourself, walking back to the kitchen.

You

I'm so stupid lol

Some dumb kid just ding-dong

ditched me and I got so scared

Not so long after, you hear the doorbell ring again. You try to convince yourself it's just a stupid prank. A terrible one to play when Ghostface is a threat, but kids are like that, right? This time, you quickly approach the door, determined to catch the person, opening it even though your hands are shaking.

Still, no one is there. But you find something. There's a box on the floor, with a pink bow on top and a note. "Sorry for scaring you :(". You hesitate, but take the box and lock the door again. You put it on the counter, unsure whether or not you should open it. Could it be from that admirer? Or was it from someone else? Before opening it, you decide to get a second opinion.

You

they left a box at my door

there's a note, "sorry for scaring

you"

should I open it?

I think it's from that stalker, but

idk

You wait a few seconds, but she doesn't read your texts. Maybe you should wait longer, but you're curious. It could be great, it could be horrible. Either way, you wanted to know. Maybe your mind was just being dramatic and this was actually a genuine apology gift. You shake the box, trying to make out what it could be, but it doesn't make a lot of noise. Must be something soft and light.

With your hands slightly trembling, you open it. It takes you a split second to understand it, but once you recognize it, you bring your hand to cover your mouth, your breath catching in your throat. Your favorite stuffed animal, one from your collection, with its head cut off. Beside it, another note. "Why didn't you write me back? >:("

Your head was filled with questions, "did they break into my house?", "how did they get it?", "are they still around?". Your phone rings, snapping you out of your momentary trance. It's Amber's number. She probably read your texts and her protective instinct kicked in. Your right hand was still covering your mouth as you reached for your phone. "Amber?"

"Hello, [name]," you don't recognize the voice. It wasn't Amber's, it was a male voice. And then it hits you: Amber's phone was cloned. By Ghostface. At that realization, you gasp, feeling your heart pounding as if it's trying to escape your chest. "Did you like my gift? And my sweet letters?"

You're too shocked to answer. Frozen in place, your only movements are involuntary. The trembling of your hands, the rise and fall of your chest, the accelerated breathing and heartbeats. An uncontrollable fear takes over you. Your eyes are glued to the torn out toy in front of you.

"Will you forgive me for loving you so much that I'm willing to protect you from everything… and everyone?" They speak again, and you slowly remove your hand from your face, supporting your weight against the counter, feeling weak in the knees.

An ounce of rationality is still left in you, despite the terrifying situation you find yourself in. "Where are you?" You ask with your voice shaking, a satisfying sound for Ghostface.

"Don't worry, I'm not inside... yet," the implied threat makes you shut your eyes instinctively, wishing that everything would disappear. But it isn't the brightest idea, so you open them again and look around, trying to stay alert. "Let's play a game, I'll give you three chances to guess who I am. You have to play by the rules. No calling for help, and don't close your curtains. I need to see if you're playing fair."

The last sentence sends a shiver down your spine. They could see you. Your gaze shifts to the window, terrified to see what you'd find. But hopefully, or not, you only saw the sky turning dark. "No..." Your voice shakes again, and you try to hold back your tears of desperation, "I know better than to play games with you."

"Oh, you don't want to play?" They sound displeased, which fills you with dread. "Let's skip forward then, I'll show you who I am," they say impatiently, "Open the front door."

By that time, the tears were falling to your cheeks. Your pants and gasps were audible through the phone, and it felt like your heartbeats were too. You couldn't move, and you obviously didn't want to let them in, but maybe the choice was merely an illusion. Your cries become more evident through the phone.

"Open the damn door, [name], or I'll get in myself and I won't be as nice as I would be," the caller threatened, and you are completely taken over by fear, filling every fiber of your body.

"Please, don't hurt me," you sob, begging for mercy as you turn around, facing the door a few steps ahead of you. You slowly walk towards it, continuing to plead.

"That's not my plan, sweetheart," Ghostface replies on the phone, "as long as you do what I say."

Your hands never trembled as much as they did once they touched the doorhandle. With a deep, shaky exhale, you open the door, facing the terrifying tall frame, covered in black and hidden behind the Ghostface mask. You let out a whimper as more tears fell to your cheeks. You gasp once your eyes meet the shiny blade in their hand.

In a startling, quick move, you were trapped against the wall, with the knife pressed to your neck, and you drop your phone on the floor. Instinctively, you scream, but the gloved hand covers your mouth before you can make a sound loud enough to be heard. They close the door with their feet, the loud noise making you jump in place. You shut your eyes, not wanting to face them.

The two of you were silent for a moment, the faint music filling the eerie atmosphere along with your sobs and loud breaths, followed by Ghostface's amused chuckle. They slowly removed the hand from your mouth, allowing you to breathe more easily, and you open your eyes, scanning the view in front of you. You didn't make a sound, and you tried your best to steady your breaths as much as you could before you had a heart attack.

"I told you I wouldn't hurt you if you behaved," they break the silence, and amidst the turmoil in your mind, you question their intentions and reasons. What made you different to them? Why hadn't they attacked you immediately, like they did with Tara and Vince?

Well, for one, all their love letters and gifts. Somehow, you had Ghostface in love with you, and you just realized that. Two people in one. And now, you could figure out who they actually were.

"Curious?" They ask, noticing the expression on your face, how you bit your lip, making it seem like the wheels in your mind were turning. "Go on, turn it off," the command, tapping on the voice modifier from the mask with their free hand. Your sobs had momentarily ceased, but your hands were still shaking when you hesitantly reached to press the button. You hear a low chuckle behind the mask, "recognize me now?"

It took you a moment to believe it. To make sense of it. Your eyes widened, and the look on your face was clearly of shock. Subconsciously, your lips part slightly in disbelief. How could it be her? "Amber?" you whisper, your voice faltering with hesitancy. You earn a mischevous giggle from the girl in front of you.

Her free hand reaches up, taking off her mask and throwing it on the floor, once again making you jump at the noise. There's a wicked smile imprinted on her face, staining her image in your mind. Noticing your furrowed brows, her expression changes slightly to one of pity, or remorse.

She pouts, her gaze meeting yours with a sympathetic look, "Aw, baby, I'm sorry I had to scare you," her tone changes to a sickingly sweet, an implied mocking of your position and reaction. "I just find it so cute, y'know?"

You weren't expecting that to be her motive. Deep down, it was starting to make you angry at her. But this feeling was buried by the sensation of the cold blade against your neck. And she still had a lot of explaining to do.

"Remember the first time I made you watch Stab?" She asks you, her voice laced with amusement, and a smile growing on her face. "I mean, it' wasn't even such a scary movie, but you were so terrified," she laughs, and even in that terrible moment, you love the sound.

Imperceptibly, she placed a hand on your hip, keeping you in place and maintaining her control. She looks at you with a sweet, satisfied expression. "It was so adorable. I loved how scared you got," she confessed with such a natural, charismatic demeanor, as if she hadn't planned a whole terrifying scene, just for you.

“You were clinging to me and you wanted me to protect you so bad. And I realized, I wanted that too.” With a wide smile, she chuckles mischievously. Her eyes observe you attentively, taking in every detail, every subtle movement. She loved to see your tear-stained cheeks and glossy eyes. It was terrible, and she knew that, but didn't you look impossibly beautiful in that moment? "That night," she continues, her face getting closer to yours as her eyes find your parted lips, "you begged me to let you stay over and to sleep with me. It was fucking cute, seriously," her eyes meet yours again as she lets out a low chuckle. Even though you hated that moment, how scared you were, you still found the genuity in everything she was saying.

"I could barely sleep, because it felt so good to hold you close, and I really felt like I was protecting you, y’know?" Her tone escalates with passion, emphasizing the sincerity in her words. "From what? Nothing. But it was nice.”

It was infuriating to hear everything. To go through all that terror, just because... she liked it? Why would she go so far to scare you?

“But with time you got over it and you didn’t need me anymore. And I still wanted that. I wanted you to need me to protect you," she continues her monologue, a classic after villain reveals. It was really starting to feel like you were in a stupid slasher movie that she likes so much. "I needed some threat, something dangerous to scare you."

You finally find the courage to cut her off, "That's why you did all of this?" Your tone gave away how irritated you were, although still fearful, "Because you wanted me to feel like... I was in a fucking horror movie?" Your voice becomes slightly bolder, in spite of the risk. You couldn't believe her.

She feigns being offended, then exhales with a quiet chuckle. "Sweetheart, the threats were already there," she responds, her grip tightening in response to her growing intensity. "Like that Vince guy. Gosh, he was a weird fucking creep. And you were scared of him, I know that, but he could actually hurt you. And I would never let that happen," she continues to explain her twisted motives. "It couldn’t be anyone else, because I never wanted you to get hurt. I wouldn’t trust anyone else."

At that mention, you recall his murder. You were with your friends at that bar the night he was killed. You were worried about your safety. He was into Liv, and you could very well be his next target. Amber had noticed the way you held her hand in that moment, tightly with worry, but the threat was real, and she wanted to protect you. Which is exactly what she did. What better way to keep you safe than to eliminate the threat? That's how her mind worked.

The slightest hint of understanding was appearing in your expression. A hint that Amber didn't miss, ever so attentive. "Do you get it now?" she asks genuinely, as if everything she did was right. "It had to be me. Because I would never hurt you. Because other people would," her tone is so sweet and caring, you forget she is the one holding the knife to your neck.

Actually, it doesn't matter. She might be holding it, but it means nothing. The girl in front you could've killed you long ago, yet she was confessing everything she did for you, without drawing a single drop of your blood. She might as well be holding the blade against her heart, because the girl is crazy for you, quite literally. If you got hurt, by any means, it would break her. From the moment she fell for you, protecting you was a necessary act to protect herself.

With that understanding, the clarity of your realization, your anger gradually faded. Her elaborate, sick and twisted web had the purpose of protecting you. She was poisoned with love. Could you blame her for her whole performance? (You totally could)

But you didn't. For the same reason you answered your stalker's letters, and opened the gift box. For the same reason you let Amber convince you to watch Stab a thousand times, despite hating horror movies. Yes, you have terrible taste for lovers. But you love the thrill. With her, you'd have security, protection, a little bit of action and lots of excitement. It was a twisted game, but you knew in the end it was safe to play. Because she was completely, head over heels in love with you.

[...]

[blakistan]

SO MANY FUCKING THOUGHTSSSSS

Obviously bees Bees BEES YES! Saw the title and my heart skipped a fucking beat (then dropped when I saw a warning but then calmed down when I realized it was a photosensitive warning not a themes-of-death warning thank fuck) and hot damn I love the way they handled all that holy SHIT (looking forward to that song to complete the in-show trilogy of All That Matters, Treasure, and ???) Also cat, I don’t watch much anime but I know the cat’s voiced by a big name VA and everyone was making jokes about one of their past roles, wonder if those’ll get even better with the new info we have on the CC

Jaune’s POV segment broke my fucking heart like the clock fruit almost gave me a fucking anxiety attack (also the parallel that the first thing he does in the Ever After is the last thing he did on Remnant: stab something with his sword). Guess we were right about his first thing in the Ever After being that he wished he wasn’t too late/could go back and do things different, and ofc fucking wonderland does that in the worst way possible And um. Ima be honest the “Ruby will hang herself from the tree like Odin did” theories always struck me as a bit out of left field. Like at least I didn’t expect them to be so blatant but uh. Ruby is going to try to literally kill herself so at least one of her friends can maybe go back home. Fucking yikes. (not sure if they’ll find a way around that entirely, or if Jaune will bite the bullet for it, idk)

Also a little bit unclear as to where Jaune and Ruby stand on the whole. You know. Does Ruby know. Like I really don’t think the news would elicit any anger from her at this point shed probably just break but like. fuck. She wasn’t looking in any of the regret mirrors in the Punderstorm and I feel like that was deliberate

Also I love 1) that the Punderstorm is a thing that happens and 2) how matter-of-fact yet still “I feel stupid saying this out loud” Jaune is about it.

Oh yeah also having seen his face and style of dress I think we can rule out Louis/Lewis (idk if there’s an official spelling yet?) being an Ozcarnation. Curious to see if he’s been turned into something else or if he’s just actually dead

Oh and back around to the cat, loving the themes that like. People who assign purposes from on high are always bad like 100% of the time. RWBY is about individuality and making your own path and from the gods to Ozpin to Ironwood to the CC we never see anything good come of somebody sitting at the table and moving the pawns against their wishes. 

And jumping back around to the end again I can’t say I expected Ruby’s reaction to seeing Crescent Rose again but also yeah that about makes sense. She wants to forget everything she is and all the responsibility she’s shouldered and with the very clear “weapons are identities” theme that has been here since the first chapter of the show might I add, yeah she’s never gonna pick that thing up again if she can help it. When Neo’s Jabbermafia shows up again and everyone is called to fight, she’s going to: -instinctively go for the box CR is in -hesitate -suddenly find herself at the blacksmith again -pick up Summer’s axe in a desperate gambit to be a better person than the failure she thinks she is

All that said, every episode that passes without Ruby completely breaking down just seems to add more fuel to the yet-unlit bonfire that is her psyche, dear fucking god

[ragnarssons]

Hi! I havent played the tlou game myself but i watched gameplays of it. And i think I might have skipped the part where Joel found the files and audio tapes where they mentioned about the people they killed before Ellie. (I skipped the gamplay a little because it was 11 house long 😅) I was wondering if you know where I can look for it. It's interesting that the Fireflies kept a record of it.

Have a nice day!

So you can find some here. Note that it's a remastered version, before other remastered versions. Some people argue that on the PS3 it was even different, I personally don't know about that one, because I didn't have a PS3. You can find the files on Youtube here. Important to note that yes, it's made very vague how many people and what kind of people they experimented on. Obviously animals and infected people. But let's also note that it's implied that they've worked on this for years, talking about different stages of infection, varying components to their tests and all: we can only speculate since it's never clearly stated, but they experimented a lot, and probably not just on infected people. It's purposely left vague for reasons, and again and again it shows how The Fireflies were failing. There is also this quote "All of our sacrifices and the hundreds of men and women who've bled for this cause, or worse, will not be in vain." you could interpret it as the Fireflies' sacrifices, their men and women fighting against FEDRA. But it could also totally mean totally different things since it comes from Jerry Anderson, aka, the guy who was doing experiments on people to find a cure. Again, the game never clarifies on these issues, so it's basically up to the player's interpretation on the moment. Yknow, while you're in the hospital, with people doing scientifical experimentation. https://thelastofus.fandom.com/wiki/Surgeon%27s_recorder Now ofc there is this recording and you could argue that you're supposed to see it as OH BUT ELLIE IS DIFFERENT, but they also make Jerry Anderson, aka the main surgeon who was supposed to work on Ellie, literally say he didn't even KNOW where Ellie's immunity was coming from or how it was working? ("The cause of her immunity is uncertain.") And we're supposed to believe he was capable of doing anything constructive? But it clearly shows as well how desperate they were, and how they were counting their time. It also states how they hadn't had any breakthrough in their researches in 5 years, again, explaining their desperation when coming face to face with some scientifical curiosity like Ellie. I gotta give it to them, contrary to the show for example, the recordings show that at least they did some basic tests on Ellie before drawing conclusions. But as these tests' results and Jerry's interpretation of it show ("The cause of her immunity is uncertain."), they still don't even know how Ellie's immunity works, yet they're minutes away from killing her, basically taking a shot in the dark? (to note: this recording is found by Joel in the hospital itself, it really is the result of the doctor's last researches on Ellie). But the recordings (like this one and that one) also show how there were glaring evidences of the Fireflies having dissidence within their own ranks, how many officers saw their leaders as incompetent and delusional. It's important to note that these recordings are found at the University, so equivalent of when Joel gets hurt at the end of 1x06: the guy in the recording clearly states that their best equipment is here, at the University, with the lab equipment. Not where the Fireflies fled (after several attacks by infected -- and maybe even because of their own researches, because of the monkeys they infected for their experiments??), in the hospital where you end the game. It gives context to everything that lead the Fireflies into acting as they did when they got Ellie. It's not clear cut and it never was in the first game, but they clearly had added complicated layers to this whole cunnundrum, on both sides. You weren't meant to blindly trust the Fireflies. The game purposely put elements in its own narrative to make the player question their motives and their abilities to reach their goal. It was meant to be weighed against the very real fact of having Ellie die in the process. I guess it's up to everyone's interpretation *shrugs* and it was, until Neil Druckmann popped in, erasing anything that wasn't fitting his narrative.

[sunnyie-eve]

23 | It's Him

Series: Valentine Addams | Wednesday

Paring: (Xavier Thorpe x OFC Addams! Tyler Galpin x OFC Addams!)

Word Count: 1573

Warnings: death, falsely accused of murder, betrayal

22. You Sound Ridiculous | 24. My Theory

After everything I gave up on what Wednesday was up to and just stayed with Enid hoping to get the image of Dr. Kinbott out of my head. I helped her move everything back into her room with Wednesday since she wanted to go back.

"Why are you with me instead of your boyfriend? I'm sure he would distract you so much better?" Enid says looking at her nails laying in her stomach.

"He's not my boyfriend." I look over at her.

"You want him to be." She looks back at me with a smile.

"Maybe." I say making her sit up and turn to face me,

"You two would be so cute as an official couple. His Golden Retriever energy with you're a Black Cat energy." She says making me laugh agreeing with that. "Where's Wednesday?"

"Probably going to accuse Xavier now." I say as her phone goes off so she reads it.

"Val... Xavier was arrested for the murders. They found Rowan's and Kinbott's belongings in his possession." Enid looks at me sadly.

"What?" I get off her bed rushing to find Wednesday and see the police lights so I run over. "What the hell?" I ask her.

"He had Rowan's glasses and Kinbott's necklace. Not to me the painted her with claw marks across her face just the same as you saw. I'm sorry but he's the Hyde." She explains to me.

"He could've been set up." I don't believe it. He couldn't be the monster.

"Then explain the painting and don't say he saw it in his dreams. He had nothing to say when I revealed it. He's guilty."

I didn't know what to do, I didn't know what to believe, and my head was killing me with all theses emotions. I slowly back away and go where my feet take me ending up in town to see Tyler.

I walk through the door with tears running down my face because I swore it couldn't have been Xavier. Some one had to set him up since Wednesday was so set on believing it was him.

"We're closed." Tyler says cleaning with his back facing me.

"Tyler..." My voice cracks making him tune to face me quickly.

"Don't cry, please." He walks over pulling me into his chest making more tears come out. "I'm sorry. My dad told me what happened with Xavier. He always seemed so normal. You know, for an outcast." He rubs my back.

"I-I just can't believe it still. I swore he was innocent. I saw him get attacked by his own painting... He wouldn't have done that on purpose would he? I thought... he was someone I could believe in and trust." I rest my head against his chest.

"What can I do to help you?"

"I don't know... This just had to get dumped on top of me dealing with what happened to Kinbott. I thought hanging out with Enid would help distract me and it sorta did because she brought up my calling you my boyfriend." I let out a tiny chuckle.

"How did you respond to that?" He rests he chin on top of my head.

"You're not my boyfriend and she said I want you to be."

"And your response to that?" He asks so I look up at him,

"Maybe." I give him a tiny smile, "Just for the record my maybe means an embarrassed called out yes." I make him smile.

"So does that mean we're official now?" He tilts his head with a grin so I lean up to kiss him and he kisses me back.

"Does that answer your question?" I bite my bottom lip smiling causing him to bring his hand to my face pulling me into a passionate kiss.

Kissing him made me forget about everything going on outside this stupid cafe but it was ruined by a vision I wish I never got. It was Kinbott attacked then the Hyde turn back into himself and it being Tyler. Now you and him made so much since since I talked about Tyler more than anyone.

"Valentine are you okay? He looks at me worried as I lay on the floor.

I just stare at him feeling so many things. This was the main person I trusted with my life and he's the freakin Hyde. But then again being the Hyde... I felt the split personality. I know he has no control since Hyde's are unpredictable. I also knew part of him felt bad about what he does. My heart started to hurt as I just stare into his eyes. I felt betrayed and normally I would get back at him by trying to kill him but I couldn't even think to do that because I fell in love with him. Did he really have feeling for me? Was it a distraction? Was it the master's plan?

"Val." He waves his hand in front of my face making me tear up again. "Hey, what's wrong?" He pulls me to sit up so I scan his face.

"I have to go. I'll text you later. I just have to go." I get up from the floor.

"Val..." I hear the pain in his voice. "What did I do? Please tell me. I love you." I hear him say to himself making me cry more.

"Would you ever hurt me?" My voice cracks before I head to the door to leave.

"Why would I ever hurt you? I could never. I fell in love with you, Valentine Addams." He walks towards me and I don't back away from him.

"I fell in love with you too." I give him a kiss before leaving and once outside I run back to the school.

I didn't really want to tell anyone Tyler was the Hyde because I loved him but he killed innocent people and Xavier was falsely accused. I guess I was still the same messed up me since I didn't hate Tyler. I was hurt but I didn't hate him. After all he had a master against his will that forced him to become this killing monster.

"Tyler's the Hyde. I got a vision of him killing Kinbott while kissing him." I spit out to Wednesday out of breath from running rushing into her room.

-

The next day Wednesday gets a group of us to gather together to question Tyler. To get him to show up Wednesday took my phone pretending to be me saying I needed him to meet me about why I had to leave in a rush the other night.

"This is the right thing, Val. I understand you fell for him but he's murdered people and framed your friend." Yoko says as we wait for Tyler to show up. 

"I know but..."

"You feel slightly guilty because you love him and trusted him. You still wish deep down he's the boy you opened up to." Bianca walks over to me.

"Kinda, it's because I'm hoping that part of him hates what he does since he has no control. I want that feeling I got once from him to be real. I want him to have split personality. And if all that is real that's why I feel bad."

When Tyler shows up I had the guilty feeling as Wednesday walked out confusing him since he was expecting me.

"Where's Valentine? She texted me to meet her about the other night." Tyler looks around for me as the rest of us watch hidden out of sight.

"Xavier warned me and Valentine about you, but we didn't listen." Wednesday crosses her arms staring him down.

"Ironic now, huh? Where's your sister or did you steal her phone lying again to get me here?" Tyler crosses his arms now.

"Ironic would've been framing Xavier for murder while the real Hyde helped me put him away." She tells him ignoring the second half of his question.

"Wait... you don't think-,"

Wednesday cuts him off, "I don't think. I know. Kinbott probably discovered your secret during one of your sessions. So she unlocked you. Why'd you kill her? I thought Hyde's were typically loyal to their masters."

"Wednesday, this is nuts."

"On Outreach Day, I told you I was visiting the old meeting house. Did Kinbott send you to spy on me? The night at the Rave'N you knew I was originally was going to go to your cave in the woods with Eugene. You warned Kinbott and Eugene probably saw her torching it. Then she sent you to clean up her mess. I have to hand it to you, Tyler. Wounding yourself that night at the Gates mansion, that was a masterstroke of misdirection." She tells him everything. "Kinbott told you to get Valentine to fall for you so she would never suspect it was you. You've just been using her."

"Okay, stop. Do you know how insane you sound right now? For one; I would never use your sister. I truly fell in love with her. Two; I'm not a monster. A.. And if you really thought that I was, why would you risk bringing me out to the woods to confront me alone?" Tyler has enough of her.

[justthehiddleswrites]

Accidently Married | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 4 | You should worry about the people you care about. I mean, I worry about you all the time.

A/N:  Tom makes certain comments about an ex (who is unnamed).  It is a fictional girlfriend, take from it what you will.  Keep your hate to yourself.  

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Molly Bishop)

Summary: Tom is stuck in a news cycle from hell; Molly is stuck in the dead end job of bartending with a pile of student and credit debt.  Tom has an idea to solve all their problems.  Get married, get the paparazzi off his back, divorce after a year and Tom pays off Molly’s debts.  Tom has everything figured out, that is until he sees Molly as more than a just a friend and so does someone else.  In this vying for affections who will win, the handsome Brit or the boy from Boston?

This Chapter: Molly is making friends and life is settling into a routine until Molly gets sick and Tom takes care of her.  

Warnings: fake marriage, smut (vaginal sex), mentions of:  child abuse/neglect, foster care, substance abuse, cheating.

TAGLIST IS OPEN! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED!  THANK YOU FOR READING!

–

Molly left that afternoon with two new numbers in her phone and a lunch date for next week.

“Can’t believe you are having lunch with my mother and sister without me.” Tom pouted on the way back.

“Once they heard I wasn’t working and didn’t know anyone, they insisted. Was I supposed to say no?” 

“You could have scheduled it when I could come.” 

“But you are so busy. And talented.” She poked his side. 

“I’m driving here, darling.”

“Sorry, but just one question…” They pulled up to a red light.”

“What?”

“Are you ticklish?” she attacked his side and Tom squirmed and giggled.

“You will be the death of me.” He panted as Molly stopped when the light was green.

“Note to self. Tom is very ticklish.” 

“No, no notes to self. That is something you can promptly forget.”

Molly batted her eyelashes. “But real husbands and wives would know these things about each other. We have to pull this off for an entire year, right?”

“Fine, but expect revenge.” Tom wagged a finger at Molly. 

“I’ll sleep with one eye open.” 

-

Over the next several weeks, Tom and Molly fell in a routine. The marriage certificate came in the mail and they applied for a family visa for Molly to stay there.

“I didn’t think you would want to become a citizen.”

Molly smirked. “No, not right now.”

A new debit card came in for Molly. 

“With great power…” Tom handed it over.

“Yeah, yeah, Loki.” she tucked into her wallet. “I am burdened with glorious purpose. To keep you well fed.” 

Molly had a standing date with Emma every two weeks, much to Tom’s consternation. They continued running together in the mornings. Tom, more often than not, ended it with a kiss. 

“This is becoming quite the nasty habit, Mr. Hiddleston.” she commented one morning.

“Then stop me, Mrs. Hiddleston.” He pecked her lips again. 

Molly blushed. “You just love what they are saying about us in the papers.” She pushed Tom away and towards the door. 

“I will admit the good news is definitely a perk. Plus, you are such lovely company.” He went to hug her, but she pushed him away.

“You are all sweaty, Tom. Take a shower and I will make breakfast.”

“French toast?” he asked hopefully.

“You ate the last of the bread yesterday.” 

“Pancakes?”

“I think I can swing pancakes, if…” She held up a finger. “You also eat a side of fruit.”

“Deal.” Tom headed towards his room wearing a huge grin. 

Molly shook her head as she grabbed a mixing bowl out. “Lunatic.”

-

One morning, Molly wasn’t awake when Tom got up to run. She almost always beat Tom up, sipping a cup of tea in the living room, reading a magazine or one of the books from his shelf. There was a small stack building on a side table of the ones she finished reading. But that morning, no half-drunk cup of tea perched precariously on the coffee table. No crossword puzzle half done in pen. 

Tom peaked into Molly’s bedroom. The covers, in colors of navy and grey, just like his, pulled up tight around her. There were a few prints of classic travel posters on the wall. 

“Molly, darling.” He called out. Usually that was all it took to roust Molly from her sleep and get her going for the day. Today, nothing. Tom stepped into the room. He felt like an intruder in his own home. 

“It’s time for our run, love.” He said a bit louder this time. 

Molly rolled over, groaning and coughing. Tom’s brow furrowed. He didn’t like the sound of that cough. Tom sat down on the edge of the bed and rocked Molly gently by the shoulder.

“Are you feeling okay, darling?” He hoped it was just allergies or waking up in the morning. But then she woke up.

“Uggh, Tom?” Molly croaked out before rolling onto her back. She was pale. So much more pale than usual. She coughed again, covering her mouth. 

“It’s me, Molly. Are you feeling alright?” He repeated. “That’s some cough.”

“I’m fine, fine. It’s just,” She waved him off and pushed up to sitting, only to fall back onto the pillows. “oh, that’s not good.” 

Tom placed the back of his hand to her forehead and replaced it with his lips, checking her temperature. She was running hot. 

“You have a fever. I’m making you an appointment to see the doctor.” He stood, but Molly caught his wrist. Her palm clammy against Tom’s skin.

“No! It’s just a cold. Go on your run. I’ll be fine. I just need some sleep.” She insisted.

“Are you sure? It’s no trouble.” 

“Go. I’ll be fine.”

Tom leaned down and kissed her very warm forehead. “I’ll keep it short. Go back to sleep.”

Molly nodded and rolled over. Tom tucked the covers around her and headed out. He barely made it to the end of the street before he returned home. It confirmed his fears when he stepped back inside and heard Molly coughing. Tom grabbed the phone and searched for a number and called it.

“Yes, Urgent Care? Do you have any appointments today? Name? Molly Hiddleston. Thank you.”

-

Tom helped Molly get dressed, averting his eyes when appropriate. Her entire body burned under his fingertips, but Tom noticed her shivering. She stumbled to the car where she slept the entire ride over to urgent care. Tom did his best to fill out the paperwork.

“What do you put for family history?”

“Nothing. Unless there is a place for mental illness, then check that. That’s all I know about. Mom didn’t chat much.” Molly muttered, leaning heavily against Tom. “Meth does that…” Her brow furrowed and she coughed again. 

“Shh, darling.” Tom soothed her. “Only happy thoughts.”

Molly hummed and smiled. “Happy thoughts.” More coughing. 

It took twenty minutes before they called Molly back. They didn’t let Tom back with her. He alternated between sitting with a bouncing knee, pretending to read on his phone and pacing the waiting room, making the other people nervous. After forty-five minutes, before Molly returned with several papers in her hand. She coughed again.

“Upper respiratory infection,” cough. “Along with a sinus infection and a viral infection.”

Tom smiled. “Triple threat. Let’s get you home.”

Molly’s hand, holding the papers, flopped up. “I have prescriptions and they want to see me again in two weeks. To make sure I don’t get pneumonia.”

Tom’s eyes widened. “That’s a possibility?”

Molly nodded. “It’s all in here.”

Tom took all the papers, skimming them, including a script for antibiotics as well as a cough suppressant. It all sounded grim. “Let’s get you to bed and I will take care of getting these filled.”

Molly coughed and nodded. “Thank you.” 

She fell back asleep in the car. Tom carried into the house, not having the heart to wake her up again, and settled her into his bed, which was bigger, more comfortable and the bathroom was right there. Once she was settled and asleep, he headed off to the pharmacy. While waiting in line, Tom dialed Luke. 

“Luke, is there anything absolutely pressing in the schedule for the next three days?” he asked after Luke picked up. 

“Nothing I can’t reschedule, why?”

“Molly’s ill.” He bit his lips and sighed. “The doctors are afraid it might turn into pneumonia. And I…”

“Consider your schedule cleared until Monday. And tell her I hope she feels better soon.”

“Thanks, Luke. I’m worried about her.”

“That’s because you love her, Tom. You should worry about the people you care about. I mean, I worry about you all the time.” Luke chuckled.

Tom paused at Luke’s words but pushed it away. Of course he cared for Molly. That has the tendency to happen when you live with a person for nearly three months. Especially someone as congenial as Molly. Congenial wasn’t the word. Lovely. Molly was lovely. He laughed it off. “I worry about you too, Luke. I got to go.”

“Take care of her. Bye, Tom.” 

After picking you the medicine, Tom popped into the grocery store and picked up some soup, drinks, and Molly’s favorite cookies. When he got back, she was still asleep. And still coughing. He put away the groceries and then checked on her.

“Darling, I’m back with the medicine. Time to take it.” He helped her sit up, Molly groaning the entire time. She swallowed the pill with a sip of water, gagging.

“That’s awful!” she coughed. 

“Now the cough medicine.” Tom poured out the cough syrup and handed it over to Molly. She hesitated, sniffing it first. “Take the medicine and get a biscuit.” He held up a package of cookies.

“They’re cookies. I thought I ate the last of them.” she moaned, downing the cough syrup. Her face contorted. Tom smiled and handed her two cookies. “Good girl. Now rest. I’ll check on you in a few hours.”

“Don’t you have work?” Molly muttered as she laid back down. Tom pulled the covers over her, putting the cookies on the nightstand. “You had… interviews… or something…”

“My schedule is clear through the weekend. I am at your disposal.” Tom rubbed Molly’s back, and she purred. 

“You don’t need to do that.” She half-heartedly complained, dozing off.

“And leave you to fend for yourself? What kind of husband would I be? It was no trouble. Now sleep, darling.”

“Mmm… kay.” 

-

Tom busied himself with absolutely nothing. He flitted from reading a book to watching a TV show to peeking into the bedroom. At one point, when Molly was particularly quiet, he seriously contemplated putting a mirror under her nose to just make sure he was still breathing. He managed to get her to eat half a bowl of soup. 

“You need to eat, love.” he scolded.

Molly coughed and croaked. “Says the man who considers chocolate a food group.” 

“Look at that, some humour.” Tom smiled. “Eat please.”

“Yes, sir.” She slurped the soup off the spoon before falling back asleep. 

Tom, worried, did the unthinkable. He called his mum for advice.

“She’s coughing. A lot. And all she does is sleep.” Tom ran his hands through his hair. 

“Is she eating, love?” Diana asked. Tom could feel the smile across the phone.

“A bit, but not as much as usual. I brought her soup.”

“Soup is good. And she is taking her medicine?”

Tom nodded. “I set a timer.”

“Of course you did. And the fever?”

Tom blinked. “What about her fever?”

“Has it broken?”

“I don’t—”

“Tom!” Molly’s bedraggled voice called out.

“I gotta go. She needs me.” Tom hung up the phone and sprinted to the room. 

“Molly! What is it?” He noted she was shivering.

“I’m cold.” she chattered. Tom grabbed the blanket at the foot of his bed. 

“Is that better?” He tucked it under Molly’s chin. Tom touched her forehead. Hot.

“Much.” 

“I’ll let you rest.” He patted her shoulder and stood. Molly reached out for him.

“Stay.” She coughed. “At least until I fall asleep. Please lie down. Just five minutes.”

Tom’s heart broke in that moment for Molly. That confident woman he grew so fond of seemed so small in that moment.

“Of course, I’ll stay. Anything for you.” Tom crawled on top of the covers next to Molly. He laced his fingers in hers. He heard her exhaled, and he exhaled too. 

“Sleep well, darling.” But Molly had already fallen asleep. Tom soon followed.

-

Molly woke the next morning in sweat soaked pajamas and on top of drenched sheets. She still coughed, but her fever was gone. As she blinked her eyes open, Molly realized she wasn’t in her bed, but Tom’s. And Tom was there too. Asleep next to her, fully dressed, holding her hand. She had vague memories of Tom bringing her soup and her asking him to stay. And some very not safe for work dreams. 

“Fever dreams.” she muttered. “Tom…” Molly rocked his shoulder.

“Huh?” Tom sat up. “I guess I was more tired than I thought.”

“It’s hard to be a nurse. I think your sheets may need washing.” she smiled.

Tom pressed his lips to her forehead. “No fever.” His spirits lifted. 

“It must have broken last night.”

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Yes.” 

Tom noticed their hands still laced together. He let go and stood up. He made a poor attempt at smoothing out his sleep wrinkled clothes. “Up to move to the couch? And maybe some movies?”

“I would like that.” She slowly sat up and got out of bed. “But first a shower.”

Tom frowned. “First medicine, then shower.”

“Nurse Ratched.” Tom didn’t smile or budge. Molly sighed. “Fine, medicine, the shower.”

Tom grabbed the bottles and dispensed the medicine, which she took still gagging. “And a biscuit.” He handed her a cookie. 

“Cookie.” She popped it into her mouth and headed off to her room and Tom went to his own bathroom. 

-

Once they were both showered and dressed, Tom popped his sheets into the laundry and made a makeshift bed on the couch for Molly.

“You pick the movie.” she offered. “That way if I fall asleep, you won’t be bored.” 

Tom picked The Jungle Book. “One of my favorites as a child. I still watch it when I feel under the weather.”

“I don’t think I have seen it.”

Tom’s mouth fell open. “That is a travesty.”

Molly shrugged her shoulders. “You know, group homes, foster care…”

Tom stopped. “Well, we are going to watch this right now and you can listen to the vocal genius that is George Sanders as Shere Khan.”

“More of a vocal genius than you?” Molly raised an eyebrow while she settled onto the couch. 

Tom blushed. “A man-cub, how delightful.” He purred deep in his chest, sending shivers through Molly.

By the end of the movie, Molly’s head was in Tom’s lap and his hand in hers. They watched Disney movies for the rest of day, alternating picking the title. Tom made sure she took her meds on time and ate more than just cookies.

“I will eat a meal if you do.” Molly chided.

They both ate soup and Tom also ate a sandwich. It was late when they finished up Robin Hood. Molly stretched and sat up.

“I should go to bed.”

“I can put the sheets back on the bed.” Tom moved, but she stopped him, squeezing his hand.

“My bed. But I will keep the door open so you can spy on me.” She smirked. “I can’t take your bed again.”

“It’s fine if you did. I don’t mind sharing.”

“I know but…” She glanced away. “We should keep our own space. To keep things from getting complicated.”

Tom nodded. “Right. No complications here.” he lied to her and to himself.

Molly hugged Tom tight. “Thank you for everything, Tom.”

“My pleasure.”

She coughed a bit as she headed off to her room. Tom turned off the TV and cleaned the dishes before going to bed himself. He spent most of the night tossing and turning.

[luckyspacerabbit]

would you ever share the background you created for kai leng? i'd be so interested in hearing it!

Hehe, yes! Thank you for waiting anon. I wanted to really think this through and make sure I was working with all the possible details of his character.

Okay, so my goal with fleshing out Kai was not to excuse him as a villain or to necessarily redeem him, but to humanize him and hopefully incur sympathy because I find his depiction as a mysterious lackey boogeyman to be 🙄 one dimensional and playing on racist tropes like the yellow peril ✨ (also bioware making him predominantly chinese + a lil russian. extrapolate what u will lol)

So here is my background for Kai :) Lots of childhood headcanoning and then some general talk about his character/why I chose certain elements as I did (such as dumping that dumb phantom blade for butterfly swords AEORHIG)

Childhood: According to the wiki, Kai is Earthborn, and from his general heritage we can assume that he grew up in Northern China (omg that's where my ancestors are from). The most populous city there is Beijing, which, if there was a spaceport or alliance recruitment anywhere, it would be there.

I headcanon that he was born to a bit of an unsteady family, where it was likely there was estrangement and unsafe conditions between the mother and father that may have created a sense of helplessness and neglect from a young age.

In my canon, Dan Hyun's mom, Hannah Shepard was the head of an agricultural research facility on Trident, and was an old friend of Kai's mom (From University, possibly).

As conditions worsened throughout Kai's childhood, his mom decided to take a chance and flee with Kai (age 10 at the time) to Hannah Shepard's science facility on Trident (Sentinel Agricultural Research Facility), where she and Kai would stay for about two years as his mom worked to save enough money for their own place .

Since Dan Hyun was already being homeschooled, it was easy enough for Kai to join up alongside her.

Dan Hyun (12 at the time) was extremely happy to have a friend since life on the facility could be really lonely-- but with all these changes Kai was having a difficult time adjusting, especially when Dan Hyun felt put off by his competitive attitude. After so long feeling neglected and growing in a tumultuous home environment, he craved external validation: homeschool provided an avenue for that. They developed their own academic-based competitive rivalry that counted towards friendship, but grew distant when he moved out with his mom about two years later.

When Dan Hyun was 18 (Kai at 16), she managed to apply to an Alliance Research Training program and receive admission-- something that was considered highly prestigious, despite her parents' reluctance. Kai had already begun to build resentment towards her due to the way her parents treated her (very preciously, sheltered, and without exposing her to the difficult parts of life) in contrast with what he lacked in family and world kindness, creating a drive to supersede her and compete with her once again, if only to have tangible proof that just because he began in a lower place didn't mean he couldn't surpass the vision of success.

After this event, they would strike up a still somewhat friendly rivalry again that continued until Kai enlisted in the Alliance at the age of 18 (his attempts to join directly at 16 failed in my canon lol, but he sure tried )

Alliance Service:

Kai took the combat-driven route while Dan Hyun was receiving training for her eventual research establishment in Akuze, meaning that in their line of work, they never crossed paths-- Though they maintained occasional communication and met up here and there whenever Kai was back from his tours.

This is where I believe his decline truly began.

Some habits, like his desire for tangible proof of success and seeking external validation, manifested more heavily in this time. Collecting badges off of dead soldiers (To remember his skill first hand) is a notable one, but I speculate he relied heavily on the word of his commanding officers to counter his self-esteem. Titles were incredibly important because they were proof. When he began to feel a loss of control which led to emotional outbursts and breakdowns, he would fall back on these bits of evidence that he had done something, anything.

The weight and violence of service combined to break away his mental strength and conditioned him to that of a soldier.

Famously, he was discharged in 2186 after his N7 designation. In a bar fight on shore leave, he murdered a Krogan (OKAY. Listen. The wiki says "first-degree murder" but first degree requires premeditation and bar fight implies heat of the moment. So IDK I think the details around this one are a little fishy. He was on leave but he was a soldier, so ? he probably just had a weapon on him? Okay, I'm not excusing him but premeditation is a bit different from manslaughter so just something I've pondered. It separates intentional killers from accidental murders).

At this point, he is formally incarcerated and set to serve a twenty-year sentence.

Cerberus Contact:

The year is 2177, and Kai has lost everything he's ever worked for. His prestige is gone, he is at the worst place he has ever been, his mom won't talk to him, and he has no one. He had even stopped hearing from Dan Hyun, the only person he could have considered a friend once.

Through a small TV in the prison, he is able to hear about the attack on Akuze, and its one survivor: Alliance Scientist Dan Hyun Shepard. In the attack her biotic abilities (Which she had kept secret for many years) were revealed, prompting immediate recruitment into the N7 Program and a contract for ten years of service. This drove Kai into rock bottom-- while he had nothing, Dan Hyun was steadily on track to uprooting the only thing he had ever felt like he had accomplished.

This is when Cerberus intervened, promising him a home, freedom, belonging, and success.

So of course Kai agreed. Why wouldn't he? He had nothing left in his miserable life and there would never again be a place for him.

Cerberus Intervention:

It's my belief that Kai wasn't necessarily "alienphobic" in the beginning. Instead, I think The Illusive Man saw a very clear opportunity to recruit and nurture a broken man into a pawn of service. TIM is incredibly smart-- everyone who works for Cerberus is. He knew what Kai needed was validation, the promise of success held directly on the tip of his tongue to drive him into tenacity and action.

Organizations like Cerberus, even in real life, prey on people at weak points, fulfill their needs and drape their ideology on top like icing on a cake. That's not to say that Kai is completely innocent-- he ate the sweets and readily threw the world to the side in order to attain more-- but it does give some perspective.

Kai in Cerberus:

In ME2 we know there is some apprehension on Kai's part about the role Shepard will play. He is already starting to feel slighted from failures with Rasa and takes even the possibility of rejection from TIM extremely hard and with violent emotional outburst. This evidences how much TIM has whittled him away over the decade of service. Kai feels as though he owes everything to TIM, that TIM saw something in him-- failing him is disproving that and accepting what Kai has feared all along: that he truly is a worthless and incapable person.

Kai and Shepard:

Kai is best known for his direct antagonism towards Shepard in the events of ME3, directly killing their allies and potential love interests in a way that is extremely personal. Yes, it is part of the job, but at the same time, it's clear Shepard gets under his skin. It's because in the end, after all that setup, Shepard is the one person who can take it all away from him.

They can replace him as TIM's prodigy/ They can bring an end to the organization that gave him everything (From his cybernetic enhancements (uh indoctrination cough couch) ) to his purpose in life. Kai threw it all in with them because he didn't see another choice.

My Canon: The End

So how do things end for Kai in my canon?

As you're aware, you can unalive him, violently. But Dan Hyun is very emotional and due to their shared childhood, I like to believe that there was still a grand feeling of kinship between them, a recognition of the other due to shared insecurities. I don't think there was ever a time Dan Hyun looked at Kai and saw anything other than her slighted friend (which is very romanticized, but SHE is very romanticized), it was just about getting Kai to see that too.

She locked him down the best she could, yelled, cried, and beat the shit out of him, but ultimately, preserved his life. After the crucible had been fired and Thane (alive ofc) attended to, she sought to right things between her and Kai: whatever form that takes. Who knows if he'll ever be able to live comfortably in society again-- but at least here, he has the chance.

Random Tidbits:

Some notes! At his best, I like that Kai is portrayed as Loyal, Hard Working, Methodical, Clever, Tenacious, and Factual. I think sometimes he can be written off unfairly as wimpy or scared, but in truth, he's very sure of his abilities and able to calculate his chances extremely well. He's smarter than fandom gives him credit for.

He has an interesting conflict between arrogance based on title and humbleness. He knows he wants to be the best but he never airs it-- like when Rasa suggests that he wants to be the leader for Humanity but he grows quiet and says to just focus on where things are at right now.

His time as a soldier absolutely affected him in ways I think sharpened him to the killer he became. It instilled values that remained with him in Cerberus, such as when he berates Bates for abandoning his squad and calls him a traitor. Kai doesn't betray-- he's quite literally ride or die.

Also? The ninja sword is super dumb because Kai is Chinese and the swords and Phantom's themselves are designed to appear Japanese in aesthetic. Ninjas= Japanese, but China did have their own sect of Assassins which I believe gave birth to Wu Ching as a type of Martial Arts? Or was drawn from it hmm

To keep to accuracy, Kai would have trained more towards their martial art techniques which focuses on close combat and quick movements, as well as the use of dual blades called butterfly swords (You'd likely recognize them as a set of rogue daggers).

That's all for that meta! Phew. If anyone actually read to the end, hey wassup, hope you enjoyed, and take most of this with a grain of salt since it's my headcanons and background work :) Thank you again for reading!

[cozy-the-overlord]

Look at Me

Summary: Medusa didn't get many visitors. Those she did usually were there seeking her head. But there's something different about this stranger ...

Word Count: 1,799

Pairing: Loki x Medusa, Loki x OFC (I guess? Since she’s my version of Medusa? I’m not sure if this counts ...)

A/N: So in the middle of my Greek Mythology class, during a lecture about Perseus and Medusa, I made the profound connection that both Loki and Medusa are associated with snakes (I know, my genius is truly unparalleled). And then I wrote this. I'm not entirely certain what "this" is, but I wrote it and it's here. Enjoy!

Thanks for reading! :)

Warnings: none

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

The man arrived just as she was finishing cooking dinner. It hadn’t been anything special—just an unfortunate duck she had managed to skewer as it came to rest on the side of the lake. Medusa had gotten pretty good at shooting without looking. It had been a real problem at first—she hadn’t been a particularly good archer to begin with, and one wayward glance would turn whatever creature she was stalking into a piece of marble. The woods around her cave were littered with life-sized statues of birds and rabbits and other little animals from hunting expeditions gone wrong. For a while, she had feared she’d garner Artemis’ wrath on top of all the other deities who hated her, and the thought had made her bow even more unsteady. But the years went on without incident. And as with anything else, she adapted. She still wasn’t perfect, but at least she could hit her target without turning it to stone.

She had been a bit caught off-guard by the man. He was quieter than most, and more cautious— he didn’t approach her cave, didn’t even bother to raise his sword, electing to linger amongst the brush in silent observation. On her own, she might not have even noticed his presence. But there was little that went past the snakes, and when her hair stood on end, hissing and spitting at something behind her, Medusa knew she had company.

She sighed, careful not to turn away from her pot. “I know you’re there, hero. You might as well come out.”

He did so without a fuss, his footsteps so light on the stone that she had to crane her ears to hear them. That was strange. Medusa had never known a man to step so softly.

“Impressive.” His voice was smooth, like polished marble, and it carried an accent that she didn’t recognize. “They said you had eyes in the back of your head, but mortals are known to exaggerate.”

She fought back another sigh. Ah, yes, yet another mortal fool who thinks himself a god. It had been so long since one intruded upon her lair, Medusa had begun to hope that perhaps they had finally elected to leave her in peace. She supposed that was too unrealistic to ask.

“Perhaps you could learn a lesson or two from them,” Medusa straightened up, still facing the cracked stone of the cavern walls rather than her visitor. Her hair was still twisting around her neck—it would take a few hours for the snakes to calm down again. She bit her lip. “I have no interest in killing you, hero. But you haven’t a chance at killing me. Just look to your predecessors.”

She motioned towards the statues that littered her the clearing, snarling warriors frozen in mid attack, time slowly chipping away at their features until their visages were near unrecognizable. How many times had she said these words? How many times had she been ignored?

Still, she tried each time. “You have nothing to gain here. Please, seek your accolades elsewhere.”

She waited for his taunts, his insults. “I fear no beast on this earth, creature, not even one as vile as yourself!” It was all the same. They’d rush forward with their sword and a battle cry and she’d turn around and watch as their skin cracked and hardened and their screams died in their throats.

But the man only chuckled, a warm, welcoming sound that seemed as foreign as his accent. “Oh, I’m afraid you misunderstand my purpose here, my lady,” he said. “I’m no hero. And I most certainly have no intention to kill you.” He was walking towards her, but it was a leisurely stroll, his steps gentle and measured, nothing threating about it. “As for having nothing to gain here,” he added. “I’d prefer to reach my own conclusions.”

To say she was perplexed would have been an understatement. “But, if you haven’t come to kill me,” she frowned, “May I inquire as to the purpose of your visit?”

“The truth?” he asked. “Simple curiosity.” He was standing quite near to her now, and Medusa wondered for a moment if this was his plan—distract her with his oddities so that he could have a closer shot at her, but he only sat back against a rock with a satisfied huff. “I’ve heard an awful lot about you since I first came to this land,” he continued. “I was eager to learn if there was any truth to the stories.” He let out another little chuckle, so soft it seemed like a secret. “Besides, I’ve been told I have an affinity for snakes.”

“Is that so?” It was nice, just talking to someone. She hadn’t talked to anyone in ages—there wasn’t anyone to talk to around here, unless you counted her snakes, but they only really served as obnoxious reminders of her curse. And there was something amusing about this stranger, something smooth and sociable that she hadn’t realized she missed. She wondered what he looked like. “Well then, not-hero, have I met your lofty expectations?”

“Oh, you’ve far and away surpassed them, my lady. You’re truly a magnificent presence.”

She laughed. “Do you waste so many pretty words upon every monster you come across?”

“Waste?” His voice brimmed with faux offense. “I assure you, my lady, I spend my words quite carefully. I lavish them only upon the deserving.” There was a pause, and for a moment Medusa feared that perhaps he was truly insulted.

“Besides,” he continued finally, with a purposeful kind of nonchalance that hadn’t been there before. “You’re no monster.”

The statement was so ludicrous that she laughed again. “Do you not see the statues?”

“I do,” he replied. His voice had turned quite serious, and Medusa could hear him shifting as he leaned forward on the rock. “I see cowards frozen for eternity in the act of attacking a woman who has brought them no harm whilst her back is turned, like the shameful curs they were. I also see that you could have marbleized me just like them in half a second, but you chose not to. Instead, even though you had no way of knowing my intentions, you warned me. In your position, I can’t say I would’ve done the same.” He inhaled. “And that’s not even mentioning how this whole time we’ve been talking, you’ve not once risked turning your face to me, despite how vulnerable it leaves you. That doesn’t seem very monstrous to me.”

Medusa swallowed. There was a dull sort of ache in her chest, a cold throbbing that never really went away, but seemed even sharper in the moment.

You’re no monster.

No one said that to her. No one believed it. There wasn’t a single person in all of Greece who saw her that way. Even the gods despised her. Medusa shook her head, as if to shake away the tears burning in her eyes.

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I’ve done.”

“Who’s to say I don’t?” he asked. “I’ve heard the stories. But I see no monster before me—only a person who’s suffered alone for far too long.”

She gulped, the snakes still writing around her face. How long had it been since she awoke on the cold floor of the temple, shivering and aching and praying that the night before had been but a dream? She remembered the priestesses who walked in to find her, how they screamed when they laid eyes on her, how quickly their screams froze in their throat when she looked up.

Terrified, the people had chased her from the city premises, waving torches and blades and spitting venom farther than the snakes snapping in her hair. She had taken shelter in the forest, clawing at the green scales on her arms as if ripping them off would restore her old skin. Her barbed nails only drew blood.

Back in the cave, Medusa stifled her whimper. It had been years since that fateful morning, and yet the terror still came rushing back like an overflowing river. Behind her the man stood, and she could hear the concern in his voice as he approached her.

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to bring you pain.”

She inhaled. “Are you a god?” Because surely, he wasn’t human. No mortal man would seek her out for such a conversation. Although she couldn’t imagine the gods suddenly taking pity on her after all this time either.

He let out a breathy chuckle. “Not in the way you’re thinking. But I can help you, if you’ll allow me.”

She shook her head. It hurt too much to hope. “No one can help me.”

“I’ll show you,” he said. “Look at me.”

Medusa gaped. He couldn’t be serious. “Are you mad?”

“Not in this. Look at me.”

She turned slowly, eyes closed, palms quivering. He was standing near to her—she could feel the way he shifted as she moved to face him. Was he as nervous as she was? Would he realize the absolute idiocy of his request? But his voice held nothing but gentle confidence.

“Just trust me, Medusa.” She could hear his smile, soft and encouraging. “Look at me.”

And so, she opened her eyes.

She expected to be greeted with the cold crackling of marble spreading across skin, the horrible empty silence that always followed once the lungs turned to stone. But she wasn’t. Medusa blinked, but nothing changed—the man who stood before her remained,

He was slender and lithe, with long hair that tumbled over his shoulders, black as raven’s wing. His armor—was it armor?— was unlike anything Medusa had ever seen before, some strange mix of gold and leather that clung to his form in a way that seemed so much lighter than the bulky chest plates of her usual visitors. His eyes found hers, sparkling emeralds in the sunlight, and Medusa suddenly realized that, for the first time in ages, someone was returning her gaze.

“How?” she choked. Her voice didn’t seem to be working. Perhaps this was the dream, and she’d awaken in the corner of the cave alone and cold once more.

“Just a little trick I picked up,” he said. “I know quite a few of them.”

She stared at him. That was a marvel in it of itself, just to be able to stare at someone, but there was also something otherworldly floating about him that she couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“Who are you?” Medusa asked.

“They call me Loki.” He held out his hand towards her, simultaneously strong and soft. The snakes in her hair relaxed against her scalp. Loki smiled. “Come with me. There’s much I wish to show you.”

[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

[pokemonswshbutionlyplayedsword]

I personally don’t see how Peonia is a brat but people have different ways of reading characters I guess

So I’m letting this ask skip the line. Not because what you said is bad or wrong, but because I really want to make this rant. What I’m about to do is not directed as an attack at you or your opinion. Of course you’re able to have your own opinion, judgement of character and you’re allowed to disagree with me.

But Peonia is such a brat. to me.

First of all, take note at how few people are in the Crown Tundra. The Mayor says they don’t get much visitors. And a place where you can pick up literal gods like geese at the local park can’t be an easy place to visit. My point is Peony put a lot of work into planning a vacation and Peonia is one of the only people who gets to see the Crown Tundra. Like, yes Sonia is there, but she’s there on business. And Arceus knows what business I have in the tundra.

Second of all, she abandons her dad with a child she doesn’t know. That’s weird and bad for so many reasons. Like, what’s that kid gonna do to your dad? Attack him? And then what are you gonna do? You couldn’t even spend 3 minutes with your dad before you ran off? You didn’t even let him show you where you’d be sleeping. You planning on just standing in the cave for the rest of time?

Thirdly, Peony is a capable and powerful trainer. Ofc, my team was in the 90s, but Peony has a solid team and firm grasp on how pokemon battles work. Like, even you were surprised I beat him, Peonia. If you want Legendary pokemon, take your dad with you!!! He can help you catch them!!! I literally don’t know if Peonia actually has caught any pokemon in the Max Lair. She just stands in the cave and sometimes finds legendaries, but does she catch them?

She calls him irresponsible. A goof? Yes, but its endearing in a dad way. Irresponsible? No??? He literally packed so many supplies for her. He hand-made multiple uniforms for Peonia for nothing but her own convenience and comfort. He made different color scarves for the sole purpose of The Look. He actually told me that my safety was more important than unlocking the mysteries of Galar. He gave up his chance to meet Calyrex, the Regis and the Birds for some kid he just met so he can wait for Peonia, who can’t be bothered to go visit him.

Peony literally adopts a child he just met. Peony be like “is anyone gonna raise this player character like a loving father?” and not wait for an answer. Like I literally love him for it.

Peony, I’m thinking, is a single father, though I could be wrong. But that means that Peony sacrifices literally everything for his daughter, who he loves more than life itself. All he wants is to spend some time with his daughter and she doesn’t even spare a passing glance to all the efforts he’s made to take her on this trip.

Peony actually reminds me of my own dad a little bit, and I couldn’t imagine doing that to him. One time my family went on a ski trip together and bought me and my sister snowboarding lessons. I felt so guilty that I almost cried because I hurt my ankle and couldn’t finish the lesson. Then again, I cry really easily anyway.

Not the point though.

The point is that if your father plans a trip so he can be close to you because he loves you, then even if you don’t want to do it, you suck it up and enjoy yourself the best you can. You can spare some time to spend with your parents (unless they’re abusive and toxic ofc, but that goes without being said). But if your parents sacrifice everything to give you the best life and childhood that they can, then be grateful and spends some time with them!!!!! It’s not hard!!!!

When Calyrex mentioned repaying Peony for “lending” it his body to talk with, I was really hoping that meant that it was gonna make Peonia have some common decency. Sadly, it didn’t happen. Peony is so strong for not immediately being upset that his daughter did that to him.

[balenciagastones]

hi im kinda new to this can you pls explain to me why everybody hates lauryn? all i know is she wants kyle to be a dad and he isn't

here we go! putting this under the cut so i don’t flood people’s dash who don’t care <3

okay so bit of backstory first cos im gonna try and do this in chronological order, she is chloe goodman’s sister and she used to go out with marcus rashford’s brother, apart from that she was pretty much a nobody. i also dk how much you know about kyle but basically he’s been with annie for agessss and they have 3 sons together. at the start of 2020 it came out that lauryn was pregnant with a mystery england footballer’s baby and it was kept a secret who it was for ages and just said that they were in a whirlwind romance and the baby was a miracle because she has endometriosis and pos meaning she would struggle to conceive naturally. it was outed cos of pap photos that have been said were staged by her, pretty much the whole of this has been staged by her tbh but it was later announced that the baby daddy was kyle walker and all hell broke loose tbh.

all throughout her pregnancy and a bit after the baby was born she wouldn’t reveal the gender but constantly baited it and hyped it up and drew a lot of attention to the baby’s gender (a little bit of backstory to this is that annie obviously has 3 boys as we said before but she always always wanted a girl and has always been v public with that fact, she also had a miscarriage which wasn’t talked about until after the baby was born but hindsight makes this whole gender situation worse but back to the story). her sister was also pregnant at the same time as her and was public saying she was having a girl so lauryn used to post stories with girls’ baby clothes and pink things in basically to just bait she was having a girl when she knew all along it was a boy, there’s literally no reason for this apart from her wanting to spite annie and imply that she was having a girl baby with the man she loved to hurt her for no reason.

cut forward to when the baby is born and she starts to promote these bracelets which have different ones for different situations, so she has one for anxiety, one for sleep, one for fertility (you can see where this is going) and there’s a few points with these scam bracelets. first off she came out and said she was wearing one at the time she slept with kyle so this baby perhaps wasn’t so much an accident on her part as she was manifesting fertility and that she’d become pregnant basically, take from that what you will but it was clearly her intention to fall pregnant with his baby when she knew he was with another woman long term and had 3 little boys with her. and the second part to it is just what an absolute scam those bracelets are, they’re not cheap and they target vulnerable groups of people and profit off their struggles which is obviously so immoral and disgusting when a fuckin bead bracelet clearly can’t make you fertile or make you sleep better or any of this shit, it’s taking advantage of people in desperate need and taking money from vulnerable people, it’s awful.

so now the baby is born and she’s said it’s a boy but hasn’t announced the name and allegedly didn’t pick the name until he was 4 months old or something, but she decides that they need a name to call him so decide to say his name is junior. now you can immediately see the issue with this, she’s been banging on for the whole of her pregnancy that she’s a single mother and he’s not involved blah blah blah then calls him junior, which ofc people asked if the name was kyle junior and she as much as said it was and started referring to him as junior until she posted a video of the baby holding a necklace that said KW. obviously calling your baby junior implies that they have the dad’s name and are the jr version of the dad so when she posted the KW necklace alongside a caption that said ‘for those asking why it doesn’t say JW, KW are his true initials’ ofc everybody assumed his name was kyle walker junior, and she let this go on for 6 MONTHS. she wore this necklace that says KW everywhere it’s lit in all of her instagram photos, it literally came across as a trophy just shouting that she got knocked up by kyle walker and just using it as a constant reminder to anyone and everyone that her baby was half famous footballer kyle walkers regardless of whether he was involved or not, baring in mind in the same breath she’s continuing to go on about how she’s a single mother and doing it all on her own. her saying she’s doing it all on her own is a load of shit too because her family helps her constantly and she always has someone looking after him with her and she lives in a big fancy house so she’s putting across she’s struggling and a single mother out on her own but that’s not the truth.

she also kept giving questionable parenting advice out on her story and endorsing products and methods that weren’t the most effective and weren’t recommended, even a blanket method that im sure was said to be harmful and she’s promoted many products that she shouldn’t have just in the name of money and fame and clout, she isn’t qualified to be giving out parenting advice to the scale she is and i understand she’s gotten experience but she talks like she’s a professional and holds q&as giving advice she’s not qualified to give and considering she promotes half dodgy products, it’s not the best situation. two more random things before we’re caught up to what’s happened today, she put the baby in a city jersey then the next week put him in a liverpool jersey just to spite kyle LMAO and they all went on holiday to dubai and im pretty sure paparazzi isnt allowed in dubai that’s why all the celebs go there but she was papped there so she must’ve set that up too lmaoooooo. but now we’re at today.

basically it started by kyle posting a picture of his own personal football boots that he played in for the final match of the season im sure, and he had printed on the names and dates of birth of all 3 kids he had with annie, and as you can quite imagine, lauryn wasn’t very happy with this. so she went straight on her stories preaching how horrific it was that he didn’t include kairo’s name on his boots and he’s done nothing but he cute and innocent and kyle was ‘bullying’ his own son which is obvs the wrong word to use but she’s daft and has been throwing around the word bullying, and talking about how she won’t let their son be left out, baring in mind she constantly says how she’s a single mother and prides herself on that she doesn’t have him involved and that he’s a horrible person etc etc. so all of her little minions who love her started replying to her story saying he was disgusting blah blah blah and decided as a collective with her encouragement to spam his page with kairo’s name and demand justice for kairo or something so after he got a few comments he turned the comments off from the post about the boots so they went to his first post before the boots which was a memorial post for the victims of the manchester arena attack. fully grown women commenting on a memorial post for such a tragic event demanding to know where kairos name was or spamming his name letter by letter, first off it’s just batshit crazy but second off how disrespectful?? from lauryn as well to encourage it and think of nobody but herself and want the attention because realistically it wasn’t gonna achieve anything but slightly irk him that he had to turn the comments off.

she’s also been encouraging people to email puma themselves and demand to know why they did it as if they had any input on what kyle had on his personal boots, puma probably had no idea about any of this and certainly didn’t do it on purpose to cause a storm so there’s no reason for them to be complaining to puma. she posted a list of what she wanted to happen including kyles post to be removed, the boots to be pulled (i don’t think she realises they were just personal boots for kyle and not a product for the general public to buy), a public apology to kairo and a public statement to be put out, none of which would solve the greater situation or help the situation that’s already been caused.

she posted saying kyle was bullying the baby and mentally abusing him which is disgusting to be throwing around when that’s not the case at all cos in reality kyles just trying to mend his relationships with annie and his family while keeping lauryn and the baby out of it like she keeps going on about, but then when it comes down to it she uses his surname, posts about it 24/7, wants his name on his boots, uses him for clout, walks around with a KW necklace on etc etc etc. most recently she’s created a petition to get pumas attention to do all of what i listed before and i think about 600 people have signed it so far.

i think that’s all although im sure anons will chip in if ive missed anything, that’s if anybody’s actually read this far 😭 so yes, more than you bargained for probably anon! story time with han! xx

[g3nosarchive]

ok i genuinely think a lot of other people have this problem but stop inserting yourself when xyz issue is mentioned. when someone is telling you that a person, a celebrity, some franchise is harming their identity or anyone’s identity as a minority, or part of a certain race or religion or anything shut the fuck up and accept it.

they do not need to know your emotional attachment to said thing, your disbelief, your horror, your personal experience - we didn’t ask for all that. we know just how bad it is, cus yk it harms us maybe? we’ve already gone through the cycle of being angry and indignant and now we’re here trying to get you to understand in the hopes that as a friend you do what you’re meant to do when you became friends with us. we are not your constant ball of anger to use whenever you find something that’s “crazy, unbelievably, shockingly” once again, a hate crime, when you decide you want to feel angry and care about it.

more under the cut bc i talk too much

by doing that, you’re making an issue that you didn’t even know about suddenly yours. ask yourself, what is the purpose for telling anyone all that? to get them to sympathize with you personally so you can get a pass because you didn’t know? of course you don’t know, of course you’re unaware, that’s the whole reason why you’re being told in the first place. do not water down the issue or even try to play the ‘everything has some issue like this so there’s no point in going this far’ card. especially as a white person. the reason why you don’t know primarily is because it doesn’t affect you and it doesn’t cross your mind.

when you watch a show with a black character, you don’t care about how off the character design is or how stereotypical and borderline racist the comedy gag surrounding said character is. when you listen to your favorite white music artists or watch your favorite movie with a majority white cast, white staff, white team, and white theme, you don’t care to analyze just how outdated and stereotypical the way that token asian character is portrayed. some of y’all don’t understand and will never understand the mental struggle and awareness forever plugged into the brain of lgbt and/or poc, especially black people when we consume anything, when we go anywhere, when we meet new people, to constantly catch those micro aggressions and know what to avoid.

so when someone tells you insert classic hot mess is racist and you should stop supporting it, one of the worst things you can do beside outright rejecting it is to defend it and insinuate that we don’t know what we’re talking about, that we need 30 different sources to prove it all, that you don’t think (for example taylor swifts dream colonized africa mv) is bad. you try to say the thing or person that is actively promoting all this homophobia, racism, transmisogyny etc needs to be kindly educated, is trying their best, will learn soon enough, just wasn’t educated, will do better in the future (esp looking at u kpop stans). does their apparent regret but refusal to properly apologize actually matter? the damage has already been done.

that in itself is a privilege i could never have. i don’t even try being a fan of any major white celebrity or any kpop group because i guarantee if i search up their name with ‘racist’, ‘sexist’, ‘homophobic’, ‘transphobic’, ‘cultural appropriation’ behind it something or some image is bound to show up. you will all say “oh they haven’t done anything yet” but when it comes out that they did, they have, and they do not care about who it affects, suddenly it’s a bombshell dropped on you out of nowhere.

it’s not that hard to spot these things actually. if your fav is constantly putting themselves against people of color, saying shady shit about non cishets while being a cishet themself, saying one thing and doing another, or has been silent when their voice was expected to speak up, shouldn’t you notice? y’all will reblog all these posts but in reality only 10% are actually reading and listening and actually digesting this information for future use.

and i think the thing that pisses me off is this is all from personal experience where i’m speaking from. over the past 2 days the amount of times if i’ve heard about the “tea that dropped w meghan markle” is ridiculous and annoying. a girl texted me and i sat there and i realized that she does this on a daily basis to fuel my anger and get me to validate her own useless anger. of course i knew about it and i wasn’t surprised at all - she’s still a black woman.

almost every black blog on here, when they get big enough, deals with some sort of weird shit surrounding their blackness. if you get big on speaking about issues you are now this emotionless token ‘smart black person i can actually trust’ to use as your replacement for google. this is not to say asking questions is bad, but it is so easy to pull up some of the shit you guys ask for. some people get called slurs directly, targeted for being too black or not black enough, attacked for their features and etc and someone mentioned this before but the only people that care in those situations are other black people themselves. white people will have blm in their bio but turn the other way the minute some anon starts acting up in their mutuals’ inbox, calling them a dark1e because they felt confident enough to post some selfies. and then you get sad when we dont go to you for any kind of support? 

i’ve stated sometimes that asking me questions on issues and things is okay, but one of the main reasons i say that is because whether i say it or not, i’ll be asked questions and expected to know everything and i am your personal walking encyclopedia and ofc it’s natural for me to have all this information in my head, as if i didn’t research it myself. but then i think about the numerous amounts of people that specifically say not to ask them this shit because it really does tire you out, that they don’t want to have to deal with this in any space but they still get them. 

and then the ones that don’t even know themself so people will use them as an example and say “well this person didn’t know and they’re ‘marginalized identity’ so it should be fine for me too”. good god just apologize, show that you really care, change your behavior and move on. do you think it was fun being asked the statistics for george floyd’s and other black peoples death in class? that you were being inclusive and giving me a chance to show off my intelligence, to prove to others that i really had something up here and you were my greatest star eyes white friend that gave me that chance? i cant close my posts like this properly but i want you to think about that shit and actually ask yourself if you’d do that. a lot of you will read this and think “i’m not that type of racist” “i don’t have those deep seated prejudices in me” yes you do. you just haven’t been called out on it.

for all the shit ive dealt with above, if i’ve ever talked to you about this before dont come to me to apologize i do not need it and you are not the only person i’ve received this from. i guarantee you that there’s about 20 other people i’ve thought about while writing this post considering i’m a black person in the real world, so keep your guilt to yourself an deal with it

white people don’t add on to this

[recurring-polynya]

For the AU request, whichever one(s) you prefer (for RenRuki of course):

the X-Men universe

the Mafia/criminal underworld

the circus

as FBI agents (the X-Files world perhaps)

So, I got this ask, and I immediately wanted to go for X-Files, because I was hugely into X-Files when I was a tween/teen, and I think that my actual first published work of fanfic on the internet might actually be X-Files. (I didn’t even post it myself, I was like 12 and I didn’t have the internet at home, but a friend of mine posted it on Usenet for me, I have no idea whatever became of it). Anyway, I was going back and forth in my head who I wanted to be Mulder and who I wanted to be Scully, and then I got this ask:

@ulkoilla​ said:

I though the 10 would be full in about 1 microsecond so I didn’t even try :D This is maybe not AU enough for the purpose but I'd love to see your take on Bleach world where the shinigami work among humans as if they were in gigai -> they'll have to balance the supernatural, perhaps violent elements of their life with the modern day laws and such (like in Supernatural). Renji and Rukia have ofc gotten in trouble with the non-supernatural law (meet: Detective!Aizen?) and are on the run…

It suddenly occurred to me, What If: X-Files World, but Renruki are the cryptids. And it suddenly popped into my head exactly who I wanted to be Mulder. Anyway, I am sorry missrambler, if I messed it all up, I hope you like it anyway.

Also, I somehow thought that I would save myself some trouble by combining two prompts, but then it ended up… really long. (Forty! Eight! Hundred! Words! Go to Talks-Too-Much-Jail, Polynya!!)

PS: This takes place in D.C. because it’s X-Files and also because I am familiar with D.C. and I never get to write about places I know about. A half-smoke is a local delicacy that’s halfway between a hot dog and an Italian sausage. They are delicious.

Read on ao3 or ff.net

👻     👻     👻

Ichigo Kurosaki had known that an office with a view of the Smithsonian might be too much to ask, but he had not expected to take have to take two separate elevators down to sub-basement C, and walk past a storage room, two broom closets and a weird old vending machine full of brands of snacks he swore he hadn’t seen since he was a child.

Maybe Agent Inoue has a huge lab, he told himself. Maybe it needs to be 50 meters below ground because she collides large hadrons down here or so that her work can’t be picked up by spy satellites.

He had to turn sideways to get past a rack of wire shelves full of banker’s boxes, but there, on the other side was a door sporting a handwritten cardboard nameplate reading “Special Agent Orihime Inoue.”

“Come in!” a voice called inside, just as he raised his hand to knock on the door.

Ichigo blinked twice, and then went in.

The office was cluttered, mostly with more cardboard boxes, but books were also stacked precariously on top of boxes on top of books. The walls were plastered with maps and graphs and photographs of hazy blurs in front of staircases. There was a large poster showing a UFO, with the words “I WANT TO BELIEVE” in block caps below it.

A woman with long chestnut hair twisted up into a bun and held in place with three pencils was hunched over a metal box full of diodes and transistors and other things you would buy at Radio Shack. Or rather, that other people would buy at a Radio Shack. Ichigo had never set foot in a Radio Shack in his life.

“Er, good morning,” Ichigo said, as the woman looked up and blinked at him owlishly. “Agent Inoue? I’m Ichigo Kurosaki. I’ve been assigned to work with you.”

“To spy on me, you mean,” Agent Inoue corrected, cheerfully shaking his hand with great vigor.

Ichigo bristled. Yes, he had been directed to ‘provide additional documentation on Agent Inoue’s activities,’ but that hardly counted as spying. She was known to be somewhat scatterbrained, and having an organized person around would probably be a great benefit to her. “If you have any doubts about my qualifications or motivations--”

“Oh, don’t take it personally!” Inoue replied, slotting a lid onto her electronics project, and attacking it vigorously with a jeweler’s screwdriver. “Just because you’re a spy doesn’t mean you aren’t a nice person. Also, I read your file, you have a very interesting background! Degree in literature with a focus on folk legends. Teaching at the academy for the last few years while working on your book.” She took a momentary break from her screwing to fix him with her big, soft brown eyes. “Tell me, Agent Kurosaki, what do you think happens after you die?”

Ichigo froze. “I would be buried? Maybe there would be a funeral first?”

Inoue started laughing so hard that Ichigo was sure he caught a tiny, adorable snort. “Sorry, sorry! I wasn’t clear!” She sniffed, and wiped a tear from her eye. “Do you believe in continued existence after the death of the body? An afterlife, religion-based or otherwise? The existence of ectoplasm, cold spots, spirit photographs, EVP?”

“Are you talking about… ghosts?” Ichigo asked hesitantly.

“Yes!” Orihime replied with a nod. “Ghosts.”

“We-elll…” Ichigo drew out. “I believe that people believe they observe certain phenomena, as part of the cycle of grief and--”

“Just say ‘no’ if you don’t,” Inoue interrupted him.

“Er, no. I don’t.”

“That’s okay. Are you good at carrying heavy things?”

“Am I... I guess?”

“Perfect!” She shoved the box into his arms, and Ichigo’s knees almost buckled under the weight. “Let’s walk and talk, I want to go get a reading over near Franklin Square before 9 am. We’re gonna pass a really good half-smoke cart on the way, do you like half-smokes?”

  👻     👻     👻

“Take a look at this,” Inoue said, her cheek half stuffed with sausage, jabbing a finger at the LED read-out of her mysterious box.

It was rather hard for Ichigo to see, because he was holding the box and the readout was on the other side, but he did his best to crane his neck around. “What am I looking at? The squiggles? I’m sorry, it looks like nothing to me.”

“Exactly right!” Inoue announced, waving her half smoke in the air. “Not a sniff of spiritual residue!”

Ichigo pressed his lips together. “Um… is that good?”

“It is interesting,” Inoue corrected. “Five days ago, a sixty-four year old woman had a heart attack while sitting in that bus shelter.” On every day since, I have been able to record EMF fluctuations, and on Sunday, I was able to get a voice recording that sounded like a woman reciting a grocery list. But this morning, nothing! Nada!”

“Well, uh, ghosts gotta move on eventually, right? Otherwise, just about everywhere would be haunted, right?” It’s not that Ichigo had suddenly started believing ghosts or anything, but there was something about Agent Inoue that just made you want to go along with her and see where all this panned out.

Inoue shot him a finger gun. “Or, they get moved along.” She shoved a folded paper map at him. “You can put that thing down.”

Ichigo eased the Spirit Detect-O 9000, or whatever it was called, to the grass and accepted her map. It was a street map of DC, meant for tourists, emphasizing all the local transit routes and popular attractions. There was also a great loop marked on it in orange highlighter, zig-zagging back and forth through the city. There was a little ‘x’ marked on Franklin Park, with “Tuesday, early morning” written in a bubbly hand.

“What is this?” Ichigo frowned. It didn’t seem to match up with any of the metro or bus lines. It didn’t even match with the sidewalks, it appeared to cut straight through large buildings like the convention center.

“As far as I can tell,” Inoue said, her brown eyes very solemn, “that is the patrol route of our local grim reaper.”

  👻     👻     👻

“So I actually got interested in grim reapers,” Inoue explained, once they were back in the office, “while I was investigating violent ghost phenomena.” She was eating a bag of corn chips that she had gotten from that ancient vending machine by punching it and then shoving her own arm up the chute. (She’d gotten Ichigo a bag, too, but he was too afraid to eat them.)

Ichigo was sitting at a cluttered table that Inoue had told him “could be his desk.” Half of it was taken up by a large aquarium full of rocks and a water bowl, but no life forms that Ichigo could detect. The other half was covered with back issues of “Ghost Hunter Technology” magazine. “You mean like poltergeists?” he asked.

“Not exactly. Poltergeists are noisy, but they aren’t usually able to kill their targets.”

“Kill? Ghosts can’t kill people, aside from, like scaring them to death,” Ichigo scoffed. “I mean, folklorically speaking. As we established earlier, I am not a ghost-believer.”

Inoue tipped her head to the side. “They do, actually, it just tends to get blamed on something else.”

“By ghost-non-believers.”

“By everyone, really, and that’s what’s so strange.” Inoue pulled a fat binder from a stack of seemingly identical ones, and tossed it open in front of Ichigo. “Edison, New Jersey, 2014. An elderly woman dies ‘of a broken heart’ a week after her husband dies of cancer. Coincidentally, a telephone pole falls on her house the same night and rips a hole in her house.” She turned a page. “Norfolk, Virginia, 2017. A young woman dies in what the police rule as a suicide, despite the fact that she made a 911 call 48 hours previous, expressing fear of her ex-boyfriend. Three days later, the boyfriend is dead of mysterious causes. Coincidentally, his apartment complex suffered significant damages from ‘a wild cougar.’”

Ichigo squinted at the pictures. The walls of the building were scored with what did appear to be scratch marks. “Hell of a cougar.”

“Exactly! And I’ve got dozens of these historic cases. But about four months ago, I was able to investigate one myself-- a young man named Joe Wallace. He lives here in the city, over near Dupont Circle. Wallace had cut off his toxic dad years ago, and refused to visit him in the hospital as he was dying. Four days after his father’s death, a truck crashes into his house in the middle of the night and then drives away before the police can arrive.”

“And he died.”

“No!” Inoue held up one finger. “Scratches and bruises, but he doesn’t die!”

“Okay, great. So what does he remember?”

“He remembers a truck crashing into his house.”

Ichigo scratched his chin. “I am confused.”

“Look at this!” Inoue stabbed a finger at the pictures. “These are claw marks, not vehicular wreckage! There’s damage on the second story window! Wallace had scratches and defensive wounds, as if he had been fending off an animal! And look here, at the damage to the walls of the bedroom!”

“What am I looking at?” Ichigo asked, squinting at a photograph that looked like it had been blown up past the point of recognition.

“There were cuts and slashes in the walls and bedding as though someone had been fighting with a sword.”

“Like a Medieval Times sword? Was the guy a Medieval Times enthusiast?”

“More consistent with a katana. Do you like Medieval Times?”

“No one likes Medieval Times.”

“I like Medieval Times. You’ve probably never even been. But back to the ghost! Why would Wallace remember a truck crashing into his house, when nothing about the scene is consistent with that story?”

“He was...lying?”

“His memories were replaced.”

“His memories were replaced,” Ichigo echoed.

“Yes.”

“By… aliens?”

Orihime heaved a deep sigh. “By a grim reaper.”

“A grim reaper with a samurai sword.”

“How on earth did you come to this conclusion?”

Inoue raised one eyebrow. “Because when I placed him under hypnosis, Wallace didn’t remember anything about a truck. He did remember a monster with batwings and a mask made of bone and his dead father’s voice who tried to kill him, except that he was saved by a tall man dressed in black. The man had bright red hair and fought the monster with a sword that was also a whip and then he wiped Wallace’s memories.”

Ichigo stared at her. “You can hypnotize people?”

Inoue gave him a long-suffering face. Ichigo had the sudden flash that he was going to be seeing that face a lot in the days to come. “Yes, I am a certified hypnotist.” Inoue’s phone suddenly started playing “Tubular Bells”. “Oops, that’s an alarm. Come on, we have a meeting with some important people. Do you like diners?”

  👻     👻     👻

Agent Inoue apparently did not care for public transit, but she walked very quickly. Ichigo was concentrating so hard on keeping up with her that he nearly collided with her back when she stopped very suddenly.

“You don’t mind if we make a quick stop, do we?” Inoue asked.

“You said the meeting was with important people.”

“Oh, don’t worry about them!” Inoue pursed her lips. “You see that bodega right there?”

They were in a part of downtown that was mostly mid-to-upscale restaurants and government buildings and FedExes. But sure enough, there was a dingy little bodega nestled between a Mexican-Indian fusion place and an Au Bon Pain, the windows stuffed with t-shirts from the last administration and a variety of cell phone chargers. The overhead sign read “Urahara Shop.”

“Y...eah…” Ichigo replied.

“That place is a hotbed of supernatural activity.”

“Is it?” Ichigo asked.

“I am almost positive that it is a supply point and meeting place for grim reapers, monster slayers, cryptids, alien hunters, and lycanthropes, but the owner is on to me.”

“I see,” Ichigo said levelly.

“Can you go in and pretend to be a customer? They have lots of good candy you can look through. Inoue dug in her purse and came up with a fiver. “Here. Buy a scratch ticket or something.”

“I’m not buying a scratch ticket, they’re a scam.”

“If the big guy is working the counter, he’ll glare at you until you buy something, so be prepared.”

As Ichigo pushed open the door, he realized he’d never actually agreed to any of this. Agent Inoue’s secret hypnosis powers, once again. Whatever. It was a bodega, there were a thousand of them in DC. They all had the same Nats t-shirts and coffee mugs with pictures of the Washington Monument on them. Ichigo pretended to be interested in a rack of comics. He tended to prefer indy comics over the big publishers himself, but even so, he didn’t recognize any of the books. Maybe they were by local authors.

Up at the front of the shop, a tiny, dark-haired woman was giving whatfor to the man behind the counter, a tall fellow with pale, straw-colored hair sticking out in tufts from under the saddest hat Ichigo had ever seen, a shapeless, battered bucket, striped green and white.

“Well, I can sell you a new battery for your phone, Miss Kuchiki, maybe that would help.”

“Not if it only lasts as long as the last one you sold me! I really need to get in touch with my partner, except that even if I could get my phone working again, his battery is probably dead because everything you sell is the same crap!”

“Ah, that’s too bad! You know, I think Mr. Abarai was in here a few days ago… I wasn’t in at the time, but Jinta said he came in, asking about…”

The man trailed off, and Ichigo glanced up to see the shopkeeper looking directly at him.

“...metrocards. But as you know, we don’t sell metrocards anymore.”

The woman made an aggravated noise. “You’re so useless! If I write him a damned note, will you give it to him if he comes in?”

“Oh, of course! Anything for you, Miss Kuchiki!”

The conversation trailed off as the woman hunched over the counter to angrily scratch out a note.

Ichigo stuffed the comic he was flipping through back on its rack. He skipped the enormous display of bedazzled flip-flops and started perusing the surprisingly extensive selection of gum.

“Here!” the woman finished and shoved her note at the shopkeeper. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Have a wonderful day!” the shopkeeper tootled, giving her a little finger wave.

Ichigo felt bad for the woman. “Er, excuse me?” he said as she passed.

She turned to scowl at him. For such a tiny person, she seemed to contain a remarkable amount of rage.

“Do you need to call someone? You can use my phone, if you’d like.” He held it out like an offering.

The woman blinked at him for a moment.

“I didn’t mean to be nosy! You were just kind of loud and you sounded worried about your, um, partner.”

“I’m not worried about him, I just need to find him.” Her face softened. “Thanks, Mister, but I can’t reach him on a regular phone. Don’t worry, I’ll track him down eventually.” She turned to leave, then stopped to jab an accusatory finger at Ichigo. “And that’s professional partner, not… you know! Whatever!” She stomped out.

What a strange, tiny person.

Ichigo selected a gum and walked up to the counter.

“Oooh, dragonberry lime, good choice!” the man trilled. “Anything else I can get you? Bottled water? Fanny pack? Spare phone battery?”

“I’ll pass,” Ichigo replied dryly.

“I imagine it’s against FBI policy to let a stranger use your cell phone,” the shopkeeper said sweetly.

Ichigo’s brows furrowed. “This is my personal phone. And how did you…?”

The man gave a chortling laugh that sent shivers down Ichigo’s spine. “Because headquarters is three blocks away and only an FBI agent would wear a suit that square.”

Ichigo took his change and his gum and shoved them both in his pocket. “Yeah, well, your hat sucks.”

The man laughed harder. “Doesn’t it, though?”

Once he was outside again, Ichigo handed Inoue the gum and her change. “The owner of that place is a creep.”

“The guy in the green and white hat?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s Urahara. You’re right, he’s the owner. Were there any other customers?”

“Just the short lady. You must have seen her come out. She was ripping Urahara a new one for some dodgy cell phone battery he sold her. I think she must have been NSA or something. She said she was trying to get ahold of her partner, but she needed a special phone.” As he said it, Ichigo realized it would be pretty odd for an NSA agent to be buying cell phone batteries from some shady bodega.

“No one came out,” Inoue replied.

“She definitely did! I heard the bell over the door ring.”

Inoue regarded Ichigo very seriously. “Agent Kurosaki. I was standing here the whole time. You were the only person who went in or out.” She looked at the gum. “Ooh! Dragonfruit lime! Do you want some?”

  👻     👻     👻

They were late to the meeting.

Two men were waiting for them in the back corner booth. One of them had pinched, pointy features and piercing blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. His chin-length haircut was pretty dramatic, but not as dramatic as his pure white trench coat. A cup of black coffee sat on the faded Formica table in front of him, but it didn’t look like it had been touched.

His companion was an enormous, good-looking Latino who was shoveling pancakes into his face.

“Inoue,” the dramatic guy said. “Who’s this?”

“This is my new partner, Kurosaki,” Inoue replied. “Kurosaki, this is Uryuu Ishida,” she indicated the white trenchcoat guy, “and Chad,” Mr. Pancakes.

“Also known as the ‘Lone Archers,’” Ishida specified. “We are apolitical actors who are interested in revealing the truths that are regularly hidden from the general populace by secret forces that conspire within the machinery of the American government.”

“You can just call me Chad,” said Chad.

“Good morning!” the waitress said. “Can I get you folks anything?”

“Oh, yes! I’m getting mozzarella sticks! Do you like mozzarella sticks, Kurosaki? They’re so good here!”

“So’re the pancakes,” added Chad.

“I’ll just have a coffee,” Ichigo announced. He glanced at Ishida’s cup. “Black.”

“Double mozzarella sticks, please!” Inoue chorused. “And a cherry coke!” She leaned over to Ichigo and spoke out of the side of her mouth. “I’ll give you a mozzarella stick.”

“Do you want some pancake?” Chad offered to Ishida. “I never think to offer.”

Ishida waved him off with a hand. “Agent Inoue. At great personal peril, I was able to obtain a sample of the item we discussed.” He slid a small paper packet across the table. “There are two tablets inside, but one should be sufficient for your purposes.” Ishida leaned forward, his mouth set in a firm line. “I was cautioned very strongly against using this, unless one had a firm plan for handling the… consequences.”

“I understand,” Inoue replied, stuffing the envelope into her purse.

Ichigo wanted to ask more questions, but the conversation shifted very quickly to some USGS floodplain maps that Ishida wanted Inoue to obtain for him that were apparently not available from the public webportals, allegedly because of filesize. Ichigo could practically hear the air quotes around the word “filesize.”

“We’re going to look for Jersey Devils next weekend,” Chad explained, sounding pretty excited about it.

“There’s only one, Chad,” Ishida corrected. “It’s just ‘Jersey Devil.’”

“There could be more than one,” Chad shrugged.

Thirty minutes later, they departed. Inoue had an order of mozzarella sticks in her purse. Ichigo had an armload of backissues of the Lone Archers’ ‘zine, which was, conveniently enough, titled The Lone Archer. There was no doubt in his mind that at least Ishida was completely off his rocker. The jury was still out on Chad… he struck Ichigo as the sort of guy who just went along with Ishida’s nonsense because he was a good friend and also liked taking camping trips and doing layout for ‘zines.

“So what was that thing they gave you?” Ichigo pestered. The idea of that little paper packet had been burning a hole in his brain the entire time.

“You busy tonight?” Inoue asked, raising an eyebrow slyly. “Between 10 and 11?”

“What are we doing?” Ichigo asked cautiously, wondering if he would be able to charge his time.

“We’re going to try and attract an angry ghost.”

  👻     👻     👻

“Are you… sure this is… a good idea?” Ichigo asked for the sixteenth time, as Inoue focused the thermal camera on him.

They were in an old, abandoned lot that had formerly served as a Metro service facility. It was pretty spooky all on its own, filled with train cars too dilapidated for salvage.

It was 10:25pm. Inoue had set up no less than 17 different pieces of ghost detection equipment. Ichigo was questioning his life choices.

“You told me you don’t believe in ghosts. If ghosts don’t exist, then what could possibly go wrong?” Inoue posed.

“Well… that’s true,” Ichigo granted. “And, for the record, I still do not believe in ghosts. But in the Pascal’s wager sense of things, I am considering the ramifications of what happens if there are ghosts that exist, regardless of my belief in them.”

“And?” Inoue asked.

“Well, you said that these ghosts have hurt and killed people before. It seems like trying to attract one without having any method of, um, fighting it, seems kind of… irresponsible?”

“Ah, but you see, I’ve specifically picked this time and location to coincide with the grim reaper patrol routes I’ve been mapping out. Our friendly neighborhood psychopomp ought to show up just on schedule to fight the angry ghost for us. We’re doing them a favor, as I see it.”

“How so?” Ichigo exclaimed.

“It’s not like we’re creating an angry ghost out of nowhere. We’re just attracting an existing one to our location. We’re saving the grim reaper the trouble of having to hunt it down.”

Ichigo pinched the bridge of his nose. Why was it so difficult to argue with Inoue? Possibly because she was so incredibly earnest in all her beliefs, and all her arguments were in completely good faith, it’s just that her logic came from some other dimension. This woman has solved multiple, high-profile murders, including several that were ice cold, Ichigo reminded himself. So she’s quirky. I am sure I can learn a lot from her.

“Okay, everything is in place!” Inoue announced, placing her hand on her hips. “Go hide behind that pile of moldy seats!”

Inoue took Ichigo’s place at the center of her recording equipment. “Agent Orihime Inoue speaking,” she said, for posterity. “It is 10:28pm. I am crushing one tablet of a substance called ‘Hollow Bait.’” She crunched the little white tablet, which looked an awful lot like an Alka-Seltzer, between her fingers, and then made a flying leap for the rotting pile of damp, orange upholstery that Ichigo was crouched behind.

“So, just out of curiosity,” Ichigo started. “How long would we have to wait, theoretically, with nothing happening, before we would declare this a bust?”

Inoue pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Usually, I would give it about two hours, but if you’ve got somewhere to be, I don’t mind if you leave early. It is nice to have company for a change.”

“No, I don’t have anywhere else to be,” Ichigo replied. “I mean… sleeping, I guess.”

Inoue gave a charming little laugh. “I don’t sleep very well. And hunting for ghosts is more interesting than most of the stuff on Hulu.”

The way that she said it gave Ichigo the distinct impression that Inoue was, well, lonely. But that didn’t seem correct. She was weird, sure, but she was also friendly and talkative, and, er, well, she was extremely cute. Surely she had tons of friends.

“How’d you get into ghost hunting, anyway?” he tried to be conversational.

“Hmm,” Inoue hummed noncommittally. “Let’s just say there was an incident in my teen years, where my memories don’t match up to the property damage.”

Oh. Ichigo wondered if he should apologize, when suddenly, a cold chill ran down his spine and a sound like a roar echoed in his ears, except he didn’t actually hear anything. “Did you hear that?” he gasped.

“It’s the EMF detector,” Inoue nodded, scrambling for the reader and Ichigo realized he could hear a faint beeping.

“No, not the beeping, it was like a… a… scream…”

“You heard a scream?”

“I didn’t exactly…” Ichigo trailed off as he heard two more, coming from different directions. “There’s more than one. Monster screams. Not human screams.”

Inoue stared at him, eyes wide. “I don’t hear anything. Have you ever been tested for latent psychic ability?”

There was a sudden change in the air pressure, and a fetid, rotting smell, even worse than the Metro seats. Ichigo grabbed Inoue by the shoulders and rolled out of the way, just as the pile of junk they had been crouched behind compacted like it had been through a car crusher. Or smashed by a giant foot.

“Whoa!” Inoue exclaimed, trying to push Ichigo off of her so she could see what was going on.

Ichigo blinked through the night. He couldn’t see anything, but there was an area of space that looked thick and hazy, like it wasn’t refracting the harsh glow of the sodium street lights quite correctly.

“We have to get out of here,” Ichigo gasped.

“Can you see it?” Inoue asked, her eyes wide and excited.

“Not-- not really,” Ichigo replied, pulling at her arm. The air blurred, and Ichigo had the sense the thing was jumping at them. He could tell it was fast, but he couldn’t see it, he didn’t know what to--

“Howl, Zabimaru!”

It was both there and not quite there, a liquid blade made of glass and starlight, that snapped through the air at the invisible thing. The monster bellowed, and whipped around, charging at a dark figure standing atop one of the old Metro cars.

“Pick on someone your own size, ugly!” the man bellowed, and as Ichigo squinted, he realized that their savior was dressed all in black. He was tall, and his hair was pulled back in a spiky ponytail. It was bright red. He was also wearing sunglasses, even though it was the middle of the night. They were pushed up on top of his head, to be fair, but Ichigo had a feeling this detail would stick with him.

“You can see that guy, right?” Ichigo asked Inoue desperately. “The guy who’s fighting the ghost? The guy that looks just like the guy in your report?”

“There’s a guy?” Inoue asked. “No. Where is he? Can you usually see ghosts?”

“I don’t even believe in ghosts!”

“Well, maybe you don’t believe in them because you can see them and you don’t want to, did you ever think of that?”

“I don’t think now is the time to interrogate my personal traumas!”

Suddenly, there was another drop in pressure, and Ichigo had the sense of heavy breathing and sharp teeth. “Inoue. I think there’s another one.”

“Well, can you get the guy to come fight this one, too?”

“He seems busy,” Ichigo squeaked.

Something black flashed by his vision, and there was a loud crack and a sound of something screeching in pain. A second dark-clad person had arrived, landing softly on sandaled feet. There was the same unreality to her, a sense that she wasn’t entirely there, as well as a certain familiarity that Ichigo couldn’t place. Her sword was bright in the darkness, like moonlight reflecting on snow.

“Oi, there you are, you big dummy!” she shouted at the first man and Ichigo realized with a jolt that it was the angry woman from the bodega. “I’ve been looking for you for four days!”

“I had a problem with my gigai and maybe you should check your texts once in a while!” the tall guy shouted back. Ichigo refused to think of him as a grim reaper. A grim reaper would not wear sunglasses.

“My phone died!”

“Can we-- ow! -- discuss this later? I’m glad you’re okay, I missed you. Why are there so many Hollows in this train yard?”

“You’re such a sap! And the Hollows are here because some stupid humans got ahold of some Hollow bait.” The woman turned, and glared at Ichigo. Her eyes burned with blue flame, like the burner of a gas stove.

That would have been the last thing Ichigo remembered, if he had actually remembered it, or any of the things that came before it.

  👻     👻     👻

Ichigo was sitting at his desk.

Inoue was sitting at her desk.

The sun was streaming in the window. The clock on Ichigo’s phone read 7:12am.

Inoue frowned. She examined a coffee cup on her desk. She took a hesitant sip, and then made a face. “Why are we here?” she wondered softly.

“I hate to pull an all-nighter,” Ichigo said, stretching, “but it sure does feel good to be caught up on paperwork!”

Inoue regarded him. “Kurosaki,” she said, “how long have you worked here?”

Ichigo frowned. “Well, I guess this is my second day.”

“Right. So… how much paperwork did you have to catch up on?”

Ichigo blinked. He very distinctively recalled working through the night-- his hand cramping, the incredibly spicy Thai food they’d ordered, Inoue’s seemingly infinite Boy Bands of the 90’s playlist. “I… was helping you, I guess?” Come to think of it, why was he filling out paperwork by hand, anyway? His laptop sat next to him, the lid closed. It wasn’t even plugged in.

Inoue’s fist slammed down onto her desk. “Gosh darnit! They wiped my memories again!!”

[kevinwastaken]

okay so idk if anyones done this yet, but this has been in my mind ever since i got into omori lmao

so uhHhHhhh heres my idea for an identity v omori crossover! just because i think it would be neat

this is going to be a super long post (probably), so if you want to read it, just hit read more or whatever

i also want to say that some character choices are gonna be taken from my friend, @/kami.rikki on instagram. but she didnt think as hard on these as i did so like idk

there Will be spoilers for omori, so just be warned of that lmao

so as i said before, this has been on my mind for a HOT minute. and i think it would be a cool collab

for starters, this crossover will be split up (as is every other crossover) in two parts, with one hunter two survivors. i know essence usually have one hunter three survivors, but theres not enough characters for that, and six can be split up evenly sooo

i was thinking that the skins could be like the ones from the persona 5 crossover. like, they can be “awakened” in a sense. the base costumes will be the dream world versions of everyone, while the awakened costumes will be the real world versions. i wasnt here for the persona 5 crossover, so idk how many of those spirit things you had to collect, but i Do know that omoris spirit things could be. uh

well actually i dont know. initially i was thinking lightbulbs, like the one in white space, but the lightbulb isnt too important in the game i dont think? and im not sure about clams either. i know theyre dream world currency, but??

oh actually, maybe you can collect Something to awaken the costumes. because something is a representation of the truth in sunnys mind, and by awakening the costumes, you get to see the characters as their real selves. yeah lets go with that, you collect something from the essence

i swear ive been thinking this out shut up

the hunter costumes wont be awakened though, and i have a reason for this

anyway

part one

the characters that will be present in part one are sunny, basil, and aubrey. i chose them first because. ofc, sunnys the protag, basils his best friend and helped cover up maris death hes important to the story but anyway, and aubrey is <<33 yuh

so heres whos going to be who:

sunny/omori as wu chang

so let me preface this by saying that im not a hunter main. never have been, never will be. and ive never played wu chang. but i swear thisll make sense, im doing research

wu chang is actually composed of two characters, with two different stats: xie, the white guard, and fan, the black guard. i cant tell the difference while im playing, considering the fact that my ass is either running away or decoding. but theres a difference i looked it up

sunny would be the white guard. xie is a fast chaser, but has slow attack speed. ie, slow hits, slow pallet breaking, that stuff. this reflects how sunny is in the real world. he can run, yes, but hes still physically weak due to being locked in his house for four years and spending all his time sleeping. he would be better for chasing than attacking

omori would be the black guard. fan is the opposite of xie, having slow chasing speed but faster attack speed. this reflects in omori. omori is Very apathetic, and really, i dont think he would care to chase anybody unless it was for a quest. though, i guess killing survivors Is a quest for hunters, but. anyway

in battle, omori is a good fighter. his attacks are strong, (although not as strong as say. aubrey or kel. but who am i to say, the playthrough i watched had omori constantly sad) out of him and sunny, omori would be the attacker. so theres my choice for them

the umbrella can probably be switched for a knife. maybe an elongated knife. im not entirely sure, but i know the umbrella wont stay as an umbrella

basil as kurt frank

so i know what youre thinking. why is basil “the explorer??” hear me out this is actually a really good idea

the true best choice would be emma, since shes the gardener, but idv doesnt like giving characters skins of the opposite gender if you know what i mean. anyway

basil isnt a fighter. hes an assist, yes, but that was only for a crime four years ago. not my point, he wouldnt want to be in the action

i think he’d be a really good decoder. especially a good kurt

i originally wanted him to be prisoner, out of no bias whatsoever (/j) but kurt is a good fit for him

basil hides. he hides from things. he hides from the truth just like sunny, and he hides from others. albeit he still goes outside

i will not lie, i have a very personal grudge against kurt players. i dont want them to have anything because every kurt main ive come across was toxic to me specifically. but anyway

so one of kurts abilities is that he can go smaller to run around undetected and/or hide. i find this perfect for basil, because. yknow. hiding

his other ability is to find password pages and use them to decode ciphers faster. i think this would be funny because basils existence in headspace leads sunny to remembering the truth about maris death. i mean, if he werent in headspace, omori and the gang would continue going on adventures like nothing is wrong, so basil sort of speeds up the acknowledging process

this sounds dumb actually. but it makes sense in my head

anyway, the book would be turned into basils photo album, and he wouldnt have a backpack like kurt does. theres my answer

and finally,

aubrey as margaretha zelle

aubrey was actually really hard to pick out. none of the female survivors really fit her, aside from maybe coord, but i dont know what her gun would turn into. i will admit that her section wont be as detailed as basil or sunnys. but anyway my choice is with margie

aubrey imo would be a good kiter. she has strong stats all around, so i feel as if she’d be a great fit for margie. not to mention her speed boost when falling from large heights, which would make her a faster runner and harder to chase if used right. aubrey would be more physically fit since shes a fighter and seems to do a lot of stuff with the hooligans, which also helps prove that she should be a kiter. ANYWAY

so margie has these music boxes that can mess with the hunter, right? some of aubreys attacks can mess with enemies iirc. soooo theyre kind of similar in a way, arent they?

im not exactly sure what the music box can be turned into. maybe a small piano? aubrey cares about mari a lot, and the reason shes so pissed at everyone and rebellious is because she felt like everyone had forgotten about mari and moved on with their lives. so the music box could be a tribute to mari

i dont know how many changes they made with ann tamakis costume in the persona crossover, other than cosmetics for the skin only, so im not sure if the music box was changed at all. i can dream though

in the case that its changed, the blue box could be the song from the playground in headspace (yknow the one) while the red box could be the final duet song. but just with the piano, not the violin

essence

because yes, i thought about the essence too

of course, aside from the skins, there will be other stuff in the essence too. so itll be as follows:

for portraits, theyre going to be the neutral battle portraits from headspace. aside from basil and mari, who do not have battle portraits. theirs will just be of their neutral expressions with the neutral emotion backround behind them. i would add pictures, but the character pictures add up to six, so i’d run out of room before reaching part two

for graffiti, im not really sure. maybe everyones overworld sprites in headspace? along with maybe one of Something

for accessories, i actually have an idea of what thesell be. theyre going to be character exclusive accessories, just like how tpn did theirs

for aubrey, she’ll have mr plantegg. i was thinking of maybe having her bat as an accessory, but

OH ACTUALLY her bat could be a shop accessory that changes the music boxes!! probably an a tier tbh

anyway, the essence accessory for her is mr plantegg, and its there strictly for cosmetic purposes. for basil, he’d get either a pair of garden shears, or a basil plant, since yknow. his names basil. this is also for cosmetic purposes

they all are. i should say that now, the accessories are all cosmetic except aubreys a tier shop bat

finally, for sunny, im not entirely sure what to give him. i could give him a knife, sure, but then he’d have two knives because of the umbrella. maybe a steak? or a pair of red hands? im torn on this

and that concludes part one

part two

**PLEASE BE AWARE THAT MARIS IMAGE HAS THE PHOTO FROM THE TRUTH ALBUM WHERE SHES HANGING FROM THE TREE. IF YOU DONT WANT TO SEE IT, SKIP PAST IT. SHES THE FIRST CHARACTER IM PUTTING ON HERE

part two consists of mari, hero, and kel. do not separate them </3

here are my character choices:

mari as yidhra

so i know yidhra may seem like a weird choice. i originally thought of maybe mary, but this makes sense to me

yidhra herself will be mari. im not sure which version, but even though i have real world mari in the photo, maybe headspace mari would be better. nobody can see her anyway lmao

yidhras servants will be, again, mari, but she looks as she did when basil and sunny hung her on the tree. her hairs covering her face, with her right eye being visible. kind of like the girl from the ring, but anyway yeah

yidhra is the dream witch. she haunts your dreams and she haunts mine when i go against her. maris death haunts everyone, especially sunny and basil (whom know the truth of what happened,) so this just seems like a perfect fit

her death is “leeched” onto everyones minds (pun entirely intended), so attaching herself to survivors with only her death appearance visible is mmmm

instead of an axe, maybe her weapon can be the jump rope she was hung from? and it can be used as a whip? that makes the most sense to me idk

im not good at explaining things, but if you were to see dream witch in a match, youd know how good this would work

also brings a new meaning to “my thoughts will follow you into your dreams” HELLO

hero as norton campbell

so hero was kind of hard for me to pick too. i wanted him to be a support character, but looking around, there are. barely any that would work. my closest choice was victor, but?? the letters???? they dont correlate

hero doesnt give me kiter vibes, but nortons good at rescues too, as long as youre in an area with obstacles. and usually, when someone dies in battle, hero can make life jam to revive the fallen party member

nortons magnets are used to either bring the hunter closer to him, or push the hunter away. both can be used to stun with obstacles. while hero doesnt have any stun attacks that i can remember, he does have charming abilities that can be used to take damage for the other party members. so similar stuff? idk

i guess his magnets can be turned into chocolate chip cookies, since thats what he uses to heal everyone. if not cookies, then i dont know

oh actually one of nortons abilities is called “attract.” thats so funny if you put hero as him lmao

heros section is kind of short, my bad

kel as william ellis

come on. who else were you expecting me to use? its the basketball man as the football man

while kel is a fighter in battle, he can also be used as a backup healer. aubrey is the main fighter of the group, and hero is the main healer. so hes kind of a catch-all in a sense

kels an athlete. he plays basketball. williams an athlete. he plays football. need i say more

im not gonna lie, this is kind of a don tpn situation where it just Makes Sense that kel would be william

the football will probably be replaced with either a rubber ball or a basketball, depending on which skin youre using. the former is for headspace kel, the latter for real world kel

the buffs and debuffs for william makes sense on kel too. kel would probably have trouble with something as (probably) complex as the cipher machines, and the struggle and vaulting buffs show off his athleticisim

same with the football, using rush to rescue is such a kel thing to do

essence

for part two, there will be about the same things as part one

the portraits will be the neutral battle portraits, this time with the real world counterparts of everyone. basil and maris will be their neutral expressions on the neutral battle background. though, since mari doesnt have Real real world portraits, i guess they could use the one from the one i used on the mari yidhra picture

for graffiti, it can be the real world overworld sprites

in terms of accessories, theyre still cosmetic and character exclusive. maris can be the white egret orchid, since thats the flower that represents her. heros can be a spatula, as thats his weapon of choice in headspace. for kel, im not sure. hes using the ball as a weapon so???

maybe he can get a cactus, because thats his assigned plant

in terms of shop items, i think i know the perfect thing

mewo as a pet

mewo my beloved. nobody could ever forget you

mewo would be a hunter pet. she would be cool for survs too i guess, but considering both her owners are hunters.....

mewo would probably follow the hunter around, not really doing much. i think it would be Extremely funny though if every time a survivor was chaired, she just chilled next to them in the pose shes always in in white space

thats pretty much it. if you got this far, thank you!! i spent like two hours writing this whole thing out LMAO damn

[girlofmanyfandoms]

keefex, romantic or platonic

I have no idea if this was what you were looking for, but:

Ok, so it really begins when one day, Fitz is busy studying for midterms

And Keefe has photographic memory, so he’s like “Yeah, pass”

So obviously Soph is busy studying as well, and those are his two go-to’s

So he decides to check on Dex, since they haven’t chatted in a while

He gets very excited at this idea, but he doesn’t know w h y

And his father wouldn’t approve of him having to go through Mysterium, so that’s a plus

So he knocks on the door and finds that it’s open

And it’s just utter chaos

There’s the sound of flames, bubbling, and then a mini explosion

Kesler and Dex emerge from the back room covered in some bubbling purple substance

With eye protection ofc, but their hair and clothes are a mess

Bex slides down the swirly railing squealing, Lex and Rex running after her

They knock down a vase, and Juline sighs as she sweeps up the remains

She looks up to see Keefe and flushes with embarrassment

*cue her scolding Kesler and Dex and telling them to clean themselves up*

They laugh at this, but oblige

Juline then asks if he came there for elixirs

He says no, that he wanted to hang out with Dex and maybe study for midterms

She tells him to wait in Dex’s room so he can clean up, then offers to makes snacks, which he accepts

(She then runs after the triplets to distract them with snow people, but we don’t talk about that)

So Keefe is chilling in Dex’s room when something shiny catches his eye

It’s a gold box, resting on a shelf

And your boy’s impulsivity kicks in, he H A S to know what’s up with this box

So he gets up to look at it, and that’s when he finally takes a moment to see just how many inventions Dex had created

There’s a few crates on the floor below the shelves of just blueprints and sketches for different prototypes

He starts sifting through them when Dex comes into the room

“What are you doing?”

*panics* “What are YOU doing?”

Keefe then realizes part of Dex’s hair is dyed purple from whatever substance exploded

“hA, you’re a grape”

*eye rolling* “Hilarious”

Keefe tells him that he should approach the Council with some of his inventions, or at the very least, Lady Iskra

Dex winces, and reminds him of how the ability restrictor went

“This is different,” Keefe insists. “The least you can do is tell your Technopathy mentor.”

Dex says some stuff that reveals his self-doubt, feelings of not having a purpose, shame, loneliness, etc.

And Keefe is like ??? Not a vibe

So he hugs Dex tightly and tells him how much he means to him

Dex squeaks and blushes a bit

He then has a moment of “why am I blushing, this is just my friend being supportive. Right?”

Keefe realizes he’s been holding onto him for a while and slowly pulls away

To change the subject, he makes Dex show him each and every blueprint and machine he’s made

This easily goes into the evening, and Keefe decides he’ll sleep over

He helps Dex narrow it down to 10 inventions that he’ll show Lady Iskra next class

Dex then asks if he wants to study for midterms

To which Keefe responds with “No studying, we die like warriors!”

And Dex is already pretty much set, so he suggests they play a human game, any game that Sophie got for him

Keefe searches through the box of games and his eyes land on Twister

He skims the description and is dead set on playing it

He shoves it in Dex’s face

And Dex, having the knowledge of the types of tension that can arise refuses profusely, turning very red

“Are you a tomato or a grape? You have to choose.”

Dex blushes even more, and pushes the game away

“No,” Dex repeats.

“C’mon Dexinator. Please?”

Dex chances a glance at his friend, who is making puppy eyes, and his heart melts

The only thing going through his head is ‘Why is he so cute?’

Dex shakes his head violently, he’s not supposed to think like that. This is his FRIEND. Nothing more

But Keefe has moved closer, bringing his pleas and pouts with him

Dex realizes how close they are and time kinda slows

His brain feels like mush and he gets butterflies in his stomach

He has this moment where he realizes “this is the same thing I thought I felt for Sophie”

And so he gets really confused with his labels. Was he gay, but misplacing his feelings? Was he bi? Was he pan?

Keefe gave no time for him to think about this, and using his height to his advantage, draped himself over Dex

“Come oooonnnn, let’s play Twisterrrrrr”

Dex shoves him off playfully. If this is how he feels, he might as well spare his poor heart another panic attack from their proximity

“Fine, one round.”

“YES! Point for the Keefester!”

So they set up the mat in the room and take turns spinning the wheel

Keefe always takes the spot farthest from him, just to create a challenge

5 minutes in and Keefe is in a bridge position

A few moves later and Dex is in a push-up position directly over him

Keefe is now experiencing peak *gay panic*

So to attempt to break the tension, he says, “Gonna give me twenty?”

“Twenty kisses”

Dex did NOT mean to say that out loud and internally curses himself

“Well, I guess we better start right away”

Dex hesitates, but moves closer

And then there’s a knock on the door

Keefe scrambles out from under him, kicks the Twister mat under the bed, and rests against the wall casually in time for Juline to enter

“I made rifflepuffs!”

“Thanks, mom, can you leave them on the nightstand?”

She does, and once she leaves, Dex makes sure to lock the door

He facepalms before dropping face first onto his bed and letting out a scream into his pillow

Keefe gets up and sits next to him, rubbing his back

“I can sleep on the couch downstairs if you want.”

“No, you can sleep with me”

Realizing what that implied, Dex leaped up and corrected himself

“I meant in the same bed! Like next to each other, sleeping!”

Keefe assures him that he knew what he meant, laughing

“How does Saturday at 6 work for you? The bakery in Atlantis?”

Dex is confused. Keefe actually likes him, too?

“It’s a date”

They continue to hang out, but they recline on each other more casually, trying to see what the other person was comfortable with

Soon enough, it’s dark out, and they pull the covers over themselves

“You know about those twenty kisses...”

“KeEfE-”

Imma do the platonic ones in a bit, my creativity returns from vacation soon

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 13- Wessex

Pairings: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count: 2877

Warnings: None I don't think.

AN: I hope I don't disappoint anyone with how this chapter starts 😅😅 Slooooow Burrrrrn.

12- Northumbria

...

Her head hurt.

It was a pounding that rattled the side of her temple that seemed intune with her heartbeat. 

She couldn't sleep.

Whenever she closed her tired eyes, Bjorn's bloody knife tortured her. It was one of the many more tragedies she knew was to come.

She would be lying to say her lack of sleep that night had nothing to do with the heathen nestled within the furs beside her. Like her, he did not rest easy. He was in pain, she could hear it in the small grunts mutterred in his sleep. She was almost sure that his brows were knitted in that look he couldn't hide on particular days when he struggled with pain. 

Sighing internally, she removes herself from the comfort of the furs to light a candle, bringing it up to the bed. Ivar's broad back was suddenly illuminated, his muscles expanding with every breath he took. 

She watches him for a while, wondering how the Ivar in the daytime was the same one that slept fitfully beside her. He looked harmless, curled up on his side with bedridden hair. He even pouted in his sleep. It was almost enough to make her smile, but she refrained from doing so.

His legs were exposed from under the fleece, heavily covered in thick trousers. Sometimes she wondered what his legs might look like underneath all that fabric. Thin and frail, perhaps, from lack of use. For obvious reasons, she was never to be near when he bathed or dressed, his legs being a vulnerability that he didn't want her or anyone else to see.

Artemis didn't blame him. 

Carefully, and with subtle movement, she crosses her legs bringing the flame to hold between her hands. She supposed she had Ivar to thank for...whatever it is he did for her. He was being uncharacteristically kind, though she knew the only reason was his newfound use of her. She had much more to offer than the average slave, and now there were certain expectations of her. 

She must serve this heathen army, the people who will continue to murder others that she was connected to through Christ. But even so, Ivar treated her in the best way he could. Somehow, he came to tolerate her. 

She brings a hand to the golden cross hidden in her bodice, tugging at the string that kept it round her neck. It felt so much more significant to her now than it did before. Her traitorous thoughts caused her cheeks to blaze like a bad sunburn.

Her eyes lingered over him once more before sliding from the bed and onto the moist ground. She needed to pray and ease her mind, and perhaps she would receive an answer. She begins to recite.

"Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth at it is in heaven,"

Ivar's eyes snap open at the intrusive words, hand already gripping the hilt of his dagger under his pillow. He looks out over his shoulder, immediately noticing the empty bed side before rolling his body over to the other side. Pushing the furs aside, he peers down over the edge of the bed to find his thrall on her knees in a Christian prayer.

He blinked his eyes to adjust to the dim light of the candle beside her, getting a better view of her muttering lips. It took him a minute to realize her babbling was in Greek.

"Give us this day, our daily bread, and-"

"What are you going on about?" Ivar interupts, sitting up on his elbows to rub the sleep from his eyes. Artemis looks up at him as if she were caught stealing something of value. He notices the dark hues under her eyes.

"Were you praying?" He asks in exaggerated disbelief. He's never seen her do that before.

"...Yes." 

"Why?"

"I could not sleep." She replies sheepishly, lowering her hands to her knees to scrape at the fabric in her nervousness.

"And so you decide to pray," Ivar replies flatly, rolling his eyes before flopping back onto the bed, "After all that I have been teaching you?" The whole journey to England was spent teaching her of his gods and their stories. Clearly a waste.

"I have been learning," She insists, bringing her hands to the edge of the bed, shyly leaning in closer to him, "But I am still a Christian." Ivar sucks his teeth in utter displeasure.

"Perhaps you are delusional," He mutters, "A delusional girl who believes in fairytales." She wastes no time in moving away from him. She wouldn't say that his beliefs sounded like fairytales, though it threatened to leak from the very tip of her tongue. She decides to occupy herself instead, standing to light the candles around the tent as a distraction and to put much needed distance between them.

"What were you praying for anyway?" He asks curiously, stretching his upper body as he watched her move about. As usual, Artemis takes a moment to respond, until finally going over to the candles at his bedside , lighting the up wicks. The flames immediately lit up her sour features.

"Wisdom." She reveals.

"Wisdom." He repeats. 

"Yes." Artemis lowers herself again onto her knees, leaning against the makeshift bed. She refused to look at him, merely staring into the little flames as she often did. Ivar teasingly pokes her temple with little force, just enough to make her head sway.

"You have many things running rampant in there, hm?" 

"It seems I am plagued by my own thoughts." She agrees dully.

"What worries you so?" Ivar demands, "Do I not treat you well?"

"Of course, you treat me well," She drags her her eyes to his, "And I am grateful, but I am afraid these are matters of the heart." Ivar purses his lips, his mood quickly souring.

"Matters of the heart?" He chuckles darkly, "Is it Arvid's marriage that ails you?" He then snorts unbecomingly, crossing his arms as he feels jealousy's grip around him like iron chains. She looks at him with an odd expression that he couldn't read.

"That is far from the torment that ails me." 

"Then what is it?" He demands again. He watches her struggle to form her words, a hint of fear rising in her eyes at exposing herself.

"My path," She says, "My path is uncertain."

"The gods led your path right where we need you," He grunts, "You have purpose here with us."

"To support those who have forced me into slavery?" She was over stepping her boundaries again. That annoys him.

"Your purpose is to aid our army. Your purpose is to aid me," His words were forceful, "We have discussed this already, Artemis."

"Of course, Prince Ivar." She replies bitterly. She was just a tool to be used. Perhaps she should be grateful. Her use would not be in bed like so many others have been subjected to.

"Yet, you are not pleased." Ivar notes with a tired sigh, running a hand through his thick hair. 

"With respect, Prince, it pleases no one to be a slave." 

"Freedom is earned," He stresses, "And you have not yet earned it." Ivar notices the weak sunlight filtering into the tent, hearing the sounds of warriors waking and mingling within the camp. It was nearly sunrise. He removes the fleece blanket from over him, swinging his buckled legs to dangle off the edge of the bed.

"Help me dress. Go to Arvid and see to whatever needs to be repaired. We leave to Wessex by midday." 

...

Men were childish. 

Arvid was in no talking mood, still fuming over the events of the previous day. She'd try to make simple conversation but found it difficult to engage him, so after a while she left him alone with his thoughts after completing her duties.

The rest of the morning was spent preparing their departure, and by noon they marched towards Wessex. 

The journey was short, and the warriors passed the time by singing some kind of folk song she didn't really understand. After a long debate, Ivar allowed her to travel alongside Helga and Tanaruz. She was happy to sit beside the older woman and the young girl on a horse drawn cart led by Floki.

Helga recounts the stories of the Valkyries, warrior women that take men fallen in battle into Odin's hall in Valhalla to dine with him. She tells them of Freyja's beautiful fields, where fallen men also reside. The story was odd when comparing it to heaven, but it was still an intriguing tale to keep them entertained. Artemis attempts many times to translate them to Tanaruz, but the young girl hardly cared, her unfocused eyes glaring at the passing dirt road.

It was quiet when the army reached their destination. There was no Saxon army that greeted them, nor a single warrior to face.

King Ecbert's settlement was completely deserted.

Walking in through the gates was too easy, and all the warriors braced themselves for a possible attack, but none came. Bjorn cautiously enters, sending a few men to scout the perimeter, but once they returned safely, it was known they were victorious in a battle they had no need to fight. 

Suddenly, an old man emerged from some part of the settlement. He held his hands up in surrender, yet he appeared at peace, accepting his fate.

"It is King Ecbert!" Bjorn yells, pointing his axe as did the men surrounding him. 

Artemis scans her eyes over the so called king, wondering if all western kings were this unkempt. He wore a simple shift, long and dirty, as was his gray hair and long beard. He walked towards them with a strange smile on his face. She had never seen a proper king in person, only a portrait of the Emperor once in all his glory, the complete opposite of how the English kings have presented themselves. With no need for a fight, King Ecbert was easily siezed.

The Ragnarsons all headed inside the settlement with Bjorn leading the way as the old king stumbled along with them. Many entered the hall, warrirors stomping with glee as they held torches in pursuit of destruction. The scent of smoke and burning filled the air. 

"Go on with the other slaves," Ivar tells her, "A feast must be prepared." He grins, disappearing with the rest of his brothers.

She did as was told, moving to place pitchers of ale and platters of bread and meats on makeshift tables. Then she waited, digging her boots into the earth in boredom until she heard whispers among the crowd. Turning to the source of the whispers, Artemis's face pales.

Floki walked with his beloved Helga in his arms, her lifeless body hanging off him like a rag doll. Her heart began to thump uncontrollably at the sight, immediately noticing the blood that coated his hands. 

He walked a distance, and she sneaks away to follow him in haste, only stopping to watch as he decided on a spot at the nearest hill. Gently, he places Helga under a tree as he began to work on digging her grave. She watches for a while, waiting for Floki to have a moment to mourn his wife.

He cries, carefully placing his wife's body into the pit that he had dug for her, and once she was made ready with the little items she had brought with her, he began to sob.

Artemis's eyes swell with tears until she couldn't hold on to them any longer, pouring down her cheeks in salty streaks. She wipes them away furiously, angry at the turn of events. Helga was with her just moments ago. 

Nothing good came from coming to England, only fear and broken hearts. 

She continues to wait until she deemed it appropriate to approach the mourning man. Quietly approaching the scene, she kneels beside Floki. She glances at him but he doesn't utter word, nor make any indication of acknowledging her presence. He only stares at his dead wife who looked quite comfortable in her new home. Artemis notices her skin had already changed from its healthy glow to a sickening gray, her body quick to deteriorate. 

The wound was over her heart, quickly patched over by Floki in haste to stop the blood. Artemis did a sign of the cross, to which Floki says nothing, just glares down at his wife's grave with balled fists. 

"I will pray for her soul," She says to him, shifting her hair to get access to the small golden drops on her ears. Helga had always admired them, and so she decides that Helga should be the one to keep them. Cautiously, she leans forward, glancing back at Floki who still did nothing but watch her movements closely with those beady eyes. 

She carefully places the earrings beside each ear, bringing a hand to Helga's cold cheek, as if her warmth would bring life back into her. She sniffles, mentally reciting a prayer, before standing and dusting off her knees. 

"May she rest in peace." She says, quickly wiping her eyes and turning to head back to the settlment.

"Christian." Floki calls out to her, and she stops in her tracks, meeting the eyes of the grieving man.

"It was Tanaruz," He growls out, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. Artemis takes in a shaky breath.

"Where is she?"

Floki snorts, releasing a hysteric giggle that emphasized his vulnerability. He then sighs, pressing the heels of his palms onto his black lined eyes before answering.

"She took her own life with the same blade." Artemis says nothing, choosing to look up towards the fading english sun. 

Tanaruz was such an ill fated Moorish child. In her melancholic ruse, she murdered the one person that had a gentle heart. 

Helga was in the hands of the Lord now, or perhaps, in Freyja's lovely fields. 

...

The crowd was boisterous, men and women clinking their cups of ale in joy. Artemis watches them solemnly. There was no room for celebration, not in her mind. She watches with heavy eyes at the festive scene before her.

She tried to distract herself with Prince Sigurd's lute playing, the rhythmic tune celebrating the death of a king laying in a pool of his own blood that leaked from his wrists.

The brothers had their celebratory meal, quite satisfied with themselves. Whatever they had sought out to do was successful.

Floki was not there to share in their merriment, to no surprise. The reckless man continued to mourn on his own. Arvid sat beside his wife, though his eyes searched for someone in the crowd. When he finally finds Artemis, he offers her a gentle smile, an attempt to an apology. He raises his cup to her, a symbol of friendship. She smiles back at in return, nodding her head in acknowledgment. 

She watches him place an arm around his wife, and she smiles up at him lovingly. It was a lovely sight, and although Artemis felt the smallest feelings in her damaged heart for the young blacksmith, she was happy for their union. Alfhild was a good woman.

Bjorn suddenly addresses the crowd, reminding them of his fathers dream. He goes on to inform them that he would not be going to push that dream forward as his true calling was to return to the Mediterranean. 

Artemis interest is peaked, watching as Bjorn gave Halfdan an embrace once it was decided that he would join in the voyage. If they were to return to the Mediterranean, would Crete be part of their plan?

The commotion happened suddenly, an argument between Ivar and Sigurd. It was nothing new of course, but she was not following their discussion to know where their harsh words stemmed from. Ivar's brow twitched in that familiar way, the angry way, and even from quite a distance Artemis could see his hand moving towards his most favored axe. 

"-You are crazy. You have the mind of a child." Sigurd's spits, standing up in a show of defiance. Ivar growls, nose flaring and brows arched. The bickering continued.

Ivar didn't wish to settle down and plough land like a farmer, he wished to raid, pillage bigger cities and conquer them, but most of all, he wanted to take charge and be a leader, something Sigurd was clearly against.

Ivar was such an ambitious youth, an impulsive one too, for in mere seconds he took his axe and hurled it, lodging it in Sigurd's ribs. 

A deafening silence spread over the entire settlement, all eyes watching as Sigurd dropped to his knees. Despite the pain he must have suffered, he found the energy to rip the axe out from his skin and tossing it aside before falling over. The madness that would ensue was inevitable, and the look on Ivar's face expressed it all. 

It was the second death of the day, though most had not realized it. Ubbe and Hvitserk kneeled down beside their brother, immediately mourning his death. 

Artemis watches in stunned silence, her hands trembling at her sides. Ivar's eyes caught her own, revealing nothing but remorse.

...