#Brief mention but still worth noting for being so abrupt

[enneamage]

hi i dont know how to start this so im just going to get right into it

i never understood why twitter got so mad at this clip ever since i saw it live i actually thought i was more good than bad? that might sound crazy but the fact as a 16 year old cis guy got called a lesbian and didnt go "ew im not a LESBIAN!??!" and actually thought about it for a second.

i think thats perfectly normal at that age to wonder that to wonder about your sexual and gender identity. hell i did and i think if i never did that as a teen i would have never accepted the idea of me being a trans guy.

now this brings me to the point of this essay. i think if twitter didnt have a shit party over that clip he would be more comfortable expressing himself femininity and accepting his bisexuality.

sure he doesnt have a problem flirting with guys as we've seen but they've always been less "masc" than his whole "big man" persona i think he finds it easier to flirt with guys (with the exception of ranboo of course) if he views them as more fem or even as a women perhaps

im not one to truthing him being trans or clem being real but im not against it. this also isnt me truthing him as being trans. i think cis people expressing femininity and masculinity is so important male or female (femininity and masculinity are ALWAYS put as things that go inherently together, but for some reason theyre never put as things that compliment eachother but thats a whole different topic)

but what do i really know? i dont have an audience of 12 million on youtube and 7 miliion on twitch i cant imagine that many eyes on you just waiting to judge you on your every move

Anon I admire the drive but I’m afraid you’ve sent this to the person who authored the “Tommy being Bi won’t fix him” post, so I must stick to my convictions on this one.

(As an aside, for those who don’t know, meet Clementine!)

I was not directly around for The Lesbian Moment, but I think I heard the gunshots down the street. I think it’s hugely under-emphasised how everyone was on the back of a world-changing mass death event spread out over the course of at least two years around that time, and the way that it (reasonably, all things considered) affected the way people handled stress. People were very sensitised to a lot of things, and it doesn’t surprise me that this would be a case where zooming out from what the problem was ‘supposed to be about’ would reveal a massive soup of situational stressors looking for a fracturing point to express themselves.

As thousands of people were all suddenly shoved online to share the same spaces, the social processes involved with creating norms and group standards had tons of gas thrown on them. It was going to be messy no matter what, people were electing scapegoats left and right to set social standards about what was and wasn’t acceptable. This is grim but important context (Tw), lockdown was horrific for rates of at-home physical and sexual abuse. Being a woman online in general is a state of psychological warfare against an objectifying culture. I remember talk about how his audience was divided even then, a group of lesbians were like “hell yeah we can let Tommy join /nsrs” and then another group were not even remotely okay with that even as a joke.

People were sensitised to feeling invaded in a time where lockdown had personal agency down to record lows, especially for teenagers and children. In a world where you have next to no agency or personal control over your circumstances, having a say in dominant moral narratives and the accepted behavior of people skyrockets in value, because you’re constantly in other people’s power. People were profoundly invested in the few square inches of control that they could/did have, so they were deeply reactive with it. A lot of pandemic reactivity was the behavior of people who felt over-activated and cornered, so while it’s possible to critique the outrage and take it apart on the terms that it presented itself on, it’s important to understand it as part of a whole as well.

👏 ON TO THE GAY SHIT

I feel like what goes into Tommy flirting with each of the men he’s flirted with in the past has been a little bit different. Tubbo seemed like possessive best friend claiming mushed into a straight lens with a side of teasing (I like girls, I like Tubbo, Tubbo is girl.) Ranboo was a fascinating intersection of girlfriend sublimation and flirtation to raise his self-esteem, also a bit of an apology for the not-so-passive-aggression from when it looked like Ranboo had “stolen” Tubbo. I wasn’t around for TimeDeo, but fuck it, that counts too. I don’t think that the majority of his homosocial flirting was to make himself seem more masc, especially with Ranboo. (I’ll spare you examples but that particular stretch has some moments.)

Tommy had a ‘playing toughguy’ problem when he was younger, and it contributed to some of his worst habits in terms of what came out of his mouth. I would have attributed a lot of this to his environment, the influences that he related to both positively (edgy youtubers) and negatively (macho schoolmates.) He was very teenage boy, but even then he had an off-beat streak that I impressionistically related to as more femme, even when he was being abrasive. Ever since being forcibly civilised through Wilbur and the forces of the internet he’s had much less of that, but his femme streak has stayed in some form or another, just evolving to fit what’s needed of him at a given time.

The rate at which Tommy being a cishet man comes up as a genuine issue that people feel compelled to try and see resolved is interesting, even as someone who occasionally feels it myself. Like there’s got to be something to unpack in that dynamic, that whatever behavioral issue he’s experiencing at a given time feels tied to his identity as a cishet male and something that can be revised if he had the right personal revelations. The issue is, I just don’t think it’s true, or at least wouldn’t make the difference that some people would want it to make. Some of his problems could even be tied up in his Englishness, and that’s straight up incurable. It’s hard for me to imagine that having a sexuality related revelation would make that big of a difference in the grand scheme of… him as a person. He’s got a lot of moving parts.

I do feel some frustration on behalf Tommy in terms of being a target of essentialist thought. He’s not allowed to be as camp as he probably wants to be because it comes off as offensive to gay culture, and he’s not allowed to be overtly femme because people are strict about policing gender expression right now if a given person doesn’t take on a certain label that corresponds with it. He’s assumed to have the worst intentions if he isn’t directly part of a certain group, and he really is clumsy with things that he doesn’t understand so he can be better off sometimes keeping his hands inside his box, but it’s still kind of sad to see the roundabout way that these binaries re-enforce themselves with someone like him. At the same time, try not to mourn over ‘what could have been’, because it’s still a form of essentialism to think that having traits more commonly associated with non-cishet identity would solve his problem-of-the-week, and there’s no guarantee that’s the case.

[solcheeky]

Hii I absolutely loved that one sided love angst with hyuck and was wondering if you’d be willing to write it from the other side with Jeno dating the friend without having feelings for them? I feel like he’d be the type to feel too bad to reject someone he’s close with

summary: all jeno wants to do is keep you happy. so when you ask him to be your boyfriend, he says yes because what else could make you happier? if that’s what you wanted, that’s what he’ll give. even if that means pretending he loves you the way you love him. (3k)

genre: college au!, angst, gn!reader warnings: mentions of drinking alcohol, mentions of sex (but none of it) a/n: thank you for reading the hyuck one! though I can’t lie, it’s sort of difficult to write an exact plot I’ve already written before, sorry!! so I’ve changed things up a bit! but it’s still angst though, and under the same premises :)

“Don’t you think Jeno is a little… Hard to read, sometimes?”

Donghyuck swallows his drink hard, before placing his bottle back onto the picnic table and sending you a weird look.

“Isn’t he your boyfriend?” He scratches behind his ear then pushes up his sunglasses. “Wait, not even. You guys have been friends since… Before we even met. If anyone can read him, that’s you.”

Logically speaking, he was right.

But why didn’t it feel that way at all?

As you try to think of the right words to say, you fiddle with a leaf that had fallen from a branch of the tree hanging above your table.

“Are you guys in a fight or something?” Donghyuck steals back your attention. He had a weirdly calm look on his face for someone who was apparently concerned.

You sigh. Not exactly, “no.”

You weren’t fighting. Or at least, if it was a fight, you couldn’t say exactly when or how it even started.

Things were normal, like how they always were (you think), but there was something off about Jeno you just couldn’t put your finger on.

Except, whether things had only been like this recently, or whether it had been like this ever since you started dating but you’d only noticed now, you couldn’t tell.

It wasn’t that Jeno was directing any anger at you, he hadn’t done anything abrupt or out right mean at all.

If anything, he was doing exactly everything you ask for.

Yet somehow, you felt a sort of… distant from him, like there was a weird shift between your relationship you hadn’t been aware of until it felt too late—like you’d done all the buttons up wrong.

And how were you supposed to even begin to explain all that to Donghyuck if you couldn’t even pinpoint it?

“It’s not a fight,” you opt to say, but it comes out almost like a question. “It’s just-”

“Hey!”

Instinctively, both of you turn to face the direction in which the voice came from.

A few paces away, Mark Lee and your boyfriend were cutting through the grass and heading towards your table, it looked like they had just finished class.

You turn back to Donghyuck before they get within hearing range and mutter, “doesn’t matter.”

Except Donghyuck doesn’t even have time to reply because Mark pushes his shoulder with a strong hand, the other on the strap of his backpack, as he shoves him further down the bench to make space for him to sit.

“Move over!” The familiar, cheerful smile on his face makes you feel like things are back to normal, even just for a brief moment.

“Argh, Mark, seriously.” Donghyuck groans as he pushes his bottle and leather gym satchel across the table with him.

“What?” Mark’s laughing as he shuffles into the bench too, “I can’t sit on that side, can I?” He raises a playful brow at Jeno who was standing on your left.

You look over your shoulder and he smiles down at you.

“Hey,” he reaches down to pat you, palm warmly stroking the curve of your head before leaning down to place a brief kiss into your temple.

“Hi.” You say with a quiet smile as he slips into your side of the bench.

By now, Mark had already taken his attention off Jeno. “Why are you wearing sunglasses? It’s not that sunny.”

Donghyuck scoffs at the elder’s audacity. “The sun is clearly in the sky though, isn’t it? Use that big head of yours.”

But their bickering easily becomes background noise when Jeno gently takes the small leaf you were playing with from between your fingers and spins it between his finger and thumb.

He cutely looks at you in question and you just shrug.

So he flicks it away and slips his hand into yours instead and squeezes.

You squeeze back. “We still on for tonight?” Your voice low lest you interrupt Mark and Donghyuck’s ‘loving’ conversation.

You were planning to sleepover at his—weird to think that it was something you had gone out of your way to schedule but, it was nearing exam season and both your slots for free time had fit together like a box full of the wrong puzzle pieces.

It doesn’t take more than a second for Jeno to reply with a happy, “yes, of course.”

But a lump forms in the back of your throat at the urge to tell him you know he’s forced that answer out.

Later, when it’s already deep into the day, Jeno texts you to let you know he’ll be a little late

Although you kind of wished he’d told you sooner; you were already standing outside of his door.

Your first thought is not to tell him—knowing Jeno, the guilt would drive him crazy—and you probably would have done so that way if you were still friends. But things were different now; you were dating.

You should be comfortable enough to be completely transparent with him, even if about things as small as this.

Plus, he’d probably feel even guiltier if you didn’t tell him.

Except when Jeno does get the text, he feels even worse.

Not just because he’s left you hanging around wasting the rare time you could’ve spent together, but because it was entirely his fault that he was late.

He had managed to get off his lecture earlier than usual which gave him an extra hour to spare before your scheduled arrival time.

Usually that would mean he’d tell you right away so you could push that time earlier to have even longer to spend together.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Jeno wanted something else to occupy his mind other than you.

Was that bad of him? Probably… Maybe—He didn’t want to convince himself anything. As long as you didn’t find out why, everything would stay the same. At least that was what he was convincing himself to think.

So, Jeno was quick to chuck his bag full of study notes by his doorway, pick up some gear and his bike and immediately head out.

Just a few miles, he told himself. Nothing better to clear his mind than a quick workout, right?

Wrong.

You wouldn’t slip from his mind no matter what he tried to do.

All Jeno could think about was how he promised himself he would make this relationship work regardless of whether that meant he had to cross an ocean just to make the you that was in love with him, feel loved.

Inevitably, those thoughts eventually watered down to how bad of a job he’s been doing of it all.

It was probably bad enough he’d just referred to your relationship as a job.

Yeah, alright, this was worse than bad.

It’s just that you were so happy—the face you made when he said yes to being your boyfriend was all he ever wanted for you.

Logically, he thought that keeping things in tandem with what you expressed happiness for, would be enough to see that same smile again.

Jeno held your hand when you wanted it. He kissed you how you liked it. He let you sleep in his bed and sleep with him because that’s what you needed from him.

That’s all he ever wanted for you. So why did it feel like it wasn’t enough?

He was your boyfriend now. Wasn’t that supposed to make it easier?

Not to say that it was hard when you were labelled as friends—just that certain boundaries couldn’t be crossed and there was no way to stop eventualities of you finding someone else that would make you happy.

Jeno didn’t want that; he didn’t want to see you with another person. But the label ‘boyfriend’ on his own forehead almost felt like a burden, even though he knew he loved you. It was all really confusing.

Breaking it down, Jeno knew that you meant a lot to him. Really, he just wanted to give you the love you deserved. So being your boyfriend felt like the right choice, like it was the right thing to do if that���s what it meant to give you all his love.

But somehow becoming the ‘boyfriend’ felt even further away from you than when he was just a ‘friend’.

And at this point, Jeno was too far into this. Spending time with you was great, but it confused him. He had lost what defined the boundaries of how a boyfriend makes one happy, versus a friend.

Sometimes he even thought, what was so good about the label ‘boyfriend’? Was it worth all the things he’s done for you?

He had thought too hard and too much he didn’t even realize how far out he’d cycled; it was so far there was no way he could cycle back the same route in time to meet you.

Dangerously, a small, small, small part of him was glad.

But, no.

Jeno shakes his fringe out of his eyes and pedals faster. Just get home first, he tells himself, he can deal with that thought another time.

When Jeno finally arrives, he’s lugging his bike towards you, sweat dripping down his temples and breath still a few paces behind.

“Sorry,” he manages to breathe out, wiping the sweat across his brow with the back of his wrist before he leans past your frame to unlock his door.

You bite back a bit of a laugh, “you look crazy.”

He lets out a relieved smile and you tip on your toes to press a quick kiss into it.

A surprised sound muffles into your lips when you do, like he was about to say something but you had got to his lips first.

You pull away with a scrunched up face. “Salty.”

That makes him laugh. “Come on then.” He pushes the door open and guides you in first.

After putting away his bike, he shuts the door behind him and chucks his gear away while you place your things onto his desk chair.

“I’m gonna shower first.” He pulls off his gloves and watches as you spin to face him with a small smile.

From anyone else's point of view, you looked fine. You stood tall, a sweet smile across your lips and eyes full of affection for your boyfriend.

But Jeno knew better than that.

He throws his gloves into the hamper and pauses with his hands on the hem of his top. “Want to join?”

Your eyes light up and the heavy guilt on his chest suffocates him a little less.

“Only if you want me to.” You tilt your head to the side. If he was going to be quick, there was no harm in you waiting an extra 10 minutes, sure, you can handle that much.

But Jeno only wanted it because he knew you did. He knew every minute together meant way more to you now that you rarely saw each other.

So he nods his head towards the bathroom door to gesture for you to come, then proceeds to pull his top over his torso.

With Jeno’s shoulders under the showerhead, you keep your arms resting on the dip of his hip bones for warmth.

His own hands are in your hair, fingers gently massaging your scalp and temples, with a cute concentrated look across his face.

“Turn around for me.” He slowly presses a kiss into your forehead and you hum in compliance.

“I can do you instead, you know?” Now that you’re facing the other way you can’t read his face.

His thumbs press into the nape of your neck, following the direction of your spine into your scalp and your shoulders completely lose tension.

Jeno presses his lips into a straight line and hums a comfortable ‘no, it’s okay’. He was fine like this.

“Let me do this for you.” His low voice vibrates a lot closer to your ears than before.

It almost distracts you from your previous thoughts, but his words echo in your mind once more.

‘Let me do this for you.’ You know… That seemed to be all he was doing lately...

Now that you really think about it, you can’t recall Jeno ever doing anything for himself; it was always you before him.

He was always looking out for you—maybe never directly verbal—but he never failed to show how much cared by how much he noticed about you, whether that meant lending you his shoulder on stressful days of work, or for things even just as small as giving you his pen for the day because you forgot yours.

“Jeno?”

“Mhm? Ah!—Too strong?” His fingers come to a stop at the assumption he’s massaging you too hard.

“No,” you take his hand from behind your head and turn around to look at him in the eyes.

Jeno blinks at you in confusion.

Your eyes drop away from his face. “You’d tell me if there was something bothering you, right?”

At first, his brows crease together.

But then he’s laughing, eyes smiling as he calls you cute under his breath whilst releasing the grip of your hand on his wrist and affectionately brushing the bubbles away from the top of your eyebrow with his thumb.

“What are you talking about?” Jeno presses his forehead into yours so you can look at him and see that smile of his you love so much, “Is there something wrong?”

“No…” Not with you. But if there was with him you’d listen.

He presses his lips against yours. “I’m okay if you’re okay.”

Those words were a little tricky.

On the surface, they seemed like a sweet thing to say. Yet you knew it subconsciously meant something deeper.

But, you let it slide just this once.

The next time you’re in his room, it’s a week later and a day earlier than you had previously scheduled.

But instead of cute showers together, you have his heavy arm slung around your shoulder and alcohol breath against your cheek.

“Sorry.” Jeno’s half slurring as he nuzzles into your jaw.

You kick his door closed from behind you and heave his weight against your hip more. “Don’t worry about it.” At least he was sober enough to apologize now.

You had just come back from the bar nearest your campus where Donghyuck was stupidly holding an ‘end of the first exam’ event (A.K.A. any excuse for endless food and rowdy drinking games on a friday night).

Jeno releases his arm from off your shoulder and places a hand on the wall.

“Can you get me some water?” He presses his eyes closed and manages to take a step forward.

You think the cold night walk from the bar had kicked some sense of reality into him. “Yeah, can you manage?” You reach a hand out behind his waist just in case.

But he just hums and slowly continues his way forward with his fingers pinching between his brows.

It was okay if he closed his eyes, he knew his room like the back of his hand anyway.

As you rip open the pack of water by his door and pull a bottle out, Jeno drops his jacket off his arms and onto the floor before he slumps into his bed with a sigh.

By the time you approach his bedside, he’s sprawled out over his duvet with his eyes closed.

You open the bottle for him and he blindly takes it. “You don’t usually drink this much.”

He doesn’t reply.

“Is everything okay?”

Ever since you asked Jeno that question in the shower, he seemed as if he was extra cautious about the things he said. And maybe that was just your own imagination. Or maybe you somewhat wanted him to have a secret. Maybe you subconsciously wanted a reason to justify why he acts the way he does.

Jeno nods as he gingerly lifts his head just to drink some water.

“If there’s something on your mind, you can tell me.” You want to ask for more, but you don’t want to force anything out of him.

Sure, sometimes you might find it hard to discern what exactly goes on inside Jeno’s head. But just because you couldn’t read anything off him, didn’t mean he didn’t have any thoughts.

You at least know him well enough to understand how much goes on inside that selfless head of his, despite his generous puppy smiles and lack of verbalisation.

You know he worries a lot—Less about himself and more so about everyone else around him. So you can’t help but think he’s hiding something. Jeno’s more observant than others think.

With a frown, he reaches up to put the bottle onto his side table with a nod.

Then it clicks.

“Did.. Did I say something?” He leans up on one elbow, voice unintentionally baring a touch of mortification.

“What?—No.” You press a hand into his shoulder to get him to lie down again. “No.” Really, he didn’t. That was the problem.

You push his hair away from his forehead and he sighs sleepily.

Thank god, Jeno thinks. To him, he wasn’t exactly hiding anything from you. He thinks purposely ‘hiding’ something was different to just ‘not saying’ something.

Not that he was trying to get off from this with a technicality. Jeno loved you. He really did.

But somehow this ‘love’ just wasn’t turning out the way he thought it would.

And that was something he needed to figure out for himself.

“You.. You don’t have to know...” Is the last thing he says before he falls asleep.

Did you really mean that little to him?

You thought you could be as reliable to him as he was to you.

Were you just ...not enough?

to be continued...

reply below on this post if you want me to tag you when I post part 2 :)

a/n: I think this could’ve easily been a full prose fic, but,,, I’m lazy,, also I feel like I don’t know jeno’s character well enough to convincingly write about what he’d say, think or do ;/ but anyways! thank you for this request, just the perfect thing to give my brain a break from writing my endless hyuck and mark content

also! disclaimer(?) guys! please don’t do what ‘jeno’ is doing in this fic hahahaha this is setting a bad example of what a relationship and labels could mean! in short, what I wrote about was Damage -100hp and Dumb 500hp lmfao so don’t do it (or more so wish for it👁👁)

but yeah, I’m open to discourse in my ask box as much as I was for the hyuck version of this fic if anyone needs/wants to talk about anything! (I’ll also tag it as #os if anyone wants to filter it out)

scroll through these if you'd like the read the hyuck angst discourse

or read the hyuck version of this fic here!

[ca-8]

Teen!Nigel Uno x Teen!Reader Scenario (When You First Meet)

The glowing sunlight shined through the window and bathed the back of a highschool student. (Y/n) sat in the near-back of the classroom with her head resting on her hand, and doodling in her journal with the other. She was hardly paying attention to what her history teacher was saying and felt that she didn't need to, since she already had her notes jotted down. She just let her mind roam free without any care in the world...

"...(Y/n) and Nigel, you will be working together," Ms. Davis said, interrupting the sixteen-year-old's thoughts.

(Y/n) finally, put her attention onto the teacher as soon as her name was called. When she did, her gaze caught a boy secretly staring back at her, but after their eyes met, he quickly faced forward.

Once the teacher was finished with the list of names, she said, "Your history project will be worth half of your grade, so it'll be best to plan on what you're going to do. For the last ten minutes of class, get with your partner, and discuss what you'll be doing."

With that, everyone moved to the people they were assigned to. (Y/n) assumed that the boy looking back at her was her partner, so she grabbed her notebook and moved to the front of the class.

"Yo," she greeted, and the boy shot his dark eyes up to her. (Y/n) sat down next to him and he looked as if he tensed up. "You're Nigel, aren't you?"

The boy cleared his throat and looked at her with new confidence. "Yes. And you're (Y/n)..." he answered in a strong British accent. "...Correct?"

"Nah, I'm actually an undercover spy with a totally different name."

Nigel froze in his spot while his eyes widened. (Y/n) let out a breath as a form of a laugh. "I'm kidding. Yeah, I'm (Y/n). So, uh, what're you thinking about doing for the project?"

He relaxed for a moment, and (Y/n) thought she saw the disappointment in his eyes for a brief second. "Oh, well I was thinking that we could do the Vietnam War, and each of us can have a turn on doing the slides. Do you want to do the voice over or the research?" he asked.

(Y/n) blinked. "Ah, uh, I guess..." she mumbled.

"...You didn't pay attention, did you?" Nigel predicted, and (Y/n) nervously laughed.

"Yeah, hehe..." she said.

To her surprise, Nigel chuckled. "It's alright. Basically all we're doing is a slide presentation with voice over," he explained with a smile.

"Huh. Sounds easy enough," she said.

Nigel's eyes then trailed over from her and to her notebook where all of her little notes and drawings were exposed. (Y/n) looked over to where he was staring at and blushed, and quickly hid it behind her back.

"SO you wanted to do Vietnam?!" She talked fast, raising her voice.

"(Y/n), please keep your voice at an appropriate level!" the teacher scolded before going back to her computer.

A wave of embarrassment washed over her, and (Y/n) blushed and sunk in her chair while Nigel was about to burst out laughing.

"If you didn't want me to see your notebook, then why did you bring it over here?" he asked, his hand under his chin.

"I was just gonna read my notes to you..." (Y/n) grumbled, her voice softer than before.

Nigel was going to open his mouth to say something else, but the bell suddenly rang before he could. (Y/n) stood up and gave Nigel a calm smile with the notebook. "Guess we'll have to try again tomorrow. It was nice meeting you, Nigel," she said.

His eyes softened to the point where they almost seemed sad, and his grin seemed like it was wider.

"It was nice to meet you too, (Y/n)," he said.

"Nigel."

The two turned their heads over to see a boy standing in front of Nigel's desk, his backpack over one shoulder. Despite the fact that his blond hair was covering half of his face, (Y/n) could feel the seriousness that was radiating from him.

Nigel frowned and quietly grabbed his stuff. He gave one last look at (Y/n) before he exited the classroom. The boy with blond hair gave her an emotionless stare, then followed after him, leaving her with a suspicious on her face. 'Um...alright.'

~

"(Y/n), can you take the trash out?" (Y/N)'s mother called from the kitchen.

"Okay!" (Y/n) replied, then took her headphones out from her ears and made her way to the kitchen. Passing her mother, who was doing some sort of paperwork on her desk, (Y/n) took the almost overflowing trash out from the bin, tied it up, and went towards the back door.

"Oh, and the trash bin is in the front yard," her mother mentioned, pointing her pen towards the front door.

(Y/n) nodded and changed her direction. While moving to the front door with the trash bag in her hand, she thought about the boy in her history class.

She has seen before in the hallways in the lunchroom. (Y/n) didn't pay too much attention to him, but she did note how he had this intelligent-sounding attitude in his group of friends, including that blond boy from earlier. Nigel wasn't exactly rude, but instead strict like he never joked around in his life. That was the main vibe (Y/n) had gotten from him. Even when he was around other people, he would act the same.

Yet, whenever (Y/n) saw him glance at him, the seriousness in his eyes would vanish in an instant. If that wasn't weird enough, every time she saw his eyes, a faint feeling of nostalgia took over her.

(Y/n) opened the front door and closed it behind her, feeling the cool autumn breeze. The streetlights illuminated the dark street of her neighborhood along with the bright full moon. The calming night soothed (Y/n)'s suspension of her classmate, but not completely.

As she walked to the large trash bins that were on the corner edge of the driveway, Nigel's attitude was still stuck with her. (Y/n) expected him to tell her everything he wanted her to do as soon as she sat next to him. Yet he was so calm...

'Maybe I'm overreacting,' (Y/n) thought, opening the trash lid. 'I mean, why should I dig so deep into this? I hardly know him. And he probably just wanted to be nice, or something-'

"MMF!" (Y/n)'s voice of surprise was muffled when something was suddenly put over her mouth. Her vision faded, and her grip on the trash bag was loose as her body quickly went limp. Before drowning in complete darkness, all (Y/n) saw was a wicked smile.

Her vision was blurry, but (Y/n) could still see a figure not too far away from her. It was a tall person who had something white over their body. The room they were in had some tables and some sort of equipment she couldn't see.

The figure was saying something she couldn't hear. It walked to the right and grabbed something off of the table, which looked more like a colorful handheld weapon once her vision started settling in. (Y/n) then felt a helmet snap onto her head. She shook her head, and her heart stopped when she realized a man in a lab coat was pointing a gun-like device right at her.

"...And everyone on Earth will bow down to their new master!" the man said, and he put his finger on the trigger.

BOOM!

The door blew open and flew right past (Y/n). While the scientist was turned around, (Y/n) used the opportunity to try to stand up, but her entire body was sore and the helmet was like a boulder on her head. Two people ran into the room and shoved the scientist aside, then quickly went to (Y/n). Her head was still spinning, so she could only see the people's goggles and magenta hat.

"Are you alright? Can you walk?" the person with goggles and a familiar voice asked. (Y/n) groaned in response.

"Come on, we don't have much time," a deeper voice pointed out. (Y/n) felt her arm being swung over someone's shoulders, and with the people he felt like she met before, she exited the room.

The next room they went in was dark. (Y/n)'s head was pounding, so she closed her eyes and let her head hang down. "Is she okay?" another voice worriedly asked.

(Y/n)'s eyes opened slightly. "Nigel?" she asked, feeling her body trembling. A blurry that looked exactly like him appeared in her vision.

"I'm gonna take you home, (Y/n)," he said, almost in a whisper. He turned his head and barked orders to whoever else was in the room.

She didn't know what happened next, but (Y/n) felt herself being picked up in bridal style and hearing deafening noises of things crashing and exploding. One moment, her body felt as if it was thrusting in all sorts of directions, and in the next, it felt as light as a feather.

(Y/n) looked up and saw the person with the goggles. Her body was bouncing, so she thought the person carrying her was running. The cool breeze hit her skin again, and when she thought she was safan explosion flying out of the person's arms. Her head was hit against something hard, and she was sent back to sleep.

(Y/n) eyes fluttered open. Her vision was a little more clear and she could see Nigel standing above her. Something soft was below her, and the room they were in was hers.

Her eyelids slowly drooped, feeling an abrupt wave of sleepiness. Her bed moved slightly, creaking, and something soft was pushed up against her forehead for a second. (Y/n) opened her eyes once more, seeing that she was the only one in the room.

[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

[the-sympathetic-villain]

The Stowaway’s Heart - Chapter 1

AO3 | Next | Masterpost

Description: Virgil is rescued by selkies after being abandoned at sea and brought back to their pod to recover. Virgil's poor, gay heart may just explode from how attractive they all are.

Pairings: Analogical, Platonic Logince (There may be more as I go along!)

Word Count: 1813

Chapter Warnings: Dehydration, Imprisonment, Mentions of human trafficking, Mild Suicidal Ideation

Author’s Note: This is something I’ve been writing when I need to take a break on You Belong With Me.  This will eventually probably end up being a lot of extremely gay fluff with a little hurt/comfort to start.

    Three days.

    Three days since they’d thrown Virgil in the brig.

    Three days since he'd heard the voice of another person.

    Three days since he’d last drank water.

    Three days.

    He couldn't even open his eyes as he lay motionless on the stiff cot in his cell. If it weren’t for the chill of the night air, he wouldn’t even have known how long they’d left him here. Not that it mattered. No one was coming for him. He was going to die of thirst, locked in the brig of this godforsaken ship drifting through the ocean. They could have at least had the decency to kill him outright, instead of forcing him to wait as he slowly wasted away.

    The haze in his brain seemed to break for just a moment as the sound of footsteps echoed above him. He held his breath, straining to hear as the gentle tap of steps moved across the deck. He waited for the footsteps to disappear. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. His mind had to be playing tricks on him.

    But the sounds continued. For several minutes, he could hear the deliberate movement of footsteps clicking above him. The sound wasn't just objects rolling about the deck. There were actual people on the ship somewhere above him.

    Maybe someone came back to finish the job they started.

    Virgil exhaled bitterly.

      No. It can’t be.

    He moaned, confused. They wouldn’t have come back for him. He was worthless to them at this point. In his condition, he wasn’t even worth keeping as a captive for trade. Nursing him back to health would cost them more than the price he'd fetch at the market. Distraught, a groan escaped him as he willed whatever strength he had left into trying to push himself off the ground, only barely managing to roll onto his side. Virgil nearly bit his tongue, forcing back a wave of nausea as he fought the urge to gag.

    Moving is bad. Got it.

    He groaned, remaining still as he listened to the soft tapping above him. He forced his eyes open to stare at the hatch in the ceiling in the space outside of his cell. Time passed slowly as he waited, yet the hatch to the brig remained closed. Virgil couldn't help it. His eyes started to droop with exhaustion as his focus faltered. His vision blurred as he nearly answered sleep's enticing call.

    It doesn't matter anyway.

    Virgil groaned. Even if they were coming back for him, he stood no chance of fending them off. Whoever was coming would find him, regardless of whether he was awake. He couldn't stop whatever they were going to do to him. He was at their mercy. His head drooped.

    Maybe it would be better to be unconscious.

    The sound of metal moving against metal above him tore him from his thoughts. He listened, waiting, until a metal clink from above confirmed to him that they had found the hatch. Even as his heart raced in his chest, he couldn’t even find the strength to tense his muscles in anticipation of whoever was coming his way.

    Bright light assaulted his eyes as the hatch opened. He groaned loudly as he clenched his eyes shut and cringed as the footsteps at the hatch came to an abrupt halt.

    Great job, Virgil. Now they know you’re here.

    He listened as the footsteps started to descend the steps once more. Slowly, this time. Virgil ached to open his eyes and see who was approaching him. He wanted to see their face. At least then, he could brace himself for whatever they had planned for him, but he couldn’t. So, he waited, lying prone on the bed, vulnerable to whoever approached.

    The footsteps paused at the cell doors. Virgil grunted. He forced his eyes open, ignoring the pain. He was only able to make out a tall, dark silhouette standing at the cell door, hands on the bars before the pain became unbearable and his eyes closed once more.

    “You’re alive!”

    The deep voice was loud and jarring and Virgil couldn't help flinching at the sudden sound.

    “I am sorry. I did not intend to startle you, small one.” The voice dropped to a whisper. “Give me a moment. I will get you out of here.”

    Virgil relaxed. The voice was mesmerizingly smooth and deliciously deep. Virgil couldn’t help wishing the man would speak more. At least if he was going to die, he could listen to something pleasant as he drifted away.

    The source of the voice, however, seemed to have other ideas. As fast as the pretty voice had come, it was gone once more, and Virgil had nearly drifted off to sleep again by the time the voice returned. The man was further away this time,. He was somewhere close to the top of the stairs and he wasn’t alone anymore. Another booming voice echoed down through the hatch above. Virgil cringed. The second man’s voice was deeper and he sounded angry.

    “—he’s injured!” The pretty voice spoke again.

    “He’s dangerous!”

    “He’s barely conscious. Look at him. He's hardly a threat to anyone in his current state.” The pretty voice was flat now, starting to sound annoyed.

    “Look at the state of this ship.” The angry voice paused. “What if he’s responsible for this?”

    “You think he did this and then just locked himself up in a cell to die?” The pretty voice sounded bitter now. “I find that highly unlikely.”

    Silence hung between them for a moment before the other voice spoke again. “He’s still dangerous, Logan. They all are.”

    “Undoubtedly, they would say the same about us.” The man, Logan, said bitterly.

    “I hate it when you’re like this.”

    “Compassionate?”

    “Stubborn.”

    “Forgive me if lowering my standards of who is worthy of basic compassion is a topic on which I refuse to compromise, Roman.”

    “I’m not asking you to lower your standards.” Roman muttered bitterly. “I’m asking you to consider the consequences.”

    “I have considered the consequences.” Logan sighed. “I’m not willing to leave him to die over complications that may never arise.”

    “I shouldn’t have let you come with me.”

    “That is of little consequence at this point. I’m here now.”

    Roman sighed, considering the situation. “Fine, but he’s your responsibility and yours alone. No one else will be allowed near him.”

    “I would expect nothing less.” Virgil could have laughed at the barely concealed smirk in Logan’s tone. He could guess that this man with a pretty voice was used to getting his way.

    “He will remain confined the entire time. He's not going to be moving about the island unchecked.”

    “Roman—”

    “This is not a negotiation.” Roman stated. “These are my rules if you choose to do this. Otherwise, I’m not allowing it.”

    Virgil heard a dissatisfied grunt before Logan spoke again. “Fine, I will concede to your terms.”

    “Good, because I have one more.” Roman hesitated. “You will leave your pelt with me while you care for him.”

    “That’s not fair—” Virgil could almost feel Logan bristle at Roman’s suggestion.

    “I don’t care if it's fair or not. I’m not taking the risk of a human controlling you. That would endanger everyone at home.” Roman interrupted, quiet for a moment before he spoke again. This time his voice was soft and pleading. “Not to mention, I don’t know what we’d do if we lost you again, Lo. He'd never forgive me.”

    Human?

    “Very well, Roman.” Logan’s voice was tired, but he seemed resigned. “That will make the process uncomfortable, but if it will put your mind at ease, I will do whatever you require of me.”

    “Thanks, Lo.” Roman’s voice was softer. His angry tone had faded. Virgil’s heart warmed pleasantly at the sweet tone that drifted through the brig. “Now, go do whatever you need to do. We're leaving soon.”

    “Thank you.” Hurried steps dropped down from the stairs above. A loud thud resonated in the floor below Virgil as the man jumped past few steps to land on the ground. A moment later, he could hear the jangling of metal as someone fiddled with his cell door. Virgil’s head started to spin and he resisted another wave of nausea. His vision darkened as his consciousness faded for a brief moment.

    He woke to the feeling of hands on his neck. Panic coursed through his body as he weakly tried to struggle away from his attacker, but he barely moved, too exhausted and weak to truly fight back.

    “Do not move, human. I have no intent to harm you. I only wished to confirm you were still alive.”

    Virgil settled as the hands moved off his throat, too weak to do much else.

    “Good. You are going to be okay. My name is Logan and I am here to help you.”

    Virgil’s skin tingled at the pleasant melody of the stranger’s voice.

     “You appear to be severely dehydrated.” Logan spoke softly. A blissful sigh nearly escaped Virgil as the stranger’s soft hands pushed his hair away from his face. “I am going to give you some water, but I will need to prop you up to prevent you from choking. Will you allow me to lift you?”

    Virgil groaned and Logan seemed to accept that as consent. Warm hands gently curled him upright, cradling him around his shoulder. He felt a cup at his lips and he opened his mouth, sipping eagerly at the sweet, cool water. Instant relief washed over him as the aching dryness in his throat eased. He nearly moaned with satisfaction, but his relief was cut short as the cup was pulled back away from him too soon. He grumbled unhappily.

    A heavenly laugh sounded near his ear. “I'm sorry, dear one. Too much at once will make you sick. You will have more soon. I promise.”

     Virgil melted into the man's arms, relaxing at the soft tone of his voice. He wavered at the edge of consciousness, nearly giving into sleep at the comfort of the man's touch.

     “You are going to be okay, human. I give you my word.” Logan whispered. A sad tone crept into the beautiful sound of his voice. Virgil felt a hand on the neck, and he leaned into its warmth. “But I don’t think you need to see what is waiting for us up on the deck. Please forgive me, dear one.”

    Vague confusion swelled in Virgil’s mind for only a moment before he felt a small prick in his neck. He winced but the pain quickly faded.

    “Don't—" Virgil rasped the first word he'd spoken in days. He tried to pull away but his resistance was short lived as his racing mind succumbed to oblivion.

     “Sleep now, human.” Logan whispered sadly. “You’re safe now. You'll be in a better place when you wake.”

[crimsonrae]

Disintegration

Chapter Four

Summary: He witnessed the worst night of her life, he just never expected for her to become the love of his life.

KlausxCami

Rating: Mature

A/N: So, I'm starting to delve into Marnie a bit - sorry her point of view seems erratic, but at the same time that's what I was going for... She's recovering from a concusion, untangling herself from a horrible relationship, and discovering that maybe her nightmares are over with yet. She's a little manic. More of Cami and some of her internal musing/recovering. Please don't hesitate to give feedback. I love hearing from you guys. Please read and enjoy.

Chapter Four

2009

The dean would have to excuse his quick departure. He had files to read, a woman to woo, another to find, and a curse to break after all.

If Klaus had paid more attention to his surroundings when he had been at the university then he would have been able to shorten his list by an item of one. Hell, he would have been able to shorten it before he had even set foot into the dean's office.

By the time he left his opportunity had been lost. Not that he was aware of an opportunity in the first place.

Timing had never been Marnie Taylor's thing. She had been born a week late and as her mother would say... she had been late to everything ever since. Usually, her knack for running out the clock was a fault. An irritation for those waiting on her, an inconvenience when she was trying to accomplish anything, but she firmly believed that for a few moments where she stood in the courtyard outside the doors that led to the lobby of the dean's office, it had been her saving grace.

Students moved past her, ignoring her presence as they made their way to class while she remained frozen stiff on the pathway. Her dark eyes had stared through the glass doors with a bemused intensity.

"...coffee, Mr. Mikaelson?"

Ms. Lankam's soft voice had carried startlingly far as the doors had swung briefly open to allow another administrator to exit. It had caused Marnie to glance up curiously as she shuffled down the pathway, hoping that her tardiness hadn't caused her to miss Camille.

Despite her abrupt exit from the hospital and subsequent purposeful loss of her phone, Marnie had still managed to hear whispers of what had occurred between her roommate and her boyfriend – ex-boyfriend... Ex.

She had to swallow convulsively against the spike of anxiety that skewered her heart and remind herself that Scott was miles away in a hospital bed if the rumors were accurate. It was why she needed to be here because if those rumors were true then Cami was in danger of losing everything because of her. She couldn't let her best friend and self-appointed protector lose her standing as a student, much less anything else. She needed to speak with the dean and at least try to straighten out some of this mess. After all, she had helped create it.

Sickening guilt swarmed through her stomach as she remembered the multitude of times that Cami had begged her to seek help. She should have listened. A dull thrum of pain laced up her side from her mending ribs as if in agreement.

Yet, no amount of guilt nor pain could make her move as her eyes landed on Mr. Mikaelson.

He had turned to the side in apparent boredom – his appearance in itself wasn't startling. In fact, he was rather handsome, not that Marnie had time to truly take note of his attractiveness. She was too distracted by the sudden awareness of something supernatural.

A prickling of the hair at the nape of her neck, an undercurrent of something powerful and ominous that made the air heavier... imbued with something dark, wrong - unnatural.

A vampire.

She had seen vampires rarely in her short life. She had been warned of them, told to stay away by those far older and wiser than herself. It was impossible to be raised by a witch, by a coven, and not know of the other supernatural entities that lingered in the world. She had never been able to get past the sense of wrong the few times she had been in a vampire's presence. As if someone had taken a sheet of sandpiper to scrape along her skin. The entire experience was abrasive and irritating.

But she had never felt it this strongly before... she wasn't even standing in the same room as him. Still a good fifty feet away. Even his name prodded at the recesses of her memory. He was important, but she couldn't remember precisely why.

He seemed to sense her as he started to turn toward the doors and Marnie felt her heart lurch to her throat in fear. Yet, she was saved at the last second by her roommate once again.

She blinked as Cami exit Shaln's office with her parents and was taken by surprise a second time as Cami approached the vampire with unflinching familiarity.

It made Marnie want to scream, to warn her friend away. However, as she moved toward the door, she caught Camille's strong voice as she mentioned the monster's given name, "Klaus - what?"

Klaus...

Klaus Mikaelson?

Horror grew into an avalanching pit within her gut as her memory found the relevance of his name. Niklaus Mikaelson, an Original.

She deftly staggered out of sight as her mind whirled, confusion bespelled her mind as she watched the brief exchange between Cami and Klaus. The press of his lips to her cheek, her subsequent pleased blush before her mother ushered her away.

How did Cami know an Original? Was she aware of what he was?

Despite three years of living together, Marnie suddenly felt uncertain about her friend. Had Camille known about the supernatural world all along? Had she known about Marnie being a witch?

The quieter, more rational part of her knew that she was missing several key pieces of information. That Cami – sweet, fierce Cami – knew nothing about her world... though she had the lingering impression that was all about to change. But the rational part of Marnie wasn't in control – hadn't been in control for quite a few days now.

And so, she found herself torn. Not sure if she should confront her friend and make her aware – if she wasn't already- of who and what exactly Klaus Mikaelson was and pull her to safety as Cami had tried so valiantly to do with her or if she should run. Because after everything, the last thing Marnie needed was to add an Original into her vast stew of problems.

Shaking from her unease, Marnie tugged her sweater tighter around her fragile frame and disappeared amongst the student body.

__________________________

"You know... you're not supposed to get into trouble without me? It's in the twin code."

Camille's head snapped up from her suitcase as she stepped into her family home. An exuberant smile painted her lips as she caught sight of a familiar pair of stormy eyes, "Sean! What are you doing here?"

"My sister gets arrested, and you think I'm just going to while away reading scripture?" Amusement coated her brother's mien lifting Camille's dampened spirits. He opened his arms for a hug and she all but fell into his embrace. She had missed her pain-in-the-ass brother – she really could have used his company the past few days. He tightened his arms around her in silent comfort as he whispered, "How are you doing, really?"

Cami pulled away with a grimace as she tried not to look too miserable, "Oh you know, I made a few new friends – one's named Bubba. Apparently, his sister is doing five to ten, but she'd be able to show me the ropes if I'm ever inside the pokey."

"I hear it's good to have an inside man – well, woman." Sean fought back a grin as he pointedly kept his gaze from flickering to the door where their mother was entering. It would only invite a weary retort as she was unamused by her children's words, "Hi mom."

"Hello dear." Vivian brushed a kiss to her son's cheek in greeting. As happy as she was to see Sean the morning had worn on her just as much as it had Camille, "I need an iced tea. Would you two like one?'

"Ac;tual iced tea?" Sean asked tentatively, as he caught his sister's eye.

"Long Island, dear." Vivian declared almost reproachfully. Camille smirked as she mouthed the words that her mother was about to speak, "Tea leaves should never be brewed cold."

"I'm good, mom." Sean intoned quietly as Cami iterated much the same. Vivian waved a dismissive hand before sauntering away for the sitting room.

Cami huffed a soft laugh as she watched her mother disappear. Another sign of much-needed normal, "Seriously, you didn't have to come all the way home for this. I'm sure you had better things to do."

He shrugged, "Please, I wouldn't miss counting the different shades Dad will turn for anything in the world. Has he reached that angry maroon yet?"

"Stop it." She murmured with a faint grin as she looked behind her to see if their parents had lingered. Callan was still outside it seemed, "I thought he was going to bash the Dean's skull in this morning. The whole experience has been mortifying... but you are now officially the saintly child with a delinquent for a sister. It'll make your sermons even more interesting when you finally get ordained."

"If I even get there." Sean murmured almost bitterly.

It was a tone Cami didn't hear from him all too often and it had her frowning in concern, "Has something happened?"

Sean shook his head in mild dismissal, "Nothing worth mentioning really. Don't worry about it, Cam. I think one twin having a crisis at a time is all the world can handle right now."

"Sean..." She quietly implored, but he rebuffed her again.

Cami found his reticence a little annoying, but not out of character. Sean wouldn't come to her until he was ready to, but that didn't mean she wouldn't nag at him until then. She considered it her big sister prerogative... even if she was only two minutes older.

He derailed the questions pressing on the tip of her tongue as his gaze moved back to the walkway with an inquisitive expression, "Is that Ian?"

She glanced back to see her boyfriend bringing the rest of her belongings in from the car and smiled faintly. He had been waiting for her outside her dorm-like he had promised her. She hadn't been sure that he would show. Things had been a little tense between them since she had called him on the way out of the jailhouse and she just hadn't had the time to pick apart where all this uneasiness between them was coming from; if it was her and she was projecting onto him? Or if he had a problem with the entire fiasco and just was withholding it from her... Cami wasn't sure and frankly, she really didn't have the energy or focus to figure it out with him.

Yet, this morning it was like nothing was wrong between them. He had greeted her with a soft kiss that warmed her veins and soothed her nerves. Had frowned when she had told him about the expulsion, but much to his credit had merely wrapped her in a tight hug before asking what exactly she needed him to do. It made her think that she had simply been projecting her insecurities unfairly onto him because something about their relationship hadn't been right for the past few days and Cami couldn't put her finger on what.

A small voice whispered that she did know, at least one small part of the issue, as an image of darkly amused cerulean eyes glimmered in her mind, and she had to shake off a twinge of guilt.

She was being ridiculous. Nothing had happened. She had done nothing wrong.

But maybe that was the problem. Something inside her wanted to do something wrong because beating the crap out of Scott hadn't felt wrong. And she hated that, and she hated that Klaus had seen that in her.

...but let's be honest here, love, while I may have enjoyed your spirited attack, you enjoyed committing it more.

She had enjoyed it and maybe... maybe doing something she knew was wrong – would feel wrong – maybe then she could feel justifiably punished for how much she had reveled in bruising her knuckles on that bastard's face.

Now that... that was not what she wanted to think about. Silently, she placed the thought of the beguiling Klaus Mikaelson back into his box and locked the lid. It was tempting to blame him for all her current relationship woes, but the truth was she was in a vulnerable state. She didn't want to acknowledge that she hadn't felt like herself in days and she refused to let a brief interlude with a stranger affect her... well, just affect her.

"Yes." She said abruptly realizing that Sean was looking at her strangely, she had been quiet for too long. She shook off her daze with a chagrined smile, "Yeah, apparently Christmas with the O'Connell's wasn't enough to make him run for the hills."

Sean snorted as he thought of the trial by fire their parents liked to put Cami's boyfriends through. Ian had held up remarkably well at Christmas he remembered and by the vague twitch of his lips, Ian was thinking of it too. Sean's grin grew, "I'll have to ask him which experience was worse. Dealing with our parents at the holidays or during a crisis."

"Christmas. I'm not under the microscope this time" Ian said soundly as he placed a box of her things against a wall.

"So, you think." Sean stated wryly as he reached a hand out in greeting, "Hey man, it's good to see you again."

Ian grasped the proffered limb with a quick nod, "You too. You going to be out here long or is this just a quick check-in?"

Sean shrugged, "Not sure. I'll be here for at least a week. Exams are coming up and I suppose I'll have to return for those."

There it was again. A shift of something disgruntled in her brother's expression. Usually, only their father could bring that look to Sean's face and Cami found herself frowning again, "You suppose?"

He shrugged, "I will. I think I'm just a bit burnt out. It's a good thing the end of the semester is so close."

"Tell me about it." Ian agreed with a commiserating groan, "If I have to look at one more graph on emerging markets, my brain is going to explode."

Camille rolled her eyes as she listened to their whines, "At least you guys will get to finish your year. I don't even know how this semester will reflect on my records."

Ian frowned at the reminder of her expulsion. He quickly laced his fingers through her as he tried to gently cajole, "Come on, you know Shaln was blustering. I bet you're back in class next Monday."

Sean nodded his agreement, "There's no way that mom is going to let any of this go and with the way dad is pacing with his phone right now, I wouldn't be surprised if he's calling every lawyer he knows to make this go away."

A sickening stone settled into the bottom of Camille's gut as she peered around her brother through the still-open door. And sure enough, there was Callan, burrowing a path into the front lawn. He was already the angry maroon color that Sean had been anticipating. A dull thrum began to spike up her neck at the sight... There would be no end to this day.

"Great." She murmured under her breath, "Mom's already spoken with Aunt Patrice and Uncle Fred. Apparently, she got them to agree to withdraw funding to the school. Shaln about had an aneurysm when she mentioned it."

"Damn... mom works fast."

While Patrice and Fred weren't actually blood relatives, they had been close family friends for so long that they may as well have been part of the larger O'Connell brood. Camille wasn't sure why it had surprised her so much that they were already aware of the latest family scandal. Maybe it was because Vivian usually played things close to the vest.

She missed the shared looked between her boyfriend and brother as she stared distractedly at her father. Both were concerned over the lines of tension and stress creasing her expression.

Sean took the lead as he nudged her, "Have I mentioned how badass it is that you took an abuser in hand? Cuz I'm pretty sure that it makes you a superhero."

"Definitely, Wonder Womanesque." Ian chimed with a faint smile. In truth, he had been at a loss on how to comfort Camille. She was usually very upfront about what she was thinking and feeling – she would tell him what she needed... but she had shut herself off from everyone. A wall had been erected, and he wasn't sure how to approach this withdrawn version of his girlfriend. Waiting for her to come to him had become his default option... and it seemed to be failing. It was a relief to let Sean take over.

"No way. Cami's too blonde for Wonder Woman. I think more Warbird." Sean disagreed as he smirked at his sister.

Ian's eyes lit up, "Carol Danvers? Hell yeah – I can get behind that."

Camille could only shake her head in disbelief, "Wow, this turned into a nerdfest really quick."

Yet, there was no hiding the glint of amusement behind her befuddlement, and that was all the boys had been aiming for as they tried to coax her into a better mood.

"There is nothing wrong with appreciating a strong female character. They're hot." Ian argued with a sly grin as he briefly tightened his hand over hers, "There's no denying you're a strong female which can only mean-"

"Uggh, I'm not listening anymore." Sean gagged exaggeratedly as he started to wander away from the blatant flirting display that he was currently witnessing, "I agree by the way. Not that you're hot – but yeah... strong woman."

Camille couldn't stop her snicker at the boys antics, "Where are you going?"

"I don't know, Wally's? You guys coming?" He called as he twirled his car keys around his finger.

Camille shared a glance with Ian as Sean waited down by his car. She didn't really want to go out. She had wanted to curl up in bed and shut the world away since she woke up that morning, but life had other ideas. At the same time, curling up in her bedroom at home and not at her dorm held less of an appeal. Sooner or later, she would have to have another painful round of discussions with her parents and figure out what her next steps would be. Being home assured that conversation happening sooner, especially as Vivian had espoused a few ideas in the car already.

Staying home seemed more tedious than necessary and Cami supposed that it wasn't exactly healthy to hide herself away, "I want to go out... but no bars. I've had my fill of them lately."

Ian smiled and nodded his head, "How about bowling? Think we could convince your brother?"

It was an odd suggestion and Cami had to raise her brow, "Bowling?"

"Well, its one sport you can still drink and perform with little effort. Plus, the added bonus of being able to throw a big rock ball at something without people saying you have anger issues." He explained lightly.

It was slightly inane how much allure that last bit held for Camille.

And ultimately, it's what won her over. She didn't regret her choice as she tugged on the used shoes offered by the alley twenty minutes later.

She procured a midnight-blue ball with shimmering specs; it was understated next to the flaming pinks and luminescent greens, but it felt comfortable in her hand. Ian had found a garish orange one that reminded her of Mars as it swirled into different shades while Sean had found one that reminded her of the candy jawbreakers, they would get from the corner market as kids. She was struck by a sense of surrealness. Hours ago she was ready to shut the world away, now she was leaning in to play a game.

Cami shook her head and took her place up at the end of the lane. She gazed for a long moment at the strangely ethereally glowing pins – it was as if the brightness was mocking her. It was stupid, but she took that moment to alter those ten pins in her mind. No longer were these pieces merely glossy-shaped plastic-covered wood, but every negative emotion she had been feeling.

Pin One – worry. Worry for Marnie, for her future, for herself.

Pin Two – rage. Rage at Scott and any person who was like him. Rage at the unfairness of everything. Rage for what she could not control.

Pin Three – confusion. Confusion over how quickly she had snapped. Confusion for Klaus and the odd calm he brought her...even as he annoyed her. Confusion for why that had her questioning her relationship with Ian.

She drew a long breath.

Pin Four – uncertainty. Uncertain of why she was so hesitant to let anyone in... let Ian in.

Pin Five – resignation. Resignation with Shaln, resignation with the fact that she could not go back and change...anything.

Cami pulled her arm back and lined her thumb to the middle arrow painted on the planks below her.

Pin Six –stress. Stress with...everything.

Pin Seven – frustration. Frustrated with being unable to understand herself. Unreasonably frustrated with every person she came into contact with... she was so sick of all the bullshit.

The ball slid from her palm and collided with a deliciously dull thunk to the ground before the rolling glide of smooth stone against polished wood echoed like a helical wave in her ear.

Pin Eight – fear. Fear of what the next days would bring, of how much she wanted to finish what she had started in that bar.

Pin Nine – sadness. Sadness of losing a part of herself that she had not even realized was there to lose.

The clatter of the final impact was like an abrupt roar of applause as those gleaming pins toppled with erratic swivels. All her pessimism gone in one fell swoop.

Yet one pin held strong – tilted and swiveled, teasing its fall before soundly settling on its bottom once more.

Cami blinked in curious astonishment at the ten pin. Of all the pins to remain standing, it had to be one pin she had assigned no negative emotion.

Pin Ten – hope. Hope that everything would be okay.

A beatific smile swept across her lips as she stared. For the first time in days a lightness swept over her, and she was actually able to let the small gleam of hope that had shrouded her every step, blossom a little fuller.

She may not have smiled if she had known about the dark-haired man observing her from the snack bar. No, Cami wouldn't have been smiling at all to know she had gained a stalker that day... but Maddox was nothing if not obedient to his master.

Previous Chapter

[thewhitefluffyhat]

Bernkastel

What is this guide?

<< Previous (Witches and Fragments in Umineko)

Reading List: Highlights

Umineko Episode 2/Turn “??? Tea Party” [ Video / Text ]

Bernkastel explains some of her origins. And does Rika’s “nipah~”

”The Witches' Tanabata Isn’t Sweet”  [ Video / Text ]

Lambda cajoles Bern into granting a wish, which Bern does in her own way. (A good introduction to Bern’s personality.)

Umineko Episode 6/Dawn "Logic Error Backstory" scene

Video [Scene starts roughly 16:04, stop before 28:07]

Text [Skip the first two scenes by searching on “Erika, who wanted to savor the memory of her perfect victory”. Scene continues to end of the page.]

Lambda explains her and Bern’s origins to Erika. (This one scene contains the majority of information we have on all three witches’ connections to Higurashi.)

Umineko Episode 8/Twilight “Tea Party”  [ Video / Text ]

[Spoilers for several characters' fates at the end of Umineko, though not the solution to the core mystery.] Bern and Lambda in the aftermath of a hard-fought game. (A look at what the witches are like when not actively playing a role in a game.)

Reading List: I want it all

”Whose Tea Party?” [ Video / Text ]

Bern gets invited to a tea party. (A simple and silly scenario, but also a window into the differences in how Featherine and Lambda think of Bern.)

”Bernkastel’s Letter” [ Video / Text ]

Bernkastel writes a letter to (maybe) Featherine, explaining what she’s discovered about the rules to Beatrice’s game. (This is a bit of a strange one - to me it feels like some details of Bern’s relationships in this early work were retconned by the time of Umineko Episodes 6-8.)

Brief appearances/mentions in “Memoirs of the ΛΔ”, “The First and Last Gift”,  and “Jessica and the Killer Electric Fan”

All of Umineko, but particularly Umineko Chiru.

07th Theater and the Last Note of the Golden Witch from Umineko Saku.

Like Higurashi, Umineko has a questionably-canon fighting game (Golden Fantasia). Bern has playable routes and dialogue there.

If you really want to be thorough, and consider Higurashi’s Rika to be the same character as Bernkastel in Umineko, congratulations! All of both Higurashi and Umineko are now on your reading list. You should probably toss Ciconia on the pile just in case too. Good luck~!

(Also, I know there’s a Rika/Bern lookalike in pretty much every Ryukishi07 work, but unless someone tells me otherwise, then for the sake of everyone’s time I’m going to assume lookalikes are different characters.)

Wiki Links

https://07th-expansion.fandom.com/wiki/Bernkastel [Not recommended: major Umineko spoilers!]

Quick Facts

-The Bernkastel of Umineko is heavily implied to be the same character as the “Frederica Bernkastel” in Higurashi. You can theoretically construct a reading where she isn’t but… now you have two Bernkastels in the same Sea of Fragments.

Here’s Ryukishi07’s comment on the matter:

Q: What is the relationship between Rika and Frederica Bernkastel? A: Bernkastel is composed of all the negative emotions and memories from the Rika that endured 100 years of torment in Higurashi. On a side note, he mentioned that Rika was BT’s favorite character, so he greatly enjoyed making Rika evil to see BT’s reaction.

(Source: ACen 2015 07th Expansion Panels) [Warning: major Umineko spoilers!]

-In Umineko, the character always goes by her last name or a shortening thereof; the "Frederica" part is only ever referred to indirectly in some PS3 art and as the author of a poem in “Bernkastel’s Letter.” (This was actually true in Saikoroshi as well.)

-Physically, she has same eye/hair color as Rika, though her eyes lack highlights and she seems slightly older.

(Bern and her piece Erika share several physical similarities, and in Umineko Episode 5, Erika is described as a high schooler who looks more like a middle schooler. So that description may be true for Bern’s “age” as well.)

Personality

-Bern has completely dispensed with the cutesy Rika act - she’s all dark Rika, all the time. At her best, Bern is as cold and cynical as Rika after she's given up on a timeline.  At her worst, she's  a vicious and abusive bully, arguably even more sadistic than Takano.

There are some interpretations you can take that soften her behavior, but she is not, under any stretch of the imagination, a good person.

(When people say "maybe Gou is a Bernkastel origin story!" this abrupt change to her character  may also be what they're referring to - not just the story behind where Bern came from, but potentially the story behind "when and why did Rika turn evil?")

-In the present of Umineko, Lambda is repeatedly noted to be Bern’s only friend. (More on their relationship in Lambda’s section.) Part of that is, well, the above bullet points, but the second part is that she just tends to avoid other people. She’s mostly retreated back to being an observer, not an active participant on the stage. (Another difference from Rika.)

-Bern’s relationship with Featherine is less affectionate than that of Rika and Hanyuu. Bern is much harsher and more disrespectful towards Featherine, but on the other hand, Featherine isn’t bothered by it and instead appears amused by her antics.

-Despite all these differences, Bern does keep some of Rika’s minor quirks -  her love of extreme foods, her narration’s fondness for odd and/or longwinded metaphors, and of course her trademark emo poetry.

-Still, Given Gou Episode 19, it’s worth mentioning that there’s a bit of a gap between Rika’s tastes and Bern’s.  Bern acts more reserved/refined, she’s more often seen drinking tea than wine, and her “home” (in as much as she has one) is in a giant library.

I’d previously chalked these differences up to merely the change in aesthetics between Higurashi and  Umineko (all witches love their fancy tea parties), but now...

That being said, in Umineko, Bern’s just as scornful of high society markers as she is everything else. Champagne tower bowling, anyone?

Abilities

-Bern’s title is the “Witch of Miracles,” and she has the power to “cause success without fail, 'as long as the odds are not zero'.”

-What exactly that means in practice is hard to define. Could Bern use miracles to cause someone to, say, die of a lightning strike? Probably. But what she’s actually doing is sifting through millions of Fragments until she finds a world that matches what she wants. It’s a power that functions at the meta level.

(So your guess is as good as mine as to whether she could pull off Rika’s “I literally caught a bullet barehanded while inside a Fragment” miracle at will.)

-Bernkastel and Rika are both associated with black cats. Unlike Rika, Bern can and does literally shapeshift into one. She and Featherine also use black cats as messengers.

-In magical battles, Bern usually fights with a black scythe and summons hordes of aforementioned black cats. She also really loves her teleports and that “dodge via interposing magical duplicate” trick.

-When acting as Featherine’s miko, Bern is able to grant “Theatergoing authority” (basically the ability to compel and watch other characters’ significant flashbacks) to pieces on a game board.

-Bern can kludge multiple worlds together into one Franken-Fragment, a perhaps less elegant version of what Hanyuu does to create the Matsuribayashi Fragment.

-In the silly 07th Theater crossover stories, Bern is also shown to use the “power of voyage” to pluck pieces from one game and place them in others. (If you thought Featherine was unlikely in Gou, note that technically, even Beatrice has been to Hinamizawa!)

Next (Bernkastel’s Umineko Origins) >>

[stellacolletore]

08.31.2020

from tsukuba’s peak (falling waters have become)  characters: tsukuba haruomi, mashima taichi/ayase chihaya, tsukuba akihiro summary: Haruomi knows Ayase-sensei’s no damsel in distress. That doesn’t mean he’ll stand by while a Bad Guy goes after her, though. notes: takes place when the 2nd of the tsukuba triplets (haruomi) is in his first year of high school and chihaya’s just been a teacher in mizusawa.

Haruomi might have been giving the wrong impression with his slit eyes for as long as he can remember, but those who know him know better. He’s a pretty perceptive guy.

It’s yet another quality that sets him apart from his younger and older brothers, who, at an earlier point in time, looked so identical with him that people mistake them for triplets. Now the only commonality they share with one another is their undying admiration for Akihiro-niisan. In a span of five years, Fuyumasa-niisan found soccer more of his league than karuta (which almost got him disowned by Akihiro-niisan, who then was the president of Mizusawa Karuta Club) while Natsufusa-kun’s attention was gradually stolen by the world of video gaming.

As for Haruomi, he stuck with karuta like their eldest brother, reaching Class A in his last year of middle school and studying so seriously for once with the hopes of entering the high school of his dreams.

Which isn’t Hokuo, he’d tell the recruiters sporting the well-known red shirt of Tokyo’s current high school karuta powerhouse when they scouted him last tournament. I’m going to Mizusawa High.

“But Mizusawa’s golden days are long over,” Haruomi remembered one of the recruiters snickering. To which he had replied defensively, “That’s going to change, though. Because she’s coming back.”

And Ayase-san has indeed returned, finishing her college degree and immediately applying for a teaching position at Mizusawa High School. She’s the defender of the Queen title for two consecutive years now, and is currently on her way towards─

“ ─making Mizusawa into a karuta powerhouse.” He recalls the brimming confidence in her voice on the first day of club meeting, finally understanding what Akihiro-niisan means when he tells him when she’s on your side, Ayase-senpai’s karuta gives your karuta a certain level of strength.  Ayase-san─Ayase-sensei to him, now─certainly had been over the moon with his club membership. After all, Haruomi’s one of the Shiranami society members who grew in leaps and bounds before her own eyes.

Everything’s going well that when trouble finally entered the picture, Haruomi’s able to spot it in a blink of an eye. Or, to be more precise, spot him.

Likening the situation to one of the shoujo mangas Sumire-neechan rants about during break time back at Shiranami society, Yamazaki-sensei’s definitely the Bad Guy who goes after the Female MC with the sole purpose of threatening her relationship with the Male MC. (He shakes his head at the thought of his vocabulary being this much influenced by Sumire-neechan.)

Not that there’s an ounce of doubt when it comes to Ayase-sensei’s relationship with Mashima-san. They’d been going steady ever since their last year in high school, and Haruomi himself won’t be surprised if one of these days they’d suddenly announce their engagement. But still, this development is concerning. Call it a guy’s intuition, but Yamazaki-sensei looks like he’s after more than just being a karuta club ‘vice adviser’.

As if affirming his thoughts, Yamazaki-sensei asks, “Ayase-san, would you like to go out for dinner after practice? I’ve been waiting for that a few weeks now. Surely you’re free this time.” Glaring eyes instantly latch onto Bad Guy, ever protective of their undeniably beautiful─and undeniably dense ─karuta club adviser. As usual Ayase-sensei takes his question in stride. Innocently, she replies, “Ah─but I still can’t, Yamazaki-san. I’ve already promised to eat dinner with someone tonight.”

Yamazaki-sensei sniggers; Haruomi detects a hint of annoyance in his teacher’s voice. “Is this your ‘boyfriend’ again?”

He definitely wants to wipe that expression off Bad Guy’s face. It’s a telltale sign he’s about to say something obnoxious.

“How come we’ve never seen him around? Ayase-san, you know it’s not a good example for your students if you’re lying about dating someone when, in fact, you’re not.”

Haruomi had enough.

“Ayase-sensei’s not a liar! Mashima-san’s real, Sensei. In fact, he’s a better karuta player than you could ever be.”

“What did you just─” In a flash of anger, Yamazaki-sensei lunges at him from his seat on the tatami. Haruomi already has his fist clenched, prepared in case it needs to take a swing at his teacher’s face, but Ayase-senpai’s barreled into the space between them just in time. “Please don’t fight!”  

Taking advantage of their momentary surprise, she addresses Bad Guy apologetically. “I’m so sorry, Yamazaki-san. We can get dinner next week─it’s just that tonight’s really one of the few times Taichi’s free.” Turning towards Haruomi, she softly reprimands. “Thank you for your concern, Haruomi-kun. But you should always remember to show respect for your teachers. It’s wrong to yell at Yamazaki-sensei, ne, Haruomi-kun?”

Properly chastised, both boys retreat their offensive stance. Pleased at handling the situation before it escalates (again), she claps her hands together, gathering the attention of the members previously watching the showdown. “All right minna! Time to go home!”

They soon disperse, his teammates on their way home and Ayase-sensei to her date. Meanwhile, Haruomi finds himself staring at the door of the teacher’s lounge, where Yamazaki-sensei is preparing his things before heading out of the school. As much as it annoys Haruomi, he’s still a man of principle; and as such, owes even Bad Guy an apology.

He’s already opened the door when his ears pick up on Bad Guy’s Obnoxious Voice again.

“You’ll see her, don’t worry. I’m not lying! She’s really Ayase Chitose’s sister! Yeah, she’s hot, too, all right. Didn’t you get the picture I sent you? Anyway, see you next week─yeah, she’s already promised to come. Okay, okay...Bye.”

What is it he’s about to do again?

Haruomi walks away from the room, his hand reaching on the inside of his bag. He opens his phone and dials a number.

“Onii-san, could you give me Mashima-san’s contact address?”

***

It looks like a normal practice meeting, with everyone expecting to go through the same routine. Except for Haruomi, who’s certain that things will be changing as soon as it’s over.

As expected, Ayase-sensei, with her ultrasonic hearing, notices him first.

Her head springs up from the match against Haruomi, eyes trained towards the sliding doors. Confusion mars her features, as if the sound she hears doesn’t correspond with her surroundings. Guilt pricks Haruomi for a second.

After all, asking Mashima-san to make a surprise visit to their club is also asking him to skip what obviously are very important classes. But this is important, too! His conscience immediately reasons out.

Mashima-san appears at the spot Ayase-sensei is looking at, and without missing a beat he hears his teacher gape unceremoniously. “Taichi! What are you doing here?!”

The abrupt mention of their sensei’s boyfriend’s name effectively wrenched everybody’s concentration away from the game. A yomifuda is read but everyone’s attention is on the very surprising, very handsome visitor at the entrance.

“Eeeeh?! ”

“Sensei’s kareshi?! That’s sensei’s boyfriend?!”

“Ikemen! ”

“Masaka…”

His teammates’ expressions are priceless, sure, but Haruomi is most amused upon finding Bad Guy’s eyes blown wide, skin getting paler by the second.

See, sensei? He’s real, all right.

Apparently, Mashima-san had a lifetime’s worth of encountering greetings like this, merely blinking at them before giving a slight bow. “Hajimemashite. I’m Mashima Taichi, Mizusawa High School alumni and co-founder of this club. Doozo yoroshiku.”

Haruomi then discovers just how much the girls of his karuta club are similar to Sumire-neechan when they crowd over him in a classic montage of high school girls fawning over handsome guys.

“You and Ayase-sensei made this club?! Sugoi!─”

“That’s so romantic! Ano, did you like her since first year─”

“How was Ayase-sensei like before─”

“Ikemen!”

“Calm down, minna,” Ayase-sensei implores. After the girls have listened, she repeats her question, this time with evident concern. “Taichi, why are you here? Did something happen?”

Mashima-san quells her worries with a reassuring smile. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just,” his golden eyes proceed to sweep the room, locating Haruomi who’s been pushed at the back by his overexcited teammates, “your student there asked for my help.”

The implication behind her boyfriend’s words totally goes over Ayase-sensei’s head, but definitely not Yamazaki-sensei’s. Bad Guy is basically trembling in the corner and nothing has even happened yet.

Ayase-sensei’s face registers a brief moment of surprise, before lightening up. “I see!”

The reaction is equal parts endearing and frustrating, really. How Ayase-sensei manages to keep every bit of that childlike trust even in adulthood, Haroumi would never know. Nevertheless, she definitely has to pick up on some social cues before Mashima-san goes crazy with worry.

Thinking that the past Mizusawa karuta club President’s really only here to help out, Ayase-sensei wastes no time in having him observe how her students play.

And help he did, doling out insights on everyone’s game strategies. In less than an hour, his identity transformed from ‘Ayase-sensei’s gorgeous boyfriend’ to the ‘President who led the team to national championship’. Haruomi himself is knee deep in the practice session that he almost forgets Mashima-san’s true purpose for dropping by.

Almost, because even when a confrontation could be avoided if he just stayed respectful for once, Yamazaki-sensei’s Bad Guy streak doesn’t disappoint.

“It’s nice, really, when one is able to give good advice,” his Obnoxious Voice grates at Haruomi’s ears, “but I think it’s too extreme to call it incredible.” He gives a pointed glance to Rina-chan, who had just called Mashima-san that after a one-on-one consultation on card placements. “What’s incredible is being able to ‘show’ the ‘talk’, if you get what I mean.”

Tension immediately spikes inside the room, Haruomi and his teammates displaying looks of discomfort and annoyance. Teach him a lesson, Mashima-san! They mentally plead.

Mashima-san, an air of uncanny calmness around him, responds lightly. “I do. Say, Yamazaki-san, Chihaya’s been telling me how good a mentor you are yourself. I’d actually like to see how you play your karuta.”

Ego inflated, Bad Guy predictably challenges. “Why not have a match with me, then, Mashima-san?” He glances at the students, “The kids could take notes.”

Mashima-san places a hand on his hair, looking sheepish. “Ah, but my skills are rusty. Haven’t been playing much since entering med school.”

Irked at the girls rendered swooning at the knowledge that Ayase-senpai has a runway-model-level handsome, karuta playing, intelligent boyfriend, Yamazaki-sensei pushes on, “I’m sure you can put up a fight. I’ll go easy on you, if you like.”

Appearing unaffected by the blatant jab at his capabilities, Mashima-san checks his watch, nonchalant, before turning to Ayase-senpai for permission. “What do you say, Chihaya? Do we still have time?”

Ayase-sensei considers the request. She notes how a full match would extend their club meeting for an hour at least. Then, addressing the rest of the club, begins to ask. “Is it okay with you if─”

Not even waiting for the end of her sentence, Haruomi and his teammates answer eagerly, “Hai, Sensei!”

“O-okay then,” Ayase-sensei heads to the door, “I’ll just let Miyauchi-sensei know we’re finishing up late.”

At their teacher’s exit, Haruomi and the members promptly settle down. He hands Mashima-san a deck of karuta cards, whispering a plea at the same time, “Show him his place, Mashima-san. We really can’t put up with him any longer.” His Shiranami society senpai reaches a hand to ruffle his kouhai’s hair playfully, eyes crinkling with reassurance.

While shuffling the cards between him and his opponent Mashima-san suggests, “Ano, Yamazaki-san, don’t you think it’s more exciting if we bet on something? We used to do it a lot back then.”

Yamazaki-sensei, after a brief moment of surprise, agrees. “Hm, let’s see,” his Bad Guy mind tries to conjure a wicked request. “Okay...If I win, you’re not allowed to come here during practice hours. Sorry, Mashima-san, but looking at how the students are distracted and all over the place with today’s visit, it’s best if we eliminate anything that interferes with their concentration.”

Shouts of protests instantly ensue. Mashima-san simply laughs, finding their sensei’s rudeness amusing, apparently. With a certain gleam in his eyes, he replies, “As for me, I have one condition: Whoever wins this match gets the right to be the club’s mentor.”

Meeting his opponent’s shocked expression with an easy smile, he elaborates. “Of course, we can’t have Chihaya’s team settling for anything less than the best, wouldn’t we?”

***

Ayase-sensei comes back thirty minutes later only to find the room in complete uproar. “Sorry, I got held back─”

“ ─It’s already over?! Just like that?!”

“Sensei couldn’t even get one card…”

“Mashima-san’s the real deal.”

“Kyaaa! Ikemen, hontoni ikemen!”

“I WAS HOLDING BACK!” Yamazaki-sensei exclaims, face burning with obvious humiliation. He points an offending finger at Mashima-san, who had been coolly observing Bad Guy’s pathetic breakdown from his side on the tatami. “One more round, Mashima-san! I’ll be playing all-out the next round.”

“That’s fine with me, Yamazaki-san,” he says languidly, “but you’re going to have to place a new bet.”

“If─!” Bad Guy doesn’t miss a beat, “─I win, I get the mentoring rights back.”

“Mentoring rights?” Ayase-sensei inquires at Haruomi. He grins, “Mashima-san’s earned his place as your vice adviser as of the moment, Sensei.”

Ayase-sensei’s confusion doubles when she hears her boyfriend’s end of the bargain. “Then, if I win, I get to borrow your phone, Yamazaki-sensei.”

“His phone?! What are you going to do with Yamasaki-san’s phone, Taichi?” She asks, concerned at how Bad Guy instantly petrifies at Mashima-san’s words. The rest of the room is also stunned at the odd request. But his intention is perfectly clear to Haruomi, and he has to physically restrain himself from blurting it out in the open. Mashima-san’s got this. I have to let him handle this.

Haruomi sees Ayase-sensei’s boyfriend put on a bashful expression, looking much like a boy who’s had to explain why he’s acting sneaky. “You know those pranks where you hijack a person’s gallery and post something silly on their social media? I just wanted to try it out.”

Sufficiently manipulated, Yamazaki-sensei releases a breath he’s been holding. His teammates nodded in understanding as well.

However, Ayase-sensei only squints her eyes, clearly showing how she’s well caught up with Mashima-san’s lie.

It’s then that Mashima-san’s gaze shifts, connecting with Ayase-sensei’s and holding her in place. Haruomi’s familiar with that type of communication─it’s something  that exists between long time friends or lovers. And since both apply to Ayase-sensei and Mashima-san’s case, it doesn’t take a minute before his girlfriend’s demeanor changes, too, having received the wordless message. She doesn’t prod any further.

The second match goes more or less the same, the only difference being Yamazaki-sensei’s resolve slowly crumbling at every card he couldn’t defend, every fault he commits. Gone is Mashima-san’s lighthearted persona, too, and Haruomi wonders whether this is what his senpai looked like when he was actively playing karuta back in the day. An image of Harada-sensei enters his mind right then, comforting Haruomi with the fact that Mashima-senpai’s karuta prime is still yet to come.

Contrasting the mood of the rest of the match’s audience, Ayase-sensei is looking troubled beside him. He even hears his sensei plead silently, “Don’t, Taichi.” Curiosity getting the better of him, he asks,“What’s wrong, Ayase-sensei?”

He gets a worrisome answer. “Taichi...he’s...using nasty karuta. The kind that makes your opponent want to stop playing. He hadn’t played like this since...”

Abandoning her explanation, Ayase-sensei shifts towards questioning him back, brown eyes pleading to understand.

“Haroumi-kun, what is it you’ve asked his help for, exactly?”

***

A conversation at Mashima Taichi’s car, moments after practice had finished and the karuta club members went on their way home.*

“Anywhere we have to stop by before I drop you home?”

“Eto...The pharmacy! And I won’t be going home tonight.”

“Okay...Let’s go over those one-by-one. What do you need at the pharmacy? Are you feeling sick?”

“It’s not for me.”

“For Chitose-san, then? I thought her acid reflux was handled already.”

“Not for her too. It’s for my boyfriend, actually. See, he’s about to get another migraine.”

“Wha─”

“I know you’ve been pulling all-nighters for the past week, Taichi. And if it were me playing your scary karuta a while ago, I’d be dead asleep by now. I might not be the one who’s going to be a doctor between the two of us, but I’ve been with you long enough to realize that even your superhuman brain hurts sometimes.”

“Glad to see how you’ve successfully bribed your way to getting my schedule from Nishinoya. Did you promise him an exclusive Daddy Bear merchandise?”

“That’s the thing. I didn’t have to, because he’s just as worried about your workaholic lifestyle as I am. Honestly, you have to look out for yourself better, Taichi.”

“That’s awfully ironic, coming from you, Chihaya.”

“...”

“Sorry. What I meant was─”

“No! Don’t apologize. You’re right. I haven’t been looking out for myself all that well, either. If I were, then you and Haruomi-kun wouldn’t be so worried, right? Enough for you to break Yamazaki-san's phone 'accidentally'?”

“...”

“In case you’re wondering, I can see why you’re both concerned about Yamazaki-san. He’s always acting...weird. But I thought that’s just because he’s new, and I shouldn’t pass up any opportunities that could help the club. Especially when I’m not yet the strong advisor they needed.”

“Chihaya...You’re already doing great. And I remember Sakurazawa-sensei telling you the same last time, too.”

“...Thanks, Taichi. I’ll try harder to remember that...Anyway, I’m going ahead and answering you next question: I’m not going home because I’ll be staying at your place.”

“But, as you know from your stolen copy of my schedule, I’ll be stuck studying.”

“Yep. Alchemy midterms, right?”

“Chemistry, Chihaya, it’s Chemistry ─You know what? Call it what you want.”

“That’s good, because it really sounds more interesting that way! But going back to your point─it’s my turn to look after you now, after what you just did for me.”

“And how can you help me with my midterms?”

“That’s what the painkillers are for. I’ll be busy nursing your headaches, baka Taichi. Which reminds me─can we stop at the grocery too?”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to burn my kitchen─hey, stop punching me! Cook, alright─Don’t tell me you’re going to cook again.”

“Whether you like it or not, I’m cooking. If I’m going to be called Mashima-sensei by my students in the future like what Haruomi-kun just did, I might as well start preparing to pass Mrs. Pressure’s standards, ne, Taichi?”

“...”

“See? I thought so, too.”

[khazadspoon]

ok i haven't written anything for a while but here, take some worldbuilding i did in November for nanowrimo

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He sighed, shoulders dropping and a frown forming on his lips. “So you don't know anything about the Unnamed?” He asked under his breath. Asher shook their head. “That answers that question, then.”

“Do you know anything about them?” Asher asked in return.

Hunter looked around briefly, eyes scanning for anyone in close proximity, and gave a brief nod. “A little. Not much, but enough to know they are dangerous.”

“I see.”

“You don't, not really. If that,” he pointed to the plume of smoke, “is because of an Unnamed, there is more risk than the council could anticipate.”

Asher gripped his arm and met his eyes pointedly, almost glaring. “Then tell me. I have already said my people want to help yours, so let me help!” They hissed. “Tell me what you know.”

Hunter let out a clipped sigh and took Asher's hand. “Follow me.”

He tugged, guiding Asher between the tents and to a small, dimly lit abode. The canvas looked older than that of the others, more weathered and patched. Hunter slipped inside, hand still clasping Asher's as he tugged them inside behind him. In front of them was a large chest of ancient wood. A shining bronze lock kept it closed, but Hunter fished a small key from his bandolier and opened it with practiced ease.

“We don't really keep books,” he said under his breath, quiet in the dense atmosphere of the small tent. “Our history is told in stories, in dance, in music. We travel a lot and books are an unnecessary weight. But we have… collected some over time, mainly about things that come from outside our culture. Anyone who wishes to can read them, we all have a key, but not everyone likes what the books contain.”

He reached into the chest and drew out a thick, heavy, leather bound tome. The smell of ages-old parchment drifted through the air and tickled at Asher's nose. They reached out almost instinctively and touched the cover. The old leather was impossibly soft under their fingers as Asher traced the letters.

Vorld Histries the title read. It was archaic, some old dialect no longer spoken, and Asher's mouth felt dry. How old was this book?

Hunter closed the box with one hand and carefully placed the book on its lid. He opened it, the creak of its spine joining their hushed breathing. The pages seemed stiff, unused, the ink inside still dark and clear even after so many years. Asher was reminded of the library back in Laer with its lanterns and dark corners, books and scrolls filling the space not occupied with dust. They watched the pages turn, Hunter's fingers carefully lifting each by the top corner.

“This book is the only one we have that mentions the Unnamed. Here, take a look,” he turned it slightly and moved to the side, giving Asher room to settle in front of the book.

The dark ink swirled over the stained page before their eyes, forming words and shapes that they began to understand after a moment of concentrating. The language was definitely old, but the words still made sense if one was given time to process them properly.

Asher began to read, making sense of the words as they went.

Among the many varied peoples of our world, created by forces unknown, there are groups who must be given status of their own right.

Oldest and most respected among these are the Spirits. Easily identified by their white hair and agelessness, they are most known for their capacity as healers and mediums. They inherit the old ways of the world through strong bloodlines and well documented histories kept in great libraries. The turning of the world and the universe beyond is their primary concern. It is not known how many Spirit clans exist, but the oldest live beyond the mountains of the Eastern Shores. Those who have encountered these clans have been treated with the utmost care and hospitality. Spirits can sometimes be found wandering beyond their clan's borders in search of knowledge, trading partners, and new bloodlines to retain a healthy population.

Second in terms of respect, and in some theoretical circles of age, are the Justices that appear from time to time. These individuals have great power over matters of truth and, as the name suggests, of justice or equity. Though not ageless as the Spirits, they live for centuries as single entities and wander through the world setting right to wrongs perceived by the population. Eye witness accounts tell of strange compulsions coming over them when a Justice makes eye contact with them - the urge to speak only truth, to confess hidden wrongdoings, and a loss of higher motor functions.

From there we are led to understand the Powers originated. Individuals born to seemingly normal families but nonetheless granted extraordinary gifts. These gifts range from elemental control, coercive abilities, being able to move objects with simple thoughts, to seeing the thoughts of another person and beyond. They live ordinarily long lives, though have a propensity to expire younger due to many falling victim to frightened townsfolk and superstition.

Entirely set apart from those previous are the Shifters, clans of people who may take the forms of great beasts at will. A sometimes cold and insular people, they nonetheless are known for helping those in need with little need of reward. Many natural disasters have been followed by periods of great integration between the Shifters, of which there are many distinct clans, and the general population. It is worth noting that not all Shifters within a clan can take the form of the same animal - it is well known that clans will hold a diverse range of beasts, both predator and prey, within a single family.

The most elusive, and most destructive, of these phenomena however are the Great Destructions. Called by different names throughout history (Heartless, Unknown, Unnamed, Fire Beings), they are relatively unknowable due to how few have been truly categorised or catalogued. Almost nothing is known about how they are created, as they are seemingly not born into this group. Nothing is known, as well, about the causes of variation within this group. All, however, are created in a moment of cataclysmic destruction - usually taking the form of a large explosion with great and sudden heat followed by an earthquake. Most seem to be destroyed within hours of this event, burning from the inside out and leaving only ash behind. Some, however, emerge unscathed apart from the distinct lack of hair or clothing. It is only advised to stay away from any such event or individual should one occur within one's lifetime.

The page came to an abrupt halt. Asher frowned, pursed their lips and traced their finger over the last paragraph with a feather-light touch.

“And this is all the information you have on these… on the Unnamed?” They asked quietly. Their heart beat erratically in their chest, fast and uneven as they fought to control their breathing.

Hunter nodded silently, his eyes dark as they scanned the page. He gently moved Asher's hand from the book and closed it with careful motions. He lifted the book, opened the chest, and placed it inside before locking it shut again.

“If it is one of these that has been created, then there is a chance it will simply die,” Asher heard him say in a distracted tone. He sounded uncomfortable with the idea, a strange twist to his expression that was strained and deepened by the shadows in the tent.

Asher sat in front of the chest and tugged at Hunter' sleeve, urging him to sit as well. “It seems like that would be for the best, given the fear your mother has for them.”

“Yes.”

“Then why do I get the feeling you don't agree?”

Hunter stared at them, wide eyed and frowning. “What do you mean?”

“I'm just saying, it looks as though you don't think the possibility of this creature dying is the best outcome.” Asher looked their companion up and down, took in the tense slope of his shoulders, the arc of his neck as he looked at the floor between his feet. “Do you know why?”

Hunter shrugged and wrung his hands. The bandolier over his shoulder jingled ever so slightly as he moved. “It just sounds like an awfully lonely existence. To live, to go through- through that, and then to just… die. Alone, no one to mark your passing, only fire and heat.”

The words struck Asher almost like a blow. “For you there is fire, there is heat, and there is dry earth. It does not feel good.”

Hunter's frown deepened and he dug his fingers into the flesh of his palm. “I know there is nothing we can do to help, but…” He sighed and smoothed the crescent shaped marks he had made with his thumb. “Has anyone ever tried?”

The question hung in the dim quiet, heavy and dense with meaning. Asher swallowed the thick lump that had formed in their throat as Yena's words of prophecy came back to them. Fire and heat. They shivered despite the warmth of the air and Hunter's body next to their own. He turned, a question in his eyes. Asher shook their head and dismissed the concern.

“You should speak to Maedhra about it,” they said instead. “She is in charge, so it makes sense to ask if there is any way of rectifying that.”

Hunter shrugged, the motion bringing their bodies into contact. Asher let the contact ground them, focused on it instead of the tremor in their own chest. “There is every possibility I would be told in no uncertain terms that we are not to interfere with something like this.”

“And maybe she would be right. But,” they touched his arm, clutched a little too tight at the fabric of his shirt, “you will never know unless you try.”

A slow smile formed on Hunter's face. “I suppose you're right,” he said softly into the air between them.

“I suppose I am. But allow me to try something before you do anything.”

Hunter raised an eyebrow, intrigued; “alright.”

[enygmass]

Title: Fragments

Author: Ames

Wordcount: 2355

Fandom: Not batman for once [whoa]

Synopsis: Brief glimpses of Nikolai’s life from birth (ish??) to the first scene of the game

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So I haven’t written one-shots in so long, but I discovered the game Monstrata Fracture like a hot min ago and haven’t been able to get it off my mind so like… if you wanna bag yourself a monster babe then you should jump over to @astralore [or their itchi.io] and check it out, i’m js... ^^

Anyway I may be botching this but I a) love Nikolai and b) love delving into characters pasts, so let's rock and roll, kids

Everything this is based on was snagged from the game play, mythology books, and lore that was answered on the blog 

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When the eggs were retrieved from the ocean, the fortune teller had announced that the speckling on the shell of the seventh egg looked “off.” The second fortune teller agreed, and the third one had not protested the former declaration.The three fortune tellers were sisters, renowned for the accuracy of their predictions, and for them to state such a thing with brutal bluntness brought immediate attention to this small, stunted, seventh egg. Albeit, a declaration that this seventh child would bring great things had come along with the unusual spotting, yes, but the unusual spotting was what stood most clear in the minds of all who were present. 

The young mothers did their best to pay it no heed. Alkonosts were superstitious by nature. Their ancestors had brought with them tales of dangers in the woods, of beasts in the snowdrifts, and of consequences for every action. Once, this declaration of unusual spotting may have brought dread to the ears of any parent, but the two mothers were of a more modern mentality. They thanked the sisters, inclining their heads with grace, before sweeping the eggs up into their arms and leaving. 

Seven eggs, seven children, and the seventh, to be a son. 

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Nikolai could not recall the exact procedure that led him to become a he. 

What he could recall were colours. Colours of all kinds; reds, golds, blues, greens. It was a myriad of hues that swirled before his naive eyes. He remembered that he had tried to speak. He had wanted to say something to his mothers, perhaps ask them what the colours represented, but he was silenced by a talon coming down and pressing upon his chest like a weight. 

Then, with the colours, there had suddenly been pain. Magic always had a consequence. This was a concept that had been drilled into the minds of any species that lived in their realm. Any entity that used magic, was exposed to magic, or even so much as learned about magic, knew that it took as much as it gave.

It felt like he was being reborn. 

A part of him wondered why he had agreed to this, although the reward held greater merit. To be able to feel like he was truly himself made the process worthwhile. Not to mention that the sprawling records of their family lineage that his mothers’ kept locked away indicated that he was not the first one in their family line to go through with this procedure.  

The process overall lasted minutes, but to Nikolai, it felt like centuries. It was only when the colours faded away and the bombardment of sensations fell to a dull thrumming in his mind did he become aware of his mothers’ voices. 

“Take him back to his room. The recovery process…”

“The recovery process can be tedious.” Another voice, less familiar and more jarring, cut his mothers’ protests short. Nikolai struggled to see who the owner was as the world seemed to spin in front of his eyes. He could make out the form of another Alkonost woman, with brown feathers meticulously groomed, standing a few feet away. Her lips were pursed in a thin line and her golden eyes were fixated on someone behind Nikolai’s prone form. 

“But it has never failed. He’ll be fine within a few days.” Another shift, and Nikolai felt himself being lifted from his position on the floor. The Alkonost woman’s gaze moved to meet Nikolai’s and her lips, if possible, drew into an even tighter line. “Contact us if problems arise, although I think there won’t be. I highly doubt the one who is supposed to be destined for ‘great things’ will be going away any time soon.”

With that, she turned away as the world in front of Nikolai’s eyes faded to black. 

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“Nikolai.” The voice of his teacher snapped Nikolai out of his daze, forcing him to turn his gaze from the treeline outside to the front of the classroom. An Alkonost woman stood at the front, her grey feathers adorned with silver, and a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re lost, again.” 

“Not lost,” Nikolai was quick to protest as he straightened his back. “Just thinking.” 

“And what were we thinking of today?” The amusement was not lost in her tone as she settled herself on the edge of her desk. Her name was Lada, and she had been teaching him and his sisters to sing since they were hatchlings. His mothers’ could have taught them, but they were too busy with their political careers. Hence why Lada was in their lives. 

Singing was, unsurprisingly, a major part of an Alkonosts life. Singing was involved in everything they did: celebrations, mourning, daily routines, even mundane tasks such as cleaning often led to a chorus of songs from the flock engaged. One of the most profound memories Nikolai held was singing at a chapel during a Christmas celebration. The way the chapel had been lit in a brilliant golden glow, with holly entwining its columns, and how the room had been filled with Alkonost of all colour and kind singing with their glorious voices, was burned into his mind. He held onto it with every ounce of strength he had, in fear that he would never experience it again. 

“The regulations.” He spoke what he thought because he knew that Lada would find out either way. The regulations were on his mind a lot lately. His mothers had taken him aside and explained that his family, in particular, were under government watch for the use of their voices. An average Alkonost could wipe an individual's memories for 12-24 hours with the right training. Nikolai’s family could wipe them for more than 48. In fact, an ancestor of his had been known to have a voice that could wipe memories for years, if she so chose. 

“Ah.” Lada’s smile slipped and she fixed him with a more stern look. “What about the regulations?”

The question was so simple, but enough to cause Nikolai’s shoulders to tense up. It was no secret that the regulations were greatly protested by many Alkonost, but there were a few in the mixes—Lada included—who believed they saw the benefits of the regulations. 

“They’re unethical, that’s what,” Nikolai was quick to snap with his response, his brow furrowing as he turned to face his tutor. “Why should we be restricted when our gift doesn’t even make it into the harmful category of magic? Vampires have no restrictions on their compulsion abilities, and I dare say that being able to persuade someone to do something like slaughter their family is much more dire than causing memory loss for a day. Not to mention the lack of restrictions on Banshees, Fae, or even Kelpies. God knows their abilities are worth a ban.” 

Lada’s expression betrayed no emotions as she folded her talons on her lap, allowing Nikolai his brief vent. It was only when there was a pause for breath between his rants did she speak. 

“You’re forgetting, Nikolai, that many of the individuals you’ve listed have their own struggles they deal with. Yes, they may not have restrictions, but they’re subjected to far worse.” Lada’s lips twisted to a grimace as she fixed him with a stern gaze. “Like the slave trade, for example. No Alkonost is subject to that, but I can tell you that many Kelpies are.” 

The slave trade. It was one of Lada’s main points to bring up whenever they got into this debate. Nikolai was young, yes, but he was well educated in what the slave trade incorporated. Many Alkonost and other higher-class species had a hand in its ongoing, and it wasn’t uncommon to hear it discussed at Alkonost events. Nikolai bit his tongue. It was better to not discuss those kinds of things with Lada; she usually found a way to make several fair points to counter any objection Nikolai voiced. He wasn’t a fan of the trade either, but his resentment didn’t run as deep as Lada’s did. 

“Why don’t we get back to the topic at hand?” Lada clapped her talons together and stood back up, gesturing for Nikolai to come closer. “We can practice a piece from принц огня, if you would like?” 

принц огня was an Alkonost tale from the old country about an Alkonost Prince with red, gold, and violet plumage who discovered he had the ability to control fire. Most people chalked it up that he was a phoenix mixed into the nest, but it was still one of Nikolai's favorite stories to listen to when he was a hatchling—only because he saw so much of himself in the Prince. Not to mention that both of them had received ill-fated prophecies about how they were destined for greatness, although the Prince's ended off on a much more tragic note. From what the text said, his magic cost him the life of his loved one, and although his powers brought great change for the Alkonosts, his grief over his partner's death drove him into utter despair. The story ended off with the Prince becoming nothing but a wandering hermit who sang a mournful ballad, much to many's chagrin. Alkonosts rarely felt, but when they did feel, they felt with their entire being, and the Prince's story showed how dire the consequences of this could be. 

Gathering himself, Nikolai frowned at Lada's abrupt change of topic, but nodded his head regardless. In the end, it was best to focus on lessons rather than politics. 

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"You seem preoccupied." Rishika's voice all but purred in Nikolai's ear as she settled herself beside him, tucking her feathers in as she did so. The sunlight filtering between the tree leaves and into the courtyard caused Nikolai to squint a bit as he turned his head to address her. She was looking rather smug this morning. 

"What did you do now?" Rishika, for all she was worth, was quite notorious for inciting a bit of trouble wherever she went. Nikolai had found this out himself when they met in high school, which he so fondly called the 'Incident'. She became a close friend of his after the 'Incident' occurred. She also became a fast enemy of the two students; they ended up getting expelled, although Nikolai was more responsible for that outcome. Not that anyone would say that, of course.

Rishika had the audacity to look offended at his question for just a moment, before a wide grin split across her face. "I got the dog girl—Aileen, I think her name was?—to loan me some of her assignments for cheap. At least now I'll finally get what McCal is talking about in their statistics classes." 

"Did you blackmail her or something?" Another more disapproving tone interjected before Nikolai could get a word in. A flash of raven-black feathers indicated the arrival of Faust, who promptly settled himself into his usual position on Nikolai's right. Rishika shook her head vigorously.

"Hardly! I just needed to ask, and she was more than obliging." She tutted a bit before closing her eyes. "Sometimes simply asking is the best way."

"She was probably terrified." Nikolai's own lips twitched into a grin as he surveyed the courtyard. "You're a rather intimidating person, even when you aren't trying to be." 

The courtyard was less busy than usual, which was odd. The last gasps of the summer months often drew everyone to the outdoors in a bid to bask in the warmth before the long winter set in. Nikolai knew for a fact that he wasn't too eager to have to bundle up again, hence why he was out here. His body was naturally warm and to be wrapped in scarves and blankets was near-torture for him. This didn't seem to be the same case for others. Besides the flock of Alkonosts, there was a wyvern, a fae, a faun, and a few groups of various other species dispersed among the trees. 

"Well, I'm rather flattered by that declaration, Nikolai." Rishika rested a talon on her chest as she sent him a rueful smirk. "It's the closest thing to a compliment you've ever given." 

Now it was Faust's turn to give a scoff as he leaned back on the picnic bench, focusing his attention skywards. Nikolai followed his gaze to the windows of the North Courtyard. The university itself was impressive, but the architecture was truly a marvel. Given that the university was an old castle generously loaned by a few nobles, the mixture of gothic arches with Edwardian flair was breathtaking when first seen. After several classes and near breakdowns, though, Nikolai deduced that it lost a bit of its charm. 

He was about to prod Faust to see what was on his mind—presumably, something to do with James—but a flash of colours in one of the windows caught his attention first. The figure that the colour belonged to seemed to pause and look towards them, as though they knew they were being observed. Nikolai's smile grew broader as he leaned forward, taking in their still form. Alkonosts had wonderful sight-another perk of their natural predation- and Nikolai could see every detail of their observer's face. He leaned to his right and jabbed his elbow sharply into Faust's side, gesturing to the observer. 

"It seems like we have an audience." Faust focused his attention to where Nikolai had indicated, and arched an eyebrow in response. 

Nikolai, in return, leaned forward further and shot a rather exaggerated wink and kiss to where the observer stood, prompting Faust to let out a chuckle. The observer seemed to bristle at the attention and hurry off, leaving Nikolai to watch their form disappear past the remaining few windows. 

"Was that necessary?" Faust asked, closing his eyes again. 

"Well, I strive to make our audiences feel welcomed. Besides," Nikolai paused and looked between his two friends. "Do any of you recognize what that was?"

Both Rishika and Faust shook their heads. None of the flock seemed able to assign what species their mysterious observer belonged to, leaving Nikolai feeling unsatisfied. Hopefully, he'd run into the observer at a closer proximity. 

They were interesting, and interesting things were something that Nikolai always strived to collect.

[fics-in-a-bottlepost]

Here's another one that got lost in some black hole on this platform. Courferre(Combeferre/Courfeyrac, Les Mis) this time.

It's a few minutes after 6 when Combeferre drinks the first sip of his coffee and takes a look at his calender. Tomorrow is the one year anniversary of his bookshop. He quickly finishes his coffee, feeds Blaise, his cat, and changes his pjamas for some sportswear before he heads out the door with Blaise on his tail who then disappears around the next corner. Combeferre starts his daily morning run, the route isn't long and therefore barely takes him 30 minutes but he loves seeing the city wake up while he was already on his feet. He doesn't meet many people except for his neighbor Jehan Prouvaire who greets him with a big smile and a "why don't you drop by occasionally? I baked a lot these past few days and could really use someone to taste them!"

Ferre smiles at them and promises to drop by in the afternoon before he goes on.

Apart from a few people with their dogs and a few other people on their morning runs he meets nearly noone. He waves at the young man in the wheelchair who always sits in front of the house at the crack of dawn and gets a cute smile back. Wait-did he just refer to another man's smile as...cute? He tries not to think about it for now and watch out for any obstacles on his way instead.

Combeferre stops abrupt at the corner as he hears a feminine voice behind him. "Hello Courfeyrac. Don't you want to come inside? Breakfast is ready and It's still pretty cold, sweety." She isn't talking to him, obviously, but he's heard that voice before. It's the woman that drops by his bookshop at least once a week, buying a book from different topics each week. He turns around to see her talking to the young man in the wheelchair who's mostly reading in the morning but now just looking around with a book in his lap. Combeferre has seen his movements the past few weeks and months, he can barely lift his hands to turn the side of the books he's reading. He watches the curly haired lift his book a few inches. "I know Courf. One day I'll take you too the bookstore with me. When papa comes back. I can't carry you inside the store, there's no way you can get inside with that wheelchair with those steps outside. One day Courf, one day." she says and patts his head as she turns the wheelchair to roll her son inside.

Ferre spends almost all day in his garage after a quick stop at his shop for some notes and measurements. Apart from Lunch, which Jehan comes by for and takes him back to their house. Ferre loves their house and especially their food, which is vegan and always incredibly tasty. He's glad that Jehan thought of him because he'd probably forget to eat at all. They doesn't let him leave without taking a bag of different cookies and some apple-pumpkin bread. When he gets back to his house he finishes his project with a quick few screws. Then he makes a call and within 10 minutes his friend Grantaire stops with his van outside. The artist helps him carry the ramp he build into the car and unload it at the store until he's off to his boyfriend Enjolras. It fits perfectly over the stairs as he planned. He opens the shop door for a minute to stick a small card into a book he ordered for Courfeyracs mother-or probably Courfeyrac- and decides to drop it off at their house. The man himself sits outside, enjoying the warm air and the rays of sun with closed air. His eyes snap open as Combeferre stops in front of him. The taller man awkwardly pulls the book from his sling bag and holds it within Courfs reach. The brunett smiles at the sight of the book, his smile expands even more as he opens it and reveals the message.

"Dear Courf." he reads whispering "If someone would have told me they would like to visit my shop but couldn't due to their condition of health I would have done something earlier. Anyway, I adapted the entry to the bookshop to your needs and would like to invite you to drop by. Sincerely, Combeferre(the owner)" the card falls from his hands onto the book in his lap as he stares up at Combeferre with shining eyes.

"Really?", he whispers and Combeferre can only nod as the other grabs his hand and squeezes it as a thanks. He returns the gesture as the front door opens and Courf mother walks outside. She recognizes him immediately, judging by the look on her face. She tilts her head at Ferre as her son let's go off Combeferres hand and reaches out to give her the card. She reads in silent as both man stare at her, then turns to Combeferre as she lays the card down in Courf lap. "Thank you so much." she says and shakes his hand. He smiles at her and nodds politely. Courf tucks at her sleeve and makes a gesture with one hand as she let's go of the other man's hand and faces him. "I've got to work to tomorrow, Courf. I can't stay at the bookstore all day long, even if I want. Maybe overmorrow." she answers to his question. The smile on Courfs face disappears and it almost breaks Combeferres heart as he looks at him. "Uh..." he disrupts. Both mother and son turn to look at him. "I could take him with me. I gotta work between 9 and 13 and later between 14.30 and 18 o clock but he could stay as long as he wants." he suggests. Courfeyracs face lights up as his mother agrees. Heloise, as she introduces herself properly, and Combeferre arrange for him to pick up Courfeyrac at 8:30. Courf can decide for himself if he wants to go home and she will come and pick him up.

Ferre almost can't sleep that night. He's too busy thinking about whether Courfeyrac will like his shop. Hes running on 5 hours of sleep and 4 coffee when he stops by Courfs house after his morning run, a quick shower and a few slices of Jehans bread . His new friend sits in front of the door already, wearing blue jeans and a yellow sweatshirt and brightly smiling at Ferre. Heloise stands at the kitchen window next to the door and waves back at Combeferre as he waves at her and moves over to Courfeyrac wheelchair. He finds himself quiet liking the feeling of the handles as he pushes his new friend the way to his bookshop. He needs some more energy to push the wheelchair up the ramp but it's worth it, he decides as Courfeyrac beams with happiness when he looks around and can't even get his mouth closed. They spend the first hour just getting to knew each other in lack of any customers. Combeferre provides him with one of his favourite books "a brief History of Time".

Its 9.45 sharp when the doorbell rings, causing Courfeyrac to flinch in surprise. A red and a green hoodie came into Combeferres field of view through the open door of the backroom and the long hallway as Enjolras and Grantaire enter the shop. Combeferre excuses himself from Courfeyracs side to walk to the front and get the hoard of books R ordered from the cubboard behind the counter. They're mostly art books but some others too. Enjolras gasps as he sees the amount of books his boyfriend wants to purchase but runs off shortly after to look for the second book of a sequel he just started. A shriek rings out from the back where Enj just vanished, followed by a loud bang and both R and Ferre rush to the source of the sound. They find Enj sitting on the ground with a book in his hands and the old wooden latter laying next to him. He's staring at Courf sitting in the corner of the room who dropped his book when Enji first saw him. "Oh shit, I'm so sorry. " Enjolras gasps when he finds his voice again. "Uh, this is my friend..." Combeferre starts but gets cut off by Grantaire. "Courfeyrac, right?"

Mentioned man slightly smiles and nodds. Enjolras carefully reaches for his hand and squeezes it for a second, Grantaire just waves from the back and sets the ladder back to its feet. Combeferre introduces them to each other and picks up the book laying in front of the wheelchair before he pushes him towards the front of the room as Courf asks.

After Grantaire pays for all of his books and Enjolras' as well, Combeferre helps them carry the hoard to Grantaires van in front of the shop. The next few hours are calm, there's only one old lady buying a book and a college student picking a few about mathmatics up. So Courf and Ferre spend their time laying on the big couch in the backroom together and Ferre reading aloud while Courfeyrac lays half on him. They only stop once when Courfeyrac whispers "there's something at the door. I can hear it" and Ferre gets up only to come back with his tabby cat, Blaise who drops by on a regular basis as he's free to go around the city all day. They stop reading when Ferre lays back down and Blaise joins them within Courfeyracs arm reach who happily cuddles her the whole time as he and Ferre talk about different topics. Courf states he never had any friends because it was never nice being a kid that couldnt walk and even barely move and it certainly isn't better being a 22 year old who still can't walk and move just a little bit more than he could 15 years ago.

At the end of the day, Combeferre drops Courf, who he declared as his best friend by now, at his house at 18.30. From now on Combeferre joins him at work almost every day as long as he doesn't have to go to therapy and even helps him a bit, as his physical abilities seem to improve, by calculating the prizes of several books faster than Combeferre can even type them into his old register or putting new books into the shelf within his reach. The curly haired is extremely good at memorizing the names, covers, topics and prizes of almost all books of Combeferres store in a few weeks which is very useful when people come by his store to buy a book they only know the cover or the content off. It takes Combeferre exactly 12 days to accept he's fallen in love with Courf which makes him a bit stressed. When he tries to get help from his friends in their groupchat, R simply answeres "you gotta tell him." and Joly sends a "bring him to our next meeting at Jehan's when you told him". The next day he spends busy with many customers which distracts him a bit from his "problem". But of course his friend notices that he is tense and sits him down in the break. Combeferre doesn't say a word at first but as Courf keeps asking him he leaps up to his feet and throws his arms in the air. "Fine! You want to know what's wrong?" he asks exasperated. Courf nodds and tilts his head a little bit. Combeferre moves around the room and messes up his hair. Then: "I'm in love with you!"

Courf eyes widen and he takes quiet a moment before he reaches out to grab Combeferres shirt and make him stop. His friend stares at him, as he drags at his shirt to get him closer. "Stop running around." he says. "I'd like to kiss you." he continues and takes all his strength together to reach for Ferres collar and drag him down to his height. Combeferre obeys and sits back on the couch as Courf cups his jaw with one hand and pulls him closer to press his lips on Combeferres. He feels Combeferre melt into the kiss as his his hands find their way into his curls and he pulls Courf even closer.

None of them notices the ringing of the doorbell OR Enjolras standing in the doorway with R by his side who's taking a photo of them before E coughs. They withdraw and stare at the other two before Courf throws himself at Ferre again. E and R leave chuckling and with a "finally" as his boyfriend lifts Courf out of the wheelchair and onto his lap to pull him closer. "yes, finally." both Courf and Combeferre think to themselves.

[thepeakyfckingblinders]

Of Forbidden Kisses And Wrenching Promises || Ada Shelby x fem!reader

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested: “hey, could I request prompt 20 for Ada please? your writing is amazing btw! ”  (Thank you love ♡)

Summary:  n.20 from my prompt list: “As long as I am alive” Warnings: swearing, mentions of family abuse, references to homophobic harassment, maybe angst

Author’s notes:

I just reached 357 followers, yay! Thank you so much babes ♡

Behind each one of these works there are sleepless nights and something really close to multiple mental breakdowns, so, please, take a minute to send me a message about it, I need actual feedbacks to understand how to improve my skills and grow ♡

PLEASE, IF YOU’RE A VICTIM OF ANY SORT OF ABUSE, SEEK FOR HELP, YOU DON’T HAVE TO GO THROUGH THIS ALONE.

I’m sorry for being this late, but I’ve been really busy in the past days and writing is never just easy, it demands concentration and effort, plus I don’t want you to be disappointed, so I’m always extra accurate while working. I hope this is worth the wait!

I assumed this was a request for an Ada x female reader, if I misunderstood your message, I’m so so so sorry, contact me and I’ll do my best to make your wishes come true!

If you want to be added to my tag list, please, directly message me

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also, please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

When the first reticent knock hit the rugged surface of her door, Ada was still pacefully immersed in a deep slumber. She dreamt of an exquisite white dress  made of voile and organza, soft and floaty in the late March bitter air, the nectarous parfume of uncountable orange blossoms garnishing the marble altar, a small church crowded with her loved ones, slightly anxious due to the endless wait. Actually, more than once, her subconscious had previously set up similar romantic scenarios thanks to her evergreen imagination. Truth was that, buried in her heart, laid a burning desire for that special day to come soon, only God knew how much she wanted to walk down the aisle on the arm of her beloved eldest brother, always keeping her fond eyes locked with her lover’s ones; and, no matter how fully aware she was that her fantasies never would have come true, at least nobody could deprive her of those tender imaginary moments.

But then, just as the opening notes of the wedding march resounded in the bright nave, a series of new blows, this time much heavier and more insistent, rabidly stole her from her sweet dreams, making her eyelids flinch with dismay. Barely a minute passed, as her drowsy brain struggled to retrieve enough lucidity, yet again a pair of apparently restless fists caught her attention. ”Someone better be dying, it’s fucking 3 a.m.!” With that angry groan, followed by a few abrupt movements, she rolled out of bed without even wearing her woolen housecoat, and, careless of the cold, she hastily reached for the door, ready to shout in Tommy’s cocky face all of her annoyance for that rude disruption of her serene sleep. Still, when she peeped into the corridor, Thomas was not there, and her breathe cracked as she found herself unexpectedly contemplating a horryfying sight, to say the least.

Your trembling figure was standing right in front of her, pure painc contaminating your martyred face, while your y/e/c eyes, as dire as stravation, disturbingly stared at Ada with blind terror swimming in them. The shock was overwhelming, to the point that one of her hands instinctively went to cover her open mouth, partially muffling her shaking voice which came out in an almost unaudible sigh. “Oh my God, y/n, what have they done to you?” She carefully led you inside the room before closing the door behind your shoulders, so many questions were torturing her mind as her fingers gently started to trace the limbs of the multiple bruises deturping your angelic features. Your swollen eyes were cordoned by several black and blue marks, greenish welts covered your cheekbones, multiple bad cuts defaced your brow, the bridge of your nose, your wonderful lips; for an endless moment, her heartbeat stopped, and a violent feeling of nausea forcefully climbed her throat, when the mere thought of the rest of your poor body ran through her groggy head. “M-my father… he saw us, I-I don’t know how… I don’t kn-now… He found out, he’s…” Your chest raised and lowered at an unbearable rate, clearly showing the destructive effects of a recent trauma on your frail self, you didn’t even seem able to formulate proper sentences, since they sporadically spilled out of your mouth in fleeble sobs, so you decided to pause that unquiet rambling for a brief moment, tightly shutting your eyes closed and desperately pressing your wet cheek against Ada’s left palm, despite the sharp pain, because you irremediably needed to feel her close in order to regain strength. However, by the time your blurry gaze returned on her, you saw large tears stream on her porcelain face too. A dull ache radiated through your sternum due to that excruciating view, and you forced yourself to hold back your crying, somehow managing to appear calmer; the two of you had to deal with that cruel reality, there was no way you could avoid it, moreover you were quickly running out of time as the clock kept dangerously ticking.  “He’s sending me to an institute in French, Ada. A-a ship is leaving in a couple hours and-” Before you could pronounce your next word, she impetuosly got away from your half embrace, prey of her own rage and consternation, aghast to hear that terrible news. “No! He can’t do that, fucking hell, no!”  Those hysteric shrieks erupted from her stinging craw while her hands ended up between her short curly hair in a gesture of silent vexation, her feet eluded the control of her mind, frenetically starting to drag her from one side of the bedroom to another, as if those irrational movements could help her figure out a solution. “We can’t let him-… w-we have to do something, there must be something we can do!”

Her agonizing loud cries tore your ears and soul apart, actual weeps were now leaving her pale lips, in part illuminated by the silver light of the moon radiating through the windows, then her bluish irises pierced yours, expressing all of her destructive sorrow and having a massive knot form in your throat, mercilessly obstaculating your already irregular ventilation. Carefully, you approached her, stretching out your arms in her direction, until your palms enfolded her gelid face; your thumbs began to warmly rub her skin, whiping some tears here and there, with such a care conceivable only thanks to the deepest love.

“Ada, my love, listen to me. I have to go, for our sake” your forehead slowly joined to hers, while you whispered those words to convince yourself as well that that was the right choice to make “my father… he-e threatened to report us to the police. And look at me, look what he’s done to me, he w-will kill us both, if I don’t leave today” Suddenly her fingers entangled yours, still laid on her soft cheeks, and you watched a spark of hope grow in her dilated pupils. “We can run away, Tommy will help us find a place, we can-” You slightly nodded your head no, painfully biting your lips because of your fervent frustration. You knew she was not thinking straight, your family had been in business with the Peaky Blinders for three years now, your father was a dangerous man, any sort of interference with that awful situation would’ve certainly disrupted the delicate balance between the two clans.

“Thomas can’t help us, he will always find me. I had to sneak out of the window to see you tonight, walking in the shadow like a filthy thief. Pol helped me, but God knows what will happen, if he finds out. I have to leave.” You brought your mouth to cover hers, temporarily dampening her desperate wailings, holding her body close, in attempt to make her perceive all of your affection, deliberately ignoring the soreness of your injuried ribs. For those few minutes all of your affliction disappeared, you passionately kissed your lover till you literally run out of breathe, but again, you didn’t care, and you just went on; until Polly entered the room with death floating in her dark irises. “Y/n, we need to go now, there is no much time left, darling" Her aunt’s subdued tone was evidently borne by melancholy, she looked at your entangled figures with the ken of a woman who had experienced the sour taste of separation, it felt like having your heart ripped out of your chest, she had felt so many kinds of pain, but none of them was nearly comparable to that tremendous grief. With a last peck on your lips, Ada took your hands and placed them at the height of her beating heart. “I’ll look for you, for as long as I am alive. And I’ll find you, no matter how long it takes, I will bring you back home, y/n, I promise.”

tag list: @namelesslosers; @shadow-of-wonder; @spidey-pal

[agata-almeida]

Date: 23rd of September

Time: 1:52 PM

“The Doe in the Headlights”

There was a prevalent tension in Astor on the Monday that followed the first major onslaught to the Academy. Although a few people were desperately attempting to return into normality, underneath the obvious charade was a deafening disturbance.

Astor’s resident deviant was amongst those anguished from the weekend’s events. Word got out fairly quickly, causing her parents to contact her Sunday morning. To others, they would perceive it as worry towards their beloved única filha; but she saw through their sounding concern. The Almeidas were looking for any excuse to withdraw her from Astor and re-enrol her into an institution of their choosing, especially since it was only the beginning of the academic year.

A troubled Agata sat on her usual corner-seat in the lecture theatre, nose buried in her Political Theory notes, but thoughts fitful regarding the morning’s announcement from the headmaster. The mundane sounds of a typical lecture was blaring  — her seatmate sporadically clicking his pen, the large clock ticking by the slow seconds, and the professor’s voice echoing through the hall  — but they all came to an abrupt halt.  Agata’s attention shot over to the well-dressed figure by the doorway.

Headmaster Astor’s secretary stood by the room’s entrance. His character more sombre than its usual. All eyes were on him as everyone waited apprehensively. “I request the presence of Miss Agata Almeida to the headmaster’s office.” He finally announced, passing everyone’s attention to an astonished Agata. For a brief moment she sat paralysed, not knowing how to react or what to do. “We don’t have the luxury or patience to wait Miss Almeida.” The man said. “Now.” He demanded, gesturing her to follow. 

Wide-eyed, and lips slightly parted, Agata collected her belongings and rose from her seat to leave the lecture theatre. Upon taking one final glance at the lecture hall before her departure, she caught a mixture of reactions from everyone  — some surprised, some weren’t, some disgusted, and some in utter amusement.

Although sporting a calm demeanour, without a doubt Headmaster Arthur Astor was fuming. Agata was notorious for being in dispute with authority, especially when she knows she is right; however, she thought it was smart to comply without resistance. There was nothing more she wanted to do than to ask how the investigators came into the conclusion that she was involved in the destruction that occurred the Friday prior, but she bit her tongue. The faster she can answer the pressing questions, the better for her crumbling reputation.

“ Where,exactly, were you in the evening of the play?” The man asked, causing Agata’s brows to twitch inwards. 

“I was in the Alpha Theatre, watching the play.” She replied. The problem with her response was that it lacked any sort of justification. It was the truth but no one will vouch for it. That was because she went to the event without a date. The very little friends she had already made prior plans, therefore she decided to attend unchaperoned.

“ Is there anyone who can corroborate your story for you? “ He questioned. Agata gulped as she recalled the evening.

There was technically Kingston Overstreet, who she walked with from the theatre to the mess of the East Dining Hall. She weighed in whether or not she should mention that to the irate and desperate headmaster who would blame anyone for the wreckage. If she told Headmaster Astor about Kingston, will he involve an innocent Kingston? If Kingston does end up getting questioned, will it do any good to her when the boy will admit that he had only met Agata after the entire performance and did not accompany her throughout? 

“I’m afraid I went without company, sir.” She said truthfully, her expression growing weary. She wanted to add that he could ask random students about her presence in the play; but that was good as self-incriminating.

“What did you do in response to the incident?” He asked with one greying eyebrow raised. Though he most likely meant, have you stolen anything as a memorabilia for what you’ve created?

“I didn’t do anything sir.” She stammered, leaving out the part that she stole a bottle of wine. “There was nothing we students could have done to alleviate the situation.” She added to justify her answer. “I mean, I spoke to a few students about what happened because I arrived late to the dining ha-”

“You arrived late?” He interrupted. Agata cursed herself for even mentioning so. It was a rookie mistake to make while being interrogated, and she knew that. Her nerves had gotten the best of her and she just happened to slip. 

“I stayed in the theatre for a bit, you know, as respect to the crew who were cleaning up. I mean, why should I, as only a spectator, hurry to the gathering while they’re still working.” She explained in haste. “It’s not fair, they did more for the play than half the spectators.” She finished, brows completely furrowed.

“Though we are here to discuss your morals Miss Almeida, that is not what I’m looking for.” He said dismissively. “Do not try to stray away from the questions. I need honest clean-cut answers from you because at the moment, this is not looking great for you.”

With a sigh of exasperation, Agata sat back against the rest. 

“Miss Almeida, did you witness anything worth noting about the event?” He queried, looking her dead in the eyes. The sight made her palms sweat. 

At an attempt of recalling Friday evening, she noted that Kingston appeared to be waiting for something. She remembered that she wondered about who or what he was waiting for. They had also parted so suddenly, and that she never got the chance to ask him. 

She recalled briefly making conversation with Daniel Choi, who did not appear as pristine as always. She remembered seeing his hands fiddling in his pockets, and his stare glued to the devastated staff who prepared the meal for the evening.

She couldn’t forget how Astor’s resident rebel reacted to the surprising wreckage; how Kellan was calm and uncaring about the unfolding drama. She remembered his dismissive texts, trying to stir away from what she wanted to discuss seriously with him.

Everything she witnessed seemed as though they were all worth noting. It made her head throb mid-interview. Her stomach churned but she prevented from pouring her brunch onto the headmaster’s desk. She did not want to get anyone into trouble, considering that she had no sufficient proof of her theories.

“The..the writing on the wall.” She finally said. Her head spun as she remembered what was written. “It was,” She paused to swallow. “It was telling us something.” She added, shaking her head. “Everyone’s handwriting is unique. What if...” She trailed off, her eyes lit up briefly. “What if we use that fact to find out who did this?”

“I don’t need to analyse handwriting Miss Almeida if you just tell me everything you know about the Arsonists.” He demanded, leaving Agata even more bewildered and frustrated than she was from the get go. His tone had grown accusatory, and demeaning. In that moment, she realised that whatever she answered, they would twist her words and point everything back to her. They were going to clip her wings, but she will have none of it.

“I don’t know.” She said, her jaw clenching. “I’m not one of them sir.” She declared, trying to maintain her composure despite the migraine and the ache. “I have a corporate firm to take over once I graduate from law school. I would never do anything to jeopardise that.” She rose up without permission, more infuriated than scared that time. “Now if you will excuse me, I have a class to finish. I will comply to your demands if you manage to find proof that I’m involved with any of this, or the Arsonists.” 

She left, knowing that they won’t show anything unless they produce or plant the evidence themselves. She smiled, knowing that she went against the headmaster without getting herself suspended or expelled.

[critrateup]

Run It Back: Kingdom Hearts 1.5 -- The Introduction and Destiny Islands

The title screen of Kingdom Hearts remains to be my favorite intros in all of games. Dearly Beloved is a theme which by now has been arranged, reprised, and remixed into about a dozen official versions. It’s a theme so iconic that rather than start fresh with an entirely new track for each new series entry, it’s been repurposed as an overture of sorts -- every reimagining of the track can tell you something about tone, beats, and themes present in the game ahead. In this instance, the theme has a somewhat melancholy bass line married to a flittering melody. The rhythm goes in an unhurried circle arriving back unto itself, accompanied by the sounds of waves gently crashing onto the shore. Sora stands in a beautiful watercolor illustration, alone and looking out at the sea. Like most of the other parts of the game that I remember fondly, the elements come together in a way that just feels right. Sora is alone, and though his expression is relaxed you get the feeling that he isn’t quite happy either. There’s a touch of mourning to the scene, which stands as a somewhat abrupt contrast to the expectations one would bring to a licensed Disney game in the early 2000’s -- something was different this time, and it was exciting!

The menu options are unfussy. You can start a new game or load a save (and in the case of the ReMIX versions, back out to the game select screen), and upon starting a new file you’re greeted with an intro cinematic. The cinematic starts with a beautifully rendered cloudscape that flashes the title in an unstylized, spartan, and serif’d font, and fades into a scene with Sora voiced by Haley Joel Osmant narrating his thoughts. It feels a little surreal, with him floating in space eyes half closed, wondering aloud to himself if he can trust his grasp of reality anymore. It sets the tone for the series, and places its production values front and center with a flashy cinematic delivering visuals well beyond what the hardware could deliver and professional Hollywood voice acting on par with what we’d expect from a Disney production yet surpassing performances we’d heard from up to that point. It also captures a certain angst that just resonated really well with 14 year old me. My stresses were piled high though I wouldn’t know to call them that at the time. I was just beginning to process some intense personal trauma that had occured very recently; national tragedy had struck the year before, with 9/11 and the G.W Bush Administration altering the course of American politics; and of course I was just entering high school, and all the baggage that brings along. Something about the way Sora saw himself falling from the sky, eyes closed and unable or unwilling to take control of his descent, resonated close and hard with me.

This is also the first time we hear the iconic Simple and Clean track, here as the -PlanitB Mix- with clubby vibe that marks the dramatic sweeps of the chorus have just a little more flair. The soundtrack to Kingdom Hearts was so good that it led to me hunting down a copy of the soundtrack at Tower Records. The craziest thing to me was that it had a domestic release (!) complete with the english (!!) versions of the Utada tracks and an unabridged, two-disc version of the soundtrack. Yoko Shimomura has since become a favorite composer of mine, to the point where I’d instantly recognized her work when I saw the first Final Fantasy XV trailer.

As a somewhat technical aside, The PS4 remaster runs at 60 frames per second, while the original ran at about 30. While the gameplay with look and act much smoother as a result, it is worth noting that the animation in the cutscenes has been keyed to 30fps resulting in a visual discontinuity when moving to and from cutscenes to live gameplay. It’s understandable, but it also shows the beginnings of what will be a recurring question with the remastered version of the game running on modern hardware: should the game be presented as the original was in 2002, and what should be modernized to make the game more akin to something of a remaster (or ReMIX in KH parlance) in 2013 then again in 2017. Although I recognize the sheer amount of work hours it would have taken to go back and essentially reanimate every cutscene in the game would border on absurd, it does give the impression that there was some work the developers and management at Square Enix were seemingly willing and unwilling to do in a re-presentation of the game -- this is not a no-holds-barred recreation of the original, nor is it quick and dirty supplanting of the original. Rather, it’s something that lands in the world between, and I’ll be noting such seems as they occur to me.

The opening with the stained glass figures is still striking as ever, and the constant moody, cryptic narration sets the mysterious vibe well. There’s a short sequence of actual gameplay that gives a brief tutorial of basic movement and attacking controls, then asks you with somewhat cryptic messages to essentially choose a build for your playthrough. I chose defense as my boosted stat in my original playthrough because of the way it’s worded. “The power of the guardian. Kindness to aid friends. A shield to repel all.” Of course these were values that I was All About™ but to be frank in later years when I discovered speedrunners and disgustingly destructive magic builds I became all about them, and would probably have never chosen Defense as a buffed stat in any of my playthroughs to begin with. It’s telling how effective the copy is when I still feel a pang of shame in sacrificing the shield as my default stat nerf.

The opening moments of gameplay on the Destiny Islands are totally unremarkable, and serve to highlight a coming weakness in the game -- namely, the clunky as hell platforming, with something of an identity crisis to come. It attempts to make stages interesting and fun by including varied elements of traversal and platforming, but the game’s unforgiving movement and jumping mechanics make it a difficult sell. With small ledges, an obtuse camera, finicky movement and facing requirements, a seeming lack of jump buffering and ledge forgiveness (more on that here https://www.patreon.com/posts/gamemaker-tips-14531948), getting precise movement out of Sora takes a whole lot of patience. Some of this will later be alleviated with Metroidvania-esque upgrades like a glide and a high jump, but running through the game’s platforming challenges with a vanilla Sora is tedious. Punishment for missing jumps can be harsh, reminiscent of Ratchet and Clank’s Planet Novalis Waterworks where a single misstep would send you to the back of the line to redo an entire sequence.

There’s something kind of cool and again telling in the way the tides are rendered on the beach. They’re GIF-y, cycling between a few frames of canned sea foam animation. Out of place as they may look running natively on a Playstation 4 in 2018, the way the gentle ebb and flow are rendered serve as a quaint reminder of the hardware that served the original entry -- it’s something of a momento mori for the videogame age.

The cave/secluded room on Destiny Islands has a bunch of really cool chalk drawings that I recommend you check out. Some of them seem to be of elements to come in the series, like the royal castle, starry adventures, and what even appears to be a Donald and Goofy. Weather intentional markers of the series’ now apparent time traveling and mysticism shenanigans or just fun little easter eggs for attentive players using the first person view function, it’s still a nice touch.

After some tedious gathering missions meant to familiarize you with the controls, Sora’s weighty movement, and some minor characters, the meat of the story begins to reveal itself. The introduction of the trio of Kairi, Sora, and Riku is mostly to the point -- Sora is excitable, smiley, and kind of a bag of rocks; Riku is intent on accompishing his goal of leaving the islands, seemingly in spite of the costs; and Kairi is kind if somewhat mischievous. There’s something of a love triangle painted between the three which serves to further drive their division in the coming cataclysm.

This is (to my knowledge) the only time the parents of Sora, Kairi, and Riku are even briefly acknowledged in the series. There’s a quick and disembodied line about dinner being ready at Sora’s house, and Kairi only briefly mentions family as the island is being torn apart from within. It’s kind of weird and maybe telling that Nomura and company weren’t sure how the game was going to do and what kind of future it may or may not have had coming. It’s a weird appendage to the series that seems impossible not to acknowledge.

And with that, the trio are sucked into the abyss, we get a glimpse of King Mickey’s castle, Riku in what we’ll later discover is Hollow Bastion, and Donald and Goofy are introduced. The story is told from and omniscient, cross-cutting point of view and I think it works for the most part. There are a lot of threads to keep track of, with characters we’re given lots of reasons to care about. In a game where the player character is one of a group of protagonists, each thematically and literally lost and in search of something, it creates a bigger payoff in dramatic tension to see them criss cross and near miss in pursuit of one another.

Next time, we’ll visit Traverse Town and discuss it’s soothing, soft-porn sax track at the crossroads of every world.

[cilldaracailin]

Under Pressure

This story is on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23570293/chapters/56548318

18

“Sometimes the greatest adventure is simply a conversation.”

“So, did I hear Maggie say you were going home tomorrow?” asked Taron breaking the silence the four had been sitting in for the last few minutes. “Have you just been here on holiday?” He really needed to start the conversation going again because not only was the constant hammering from Frankie and the others trying to break into the bank from the aisle across from them not doing anything for his pounding head, he could feel his head lolling and his eyes closing as sleep threatened to take him over. Sitting down, just gave his body, his battered and bruised body, a moment to rest and after four months of intense filming, it was a rest his body ached for. However, the throw he sat on and shelf he leant against was not his idea of a comfy place for a sleep and as he sat, he was definitely starting to feel his injuries but even his current uncomfortable circumstances couldn’t stop him from feeling heavy-eyed and drowsy.

“Oh no, I have been working here for the last six months. I work in a creche and but companies can apply do this exchange programme where you switch with a staff member from a creche in a difference country and work there for a period of time to experience how the other runs.”

“Oh, right that is pretty cool.”

“Yeah I was very excited to come here to Clearwater. I have been before on holiday and I love it here so it was great to come back and actually get to live here for a while.”

“She’s a bit obsessed with dolphins.” Chipped in Maggie.

“And although it has been an amazing experience coming to work here, there were challenges.”

“Christina,” Added Maggie. “Definite challenge.”

“Jesus Maggie.” Said Robyn looking at her friend.

“And she was planning on watching Rocketman this evening too to take said challenge from her mind.”

“Maggie!” Exclaimed Robyn as she brought her hands to her face.

“While eating lots of turtles.”

Taron felt the shelf move as Robyn hit her head against it, a frustrated sigh leaving her lips.

“Oh, I see that sunburn on your cheeks that you were talking about earlier, now.” Laughed Maggie as she watched her friend grow more embarrassed. “I am just making conversation, Robyn.” Added Maggie when Robyn gave her one of her teacher stares.

Robyn adored Maggie most of the time, but when she got into these giddy moods, Robyn got annoyed pretty quickly. She had already had a ridiculously stressful day and the events of the last two hours has been seriously burdening on her and she really needed Maggie to be less giddy and more aware of people’s emotions at the moment, particularly her own. Robyn had been strong for herself, Richard and Taron and had hoped her friend could have shown a little consideration and less flighty behaviour.

“I have heard that Rocketman is a decent movie.” Helped Taron when he saw Robyn’s shoulder’s rise and fall with annoyance as well as hearing the exasperated sigh that left her lips. He knew from the brief conversations he had had with her, that Robyn was definitely able to make a joke as well as take one, but could understand her reaction to Maggie, who he felt had taken the joke a little too far, as Robyn tried to answer his question. He knew that she had recognised him when he dropped his phone on the cashier desk earlier on, her surprised look giving it away but she had not once mentioned it or treated him any different because of who he was, not that she really had a choice given the situation they had found themselves, Taron not being able to put in words how much he appreciated how she had selfishly came and helped him without question, not knowing if he would ever be able to say it but what he did know was that it was a nice relief that she hadn’t done what Maggie had done and made a deal of sorts about knowing who he was and he was actually genuinely interested in getting to know the young woman who had not thought twice about helping him. ��Not too sure about the guy who played Elton though.” As he gently nudged her leg with his.

“Yeah he really wasn’t that great, was he.” She nudged him back.

“And I am partial to a turtle myself.” He laughed a little. 

“He had just run out.” Pipped up Richard, feeling for Robyn as Maggie called her out, glad to see that Taron was doing his very best to help her.

Feeling relieved that Taron was trying to lighten the mood she turned to look at him. If it was at all possible, the bruising on his cheek had darkened and his green eyes carried more fatigue then before. “Let’s take that pulse again.” Taron willingly moved his arm over to her and Robyn took his pulse once more, writing it down again. Still a little fast but Robyn knew Taron was hiding his pain so took that into account.

“You are going to have to show me how to do that,” Commented Taron as she put the pen down in-between them. “I am guessing because you work with children you have to be first aid trained.”

“Yeah and I happen to be first aid officer back home too so I get to do that extra training every now and again.”

“Well I am very grateful for that extra training. Now how do I do this? I know the basics behind it but can never get it.” Taron explained hoping his distraction would also distract Robyn.

She let Taron place her left arm on his leg and he looked at her waiting. “Two fingers at the top of the wrist almost in line with the thumb, not actually in the middle of the wrist and then you should feel the heartbeat.” Robyn guided Taron’s fingers into the right place on her wrist and watched as his eyes focused on what he was doing.

“Oh, I got it.” He said excitedly. “Now how do I count it.”

“Count the beats for thirty seconds and then double the number you get and you should get my rate of my pulse.” Robyn placed her other arm on Taron’s leg so he could look at her watch and again watched as he visibly nodded his head to each beat of her heart.

“So, eight-six beats per minute then. That good or bad?” he asked

“That is fast, faster than normal for me. Not bad.” She added quickly when she saw Taron’s face frown. “But then a lot has happened in the last two hours so it would be expected that my pulse is a little fast.”

“Pen please and the paper!” Said Taron holding his hand out.

“What?”

“I want to write it down for you. Doctors may need it.”

“Taron you are right-handed.”

“I can write two numbers with my left hand.” He countered. “Gimmie.”

Robyn handed the noted pad over to Taron and he settled it on his knee and taking the pen he awkwardly wrote eight-six on the page. When he was done, he handed it back to her.

“Satisfied?”

“Yes.” He answered contently.

“So, we are going to just skip over the whole Rocketman thing?” Asked Maggie as she sat up.

“The whole Rocketman thing?” Repeated Robyn looking to Maggie, finding it almost hard to believe that she was bringing Rocketman up once again, starting to feel very annoyed with her friend. “How it is a movie and it’s a wonderful movie that tells a heartbreakingly sad story about a man who just wanted to be loved and have love in his life with an outstanding soundtrack to go with it? About how it showed an utterly devastatingly sad relationship between a mother, a father and their son? A movie that showed a man who spiralled downhill only to build himself back up to feel loved and worth something?”

“Well yeah.” Said Maggie taken aback by the slightly abrupt tone in Robyn’s voice.

“Then what else do we need to say. It’s a beautiful movie and it just makes me want to listen to Elton John songs afterwards.”

“Which Elton song is your favourite?” Asked Taron wanting to break the tense atmosphere between the two friends beside him. He couldn’t even bring himself to tell Robyn how much he appreciated how she spoke about the movie he had been in, focusing on the story rather than anything else.

“I don’t think I have a particular favourite one, I quite enjoy them all but Are You Ready for Love always puts a smile on my face, mainly because I have a story behind it and of course Your Song is a classic.”

“What’s the story?” He asked. “About Are You Ready for Love?” He finished when he saw her confused look.

“Oh right. Well my friend, Claire and I drove to Limerick, in Ireland, a good few years ago to see Elton John in concert in a rugby stadium and it was so bloody cold, like freezing cold and raining and a bit miserable but then he played that song and the whole place just started to dance and it was amazing to watch and be a part of. It makes me smile when I hear it.”

“I like it when songs have stories like that and you sing?” He asked.

“Sorry?”

“You sing?” Asked Taron again. “When you were showing me how to control my breathing you seemed to know about warming up your voice before you sing, especially for those high notes. So, I am figuring you sing.”

“I sing,” Replied Robyn slowly.

“Uh-huh.” Taron raised an eyebrow to her urging her to go on.

“Back home, I am part of a gospel choir.”

“Oh really? That must be good fun. What kind of songs does your choir sing?”

“Yeah I love it and we sing everything and anything. Well I haven’t been in a while, obviously but I shall be back in rehearsal on Wednesday. I definitely miss it.”

“Have you had to sing a song by yourself?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Do you get nervous beforehand?” Asked Taron with interest. “Because now with Rocketman, I have had to do a lot more singing in front of people and I get so nervous.”

“I definitely get nervous, with that horrible butterfly feeling. You get that?”

“Yes, it’s definitely horrible.”

“For me, it’s not so much the singing part, that’s ok it’s more remembering the words. I have definitely had a big freak out before going on stage before, panicking that I was going to forget the words to the song I had to sing. I also stupidly got talked into doing an X-Factor style competition back home by a member of the choir. That was the most nervous I have ever been before singing. I almost didn’t go on stage but once I was up there, I was grand.”

Taron grinned at her. “X-Factor?”

“It was for a local musical society and I got roped into doing it.”

“What did you sing?”

“Hello by Adele but about three keys lower.”

Taron was immediately impressed. “Adele. She is amazing. The other time, when you thought you were going to forget the words? What song did you sing that time, with the choir?” Robyn looked to Taron with wide eyes. “What song Robyn? It was an Elton song, right?”

“Actually no. It was a Queen song. Somebody to Love?”

“Seriously? That is big powerhouse song.”

“Yes, it is.”

“You must have a great voice.”

“I can hold a tune.”

“So, when we get out of this, we are going to go to a bar that has karaoke and you are going to sing that for me.”

“Yeah absolutely not.”

“I will sing some Tiny Dancer in return.”

“Deal.” Replied Robyn immediately holding out her hand for a handshake, which Taron accepted and they awkwardly shook hands, Taron using his left and Robyn her right.

“Maybe we should have to have a sing off?” Suggested Richard.

“I don’t think so.” Replied Robyn quickly.

“No?” Asked Richard raising an eyebrow to her.

“Could pass some time for us.”

“Let’s not start something we can’t finish.” Grinned Robyn winking at Taron. “And I would have an unfair advantage as Taron is nursing some badly bruised ribs. He won’t be able to get those deep breathes in to hit those high notes, where as I can belt a note out here and now.” Taron started to laugh but on feeling his ribs protest knew exactly why Robyn had said what she said. He definitely would struggle to sing at the moment. “I mean I can hit that start note to Somebody to Love every time!”

Holding his side, Taron enjoyed the grin he felt on his face. A proper one since he had been in the car with Richard earlier.

“Ok well I don’t want to lose on grounds of bruised ribs, so let’s wait until we have hit that karaoke bar then.”

“I agree. So now that we have secured our second deal, how about I give your arms a once over? And Richard’s too and then maybe somehow I can get to your back?”

Taron’s grin gave way to a small smile. He had been enjoying the light banter with Robyn as it kept him distracted and he was needing some serious amount distraction at the moment. With a woozy stomach and groggy head, the talking was keeping his reality at bay.

“Taron?” He heard a soft voice call him name. “We can sit for another while if you want. I don’t mind. It won’t make any difference really. The little scratches on your arms are easily cleaned. We can torture Richard for a while first, while we keep chatting about music. I feel it is my turn for an interrogation. Or I can teach you the song about Tiny Tim the Turtle.” She suggested, glad to see that Taron lifted his eyes to look at her, the green shade changing to reflect each emotion he experienced. She decided she enjoyed the sparkle in his eyes much more than the gloomy apprehension she saw now.

“Tiny Tim?”

“He’s a turtle.” She said.

Taron couldn’t understand how she did it, but every time he was brought back to the uncertainty he facing, Robyn managed to lift his mood.

“I also have one about an alligator called Alfred.”

His left hand moved to rub his eyes as they stung with tiredness but it was a natural reflex that caused him to smile at the same time.

“So, Richard first?” Asked Robyn holding up the q-tips.

[littleshebear]

Destiny fanfiction: “Second Fiddle.”

Archive of Our Own link.

@dngrs-untld-hrshps-unnmbrd​ came up with the phrase, “Saladin Sunday,” earlier today and I’ve decided this needs to be a thing. I’m going to make fetch happen. So I threw together a little Saladin/Shaxx angst fic today. Got it done with an hour to spare. Happy Saladin Sun…no,  wait. Angsty Saladin Sunday everyone!

Saladin | Shaxx | Shiro-4 | Jolder (mention) | Zavala (mention) | OC (mention) | Saladin/Shaxx | Saladin/Jolder | Break-up | Angst | Saladin’s emotional repression | Shaxx’s emotional insecurity | Just talk it out lads.

“They’re making for Felwinter Peak.”

“You’re certain?” Saladin wasn’t entirely sure why he’d asked Shiro that. Shiro and his scouts were seldom wrong. Was he looking for reassurance? It was foolish to think he would withhold information for fear of hurting him. Shiro didn’t coddle. He had more respect for Saladin than that.

“What else could it be?” Shiro’s voice came through calm and measured over the comm. “There’s nothing else of value in the direction they’re headed. How soon can you be there?”

“Not soon enough.” Saladin marched down the plaza steps towards the Vanguard hall. “Leave it with me. Keep monitoring the Cosmodrome, keep me appraised.” He walked past Shaxx’s station before coming to an abrupt halt. He took a few moments to consider his next move. He looked over his shoulder. Shaxx was bent over a display, making out that he hadn’t seen him. Saladin knew it was a pretense from the way Shaxx’s ghost was peeking nervously over his fur-clad shoulder.

Get a hold of yourself, Forge. Be civil. He turned to face him. “Shaxx.” Shaxx drew himself up to his full height, ever so slowly. He wouldn’t hurry for anyone, least of all Saladin.

“What do you need?”

Saladin crossed over to him. “I have a matter that needs attention. Can you recommend a Guardian?”

“What?”

“Fallen.”

“Urgent?”

“Very.”

“Where?”

Saladin hesitated before answering, interrupting the flow of their curt, quick-fire exchange. “Old Russia.”

Saladin didn’t need to see Shaxx’s face to know he was scowling behind that faceplate. The causes of their rift had been effectively superseded by force of habit. The feud had become convention, a spiteful rut that neither had the will nor inclination to climb out of but with those two words it all came back. The old resentments suddenly hung over them like a cloud. Old Russia. Iron Lords. Lady Jolder.

Shaxx rolled back his massive shoulders as though he could just shrug off a couple centuries’ worth of bitterness. He nodded and said, “The Hivebane.” Saladin frowned quizzically so he added, “Volkova. Hunter, she’s good. She likes patrolling Old Russia. Nostalgia, I think.”

“Is she there now?” Asked Saladin.

“Check with Zavala.”

“Cayde, surely? You said she’s a Hunter.”

“Zavala,” Shaxx replied with more force than necessary, as though he disliked being second-guessed about even the most trivial points. “Zavala will know.”

“I’ll speak with him,” Saladin replied with a brief nod. “Thank you,” he added before turning away.

Shaxx called after him, “If I were to ask you what’s happened, would there be the slightest chance of you telling me?” The question sends Saladin’s mind back to the Twilight Gap.  The parts of the City that aren’t burning are coated in ash. Everything tastes of smoke, blood and grief. Saladin’s rational self knows it’s a bad idea to confront Shaxx now, when the wounds to their home and themselves are so fresh but his emotional self cannot let this go. Less than an hour ago, Shaxx was being feted by the people as a hero, lifted up on the shoulders of the stronger (and braver) Guardians around him. Now, he’s been hustled into Saladin’s quarters, asked to answer for his reckless behaviour.

“What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking about saving The City. Which is exactly what I did.” Shaxx has his hands on his hips, he’s implacable. He’s probably convinced he’s right.

“I gave you an order.”

“It was a stupid order.” Shaxx is almost certainly convinced he’s right.

“Shaxx, we are Titans, we are the Wall against which the Darkness breaks. We hold the line. We do not go haring off to-” Saladin can feel himself launching into a speech. He likes speeches. Shaxx does not.

“We do exactly what the enemy expects us to do. My, what a brilliant strategy!” If Saladin were less angry, he’d be impressed with Shaxx’s ability to sound sarcastic without raising his voice.

“If you had failed-”

“I didn’t.” Shaxx is definitely convinced he’s right.

“If you had failed, it would have left a gap in our defences large enough to let every-”

“I didn’t fail!”

Saladin wants to grab him by his shoulders and shake him. Why must he constantly interrupt? “Why won’t you listen? You never listen, you’ve no respect for-”

“If I’d suggested a counter-attack, you would’ve have dismissed it out of hand. You don’t respect me, you never have.”

Saladin stares at him. “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t trust me.”

“That’s not true.”

“The only people you ever trusted died in Old Russia and no one’s ever measured up since.”

“Please not this again.” Saladin hides his face in his hands. He can feel a weight pressing down on his shoulders. Only Shaxx could take a conversation about the chain of command and turn it into a domestic.

“I am tired of your refusal to listen, I am tired of being found wanting because I wasn’t an Iron Lord-”

“Shaxx, stop.” Saladin is rubbing his eyes, willing them not fill with tears. He’s tired. He’s seen so much loss. He can’t talk about this now.

“I’m tired of the secrets, you won’t talk to me about what happened-”

“We are not having this conversation.” He turns away, holding his hands up.

“No, I mean why would we? We never do. The Wall has nothing on you, you never let me in, I’m sick of it.”

Saladin rounds back on him, “That’s enough!”

“And I’m really sick and tired of playing second fiddle to a dead woman.”

Just like that, Jolder’s ghost looms between them and a silence falls on them, thick and heavy. When Saladin finally responds, his voice is barely more than a whisper.

“Get out.”

“Don’t look so shocked. When she charged into battle, you loved her for it. When I do it, you get angry. I’ve never measured up to Jol-”

“Do not say her name! How dare you drag her memory into this? Get out. Get out of my sight!” Saladin is roaring now, gesticulating at the door.

“I just-” Shaxx knows he’s pushed him too far. His voice and expression have taken on a pleading note but Saladin is no mood to give him a chance to justify his outburst.

“Get. Out.”

“Saladin?” Shaxx’s voice cut through Saladin’s memories. “What’s this about?”

Saladin looked up at Shaxx and briefly considered giving the speech he’d been rehearsing for decades but was always too stubborn to say. I trusted you. I believed in you. I still do. I never compared you to her. Not once. I loved you. I was trying to protect you because I didn’t want to lose you the way I lost her. But I lost you anyway.

“You can ask.” Saladin answered in a low voice. “I don’t think you’ll like the answer.”

Shaxx snorted and turned away with an almost imperceptible shake of his head. “Figures.” Saladin turned his back and walked towards the Vanguard Hall and his other protege. Shaxx watched him leave, telling himself that he wasn’t the least bit interested in what had Saladin so rattled. He turned back to his console.

“Yeah. Yeah I’m back. Saladin needed something. Mm-hm. No, I’m not interested in where they came from. I don’t care what they are, just get those bloody nanites out of my Crucible.”