#CROW AND LIMBO BEING PUT IN WAS A LAST SECOND IDEA

[ramahavenna]

MOZUS AUTISTIC GAZE.... HES ON MY MIND

[nomoregoldfish]

Imagine Being Law Enforcement & Having A Complicated Relation /w Amado

I’ve had this idea for months and I was afraid it’s inappropriate (not just the law enforcement part, but a lot of more, you’re being warned.) Then the other day my friend and I were discussing the moral flexibility of fanfic writing. She convinced me it’s just the words, it won’t hurt or jeopardize anyone or their work irl. So here is another 7K nonsense for the Crow. You can also read it on AO3.

You're an ICE officer stationed at the El Paso Detention Center. It's not a glamorous job but a job is a job. It's not like anyone can work against the system, even when it seems unethical, inhumane.

One Friday you throw a bachelorette party for one of your colleagues across the river. You know a great go-go dance club. The scene is always crazier, with more fun down there. You book the catering and transportation, run a background check on the club owner (of course by unofficial means,) make sure both the best female and male dancers will show up that night cuz you're as dedicated to the task as to your job, down to every detail.

You decide to carry a secret firearm, following your professional instinct. It's CD Juárez after all, a notorious border town with the highest homicide rate in Mexico. Good thing is the American border control never searches for weapons southbound.

You all get changed after work, hop up in the van and the "promiscuous" trip begins.

"What's wrong with being promiscuous?" You half-joke, "I, a certificated chaperone, will make sure each one of you return with no condoms left in your purse. Or I'll confiscate and use them myself." Everyone including the bride-to-be laughs.

The night has been amazing. Everything goes as planned until a group of Mexicans arrive around midnight. 

Several tables around the pool are immediately cleared for them. And after a man in black that appears to be the group's leader whistles to the club manager, the music's changed to some cheesy Latin pop. It's hard not to notice him, with his filthy long hair and Sinaloan accent, which you recognize straight away. He seems very comfortable in every sense, a complacent smile on his face annoys you in a way you can't really explain.

He must be somebody.

It's not unusual. Sharing miles of Rio Grande as the border between the two countries, Juárez is like El Paso's evil twin. A city of the outlaws, they are able to smuggle in everything from cocaine to humans, and happily take any deal involving weapons from the US black market to complete the vicious circle of their businesses. And the infamous Juárez cartel has single-handedly changed the game of coke, making Juárez an Amazon distribution center of the bloody business. You've heard from your DEA friends that the Juárez cartel is run by some Sinaloan.

You steal a few glimpses of the guy, thinking about making some phone call to find out his true identity or imagining if anything happens memorizing his face would help catch him later.

Yeah, you're that kind of person that prepares for the worst on a tender night.

Surprisingly, the man approaches you when you go for a refill, "If you're gonna keep staring at my ass, at least you can buy me a drink." The bastard smiles, no, flirts with his dark eyes.

"I don't think it's a good idea unless you want soda as well." You get your refill, leaving him jaw-dropped.

"So you gringa come all the way down south and you're not even enjoying it?"

You don't back down from this, instead you move forward and take a real good look at the man who started this, nose tip almost touching his. He's hot, and very well-built for his age. If he turns around and starts twerking like some male dancers did a while ago, you wouldn't be against the idea of "staring at his ass," even throwing him a few dollars. 

You're absolutely enjoying it. But he doesn't need to know.

"I don't need to get drunk to fuck some filthy hot Mexican." You whisper.

"I'm Amado, in case you want to brag about the filthy hot Mexican you fuck tonight with the ladies."

The back alley is so dark you almost forgot it. And Amado being a good kisser is not helping either. The fact that there's a gun taped to your thigh is the last thing that keeps you from losing control.

"Tell me you're not a cop." He's leaving bite marks on your neck, big hands cupping your ass cheeks. You can totally feel each other through the clothes. It's just a matter of time before he finds your gun.

"What gives me away?" You ask, searching for more skin to skin touch. And it turns out Amado has a gun too, just behind his back.

"All the gringas are drinking and dancing, you just drink soda and... check me out."

You did check him out, for security purposes though, "Don't worry. I'm not that kind of cop." You put a little bit more pressure on his back, letting him know you've got it.

Amado pauses, eyes locked on you as his hands finally reach your gun, also the sensitive part between your legs.

"What are we gonna do?" He's sucking your lower lip, making things more difficult.

It's easier when you decide to let this one slip. You don't need to figure out who he really is, and it's unnecessary to keep your guard at all times. What you need right now is a good, hard fuck. So you take his gun then ask him to proceed with yours.

Letting Amado release the gun from your thigh is wrong. The bastard makes it painfully slow, licking, teasing and pleasing you like he's on a mission. 

You can't help but open your legs to let him know how much you want his touch.

"Hope there's light here so I can see how wet you already are for me. Tell me what you want."

You can't believe Amado goes down on you again after you moan you want his filthy mouth.

Those fucking hands grab your thighs tight as he buries himself between your legs, pushing you to the edge.

It's soooooo good you think it's worth it even if later he murders you and dumps your body in the dark valley.

Amado keeps doing the thing as you come, sending you indescribable waves of pleasure. 

"I feel like I just cheated." You're still panting.

"You've got a John up north? Don't worry, I won't call."

"No. I mean, I'm the organizer of the bachelorette party and I'm having the best orgasm behind their back." You chuckle.

It isn't until later Amado pushes you up, fuck you against the wall that you realize what he means by changing your mind, "That was the second best."

You're fully dressed, panties half-way down your knee, when Amado's rocking into you with long, rough thrust. 

He fucking pauses, letting you feel so full. You almost beg him not to stop, you want it so much. So you grab his long hair, kissing him ferociously. 

"Tell me your name." Amado sounds so genuine. You're absolutely not telling some one night stand your real name but fuck it, you give it away.

And he's right. What happened earlier was only the second best orgasm of your life.

Afterward Amado gets his gun back, but you're not getting yours.

"I'm not playing dirty, baby. You need to ditch the gun before you hit the road up north anyway." He's not wrong. You don't want any trouble with the customs.

"You're not selling it on the street." You're more concerned about Mexico's street violence fueled by illicit weapons from the States. 

Amado shakes his head with a sneer, "I'll keep it," Why? "Next time I fuck some whore, I will think about you fuck yourself with the gun as hard as I fuck you tonight."

You lose count of how many fucks he says before your last kiss. You tell yourself too bad there won't be next time.

You never knew one day your paths would cross again and you were the one who begs.

A few weeks later you see the filthy hot Mexican on local TV news. Turns out you fucked the leader of the Juárez cartel (and returned in one piece.) And the picture of him on DEA's most wanted list doesn't look bad at all. Good for Amado, you shrug.

It'd be a once-a-lifetime joke or pickup line, but you never tell anyone about the encounter. 

On the other hand, things at work are getting weirder, to a point you question the legitimacy of your own job. By summer, hundreds of detainees, mainly from Mexico, Honduras, El Salvador, Guatemala and other Central America countries, are separated from their minor children. You're not a field officer so you don't have to face the heartbreaking scene. But you know for a fact children are sent off against their families' will every day. 

And none of you, not even your boss, has a clear idea where all of the children are taken. You just received an order to facilitate the transaction with some guys from the Office of Refugees Resettlement, which you never heard of. "Oh, we're within the Department of Health and Human Services." They what? This is fucking insane. Then  it's out of your hands. If the parents and the children enter two completely different systems, it's gonna be a nightmare to reconnect them whenever their cases are decided. "Tracking record? Maybe you should ask Homeland Security." As if Homeland Security gives a flying fuck about the familia of the "criminals" they're prosecuting.

This is wrong on so many levels. There's no official statement of the new regulation, it's not on the news. You make private calls to people you know within the ICE system, the best answer you've got is this is a pilot program first implemented in El Paso to curb the illegal immigration and deter the asylum seekers.

Parents in the detention centers wait for months in devastation without knowing where exactly their kids are taken. Some are told their children are sent to shelter homes in fucking Chicago, some rejoin with their relatives who have already obtained legal US citizenship in other states, still facing deportation in the future. And if the parents get deported first, it could take years for them to reconnect with or even find their children left behind in the limbo of bureaucracy. They're hopeless. All you can do is keep an off-the-record track of every child you heard or your colleagues talked about, anything from their names, birth dates, medical conditions to last confirmed locations.

As the number of children taken away grows, it catches the attention of some immigration lawyers and children's rights advocates in Texas. You can't really talk to them or go to their rallies because you're part of the system. You're afraid they're not gonna trust you. And to be honest, you have no fucking clue what difference you can make. Call your congressman and congresswoman? Like those families have time for them to pass a new law.

You're frustrated and have to take some time off during summer. Drinking through the hell with cheap tequila down south seems like a remedy. Next thing you know, you wake up with a bad hangover and an empty wallet at some motel in Juárez. You barely remember the guy you brought back last night, let alone figuring out how to get your credit card back.

Except this time, your credit card finds you.

"It got your name on it." The door slides open, a man in black sitting on the back of the van. The smile looks too familiar, irritating but handsome.

"We didn't fuck last night, did we?" You're not sure if it's a bad thing at this point.

Amado looks slightly disappointed, "Unfortunately not. But everything in Juárez runs through me." Right, he is the fucking El Señor de los Cielos.

You ask for your credit card back cuz you're starving to death. Amado insists on buying your lunch. 

"Look, you've probably run my name through your network, I understand, I'd have done the same. I'm just some low rank dumbass, no badge, no DEA or federal connection or whatsoever. I don't think you and I have any business to tend to."

Damn, the food is too good to pass.

"I'll be at the club at 10. Come if you don't want to end up penniless again."

Is that a threat? The headache is messing up your mind. Instead of shutting up and retreating quietly from the most dangerous narco in town, you retort, "What? You're a pimp now?"

You put on makeup and a tight emerald green dress. It's not like you have anything better to indulge yourself in. Whatever the drug lord has for you, you're gonna enjoy it as long as you're breathing.

It's weekday, the club is less packed and much quieter. 

You two just talk, like two old friends. You can't find another perfect stranger like Amado, when you can't complain to... basically anyone north of the border. You rant about how fucked-up the whole situation is and how traumatized those detainees and their children must become. 

"You've got kids?" He asks.

"No. I hate kids, to be honest." You blurt out, "What? Women are supposed to like kids? Never mind. This is WRONG."

You have more drinks as well as further inappropriate discussion between law enforcement and a drug cartel leader. It's an escape, even for a very short period of time.

"You wanna dance?" Amado makes the invitation like a gentleman. Hilarious, and fucking turns you on at the same time.

"I can never move my ass like that, you see?" You point at a female performer as he leads you to the pool.

"Then why are you here?"

"I don't know. Have midlife crisis conversation with the hottest drug trafficker and pray he would take me home and fuck my brain out tonight."

"Shall we skip the dance then?" Amado's offer sounds appealing.

"No. I want to brag about it to my grandkids." You like it when he laughs at your horrible joke.

"You need to make kids first."

The dance is nice but the sex... the sex with Amado is on another level. You let him do things you were never into, like fucking you with a gun he keeps at the nightstand. "Is it my gun?" He nods. "Tell me how many times you dream of doing it." Amado doesn't answer, but he makes you come hard on it.

You don't need to feel safe or protected. You wanna disappear, and Amado makes it happen by fucking you all night long.

No, that's exaggerating. But you find out both of you are light sleepers. He says sorry, you say "Since none of us can kill each other in our sleep, can we get some snacks?"

The drug lord heats up tortillas himself for you, and brags about he has the greatest salsa recipe in town.

You talk about everything standing by the oven, like two adults you are. It's odd you even have a debate on the pending legalization of recreational marijuana in Mexico at 4 a.m. with once the biggest weed trafficker of the country. You think it's about damn time, no anti-drug policy is ever gonna stop people from smoking the shit. Yet Amado is more worried about whether the policy would favor existing players and big pharmas from the States.

"Fuck, you sound like a senator from the opposing party." God, that's awful.

It seems Amado doesn't take it as an insult, "When you play this game long enough, everyone starts to sound like politicians."

It reminds you of all the crazy stories you heard about the Mexican drug war. The man sharing guacamole and chips with you is not just a random fuck buddy. What he's capable of is beyond your wildest guess. You bet.

"I did donate to the opposing party last decade, you know, to diversify my political patronage. The state governor has always been a call away. I've also built roads, churches, parks and schools. You don't believe it?"

You do. But it doesn't matter. The world isn't becoming a better place because you fuck a good guy. 

"Come to bed." You could use some cuddles after a long day. You snuggle up to him, Amado is warm and his long hair smells nice.

"You like it?" You just nod, burying your face in it, "We should fuck again in the morning so you'll smell like that, too."

You giggle, this guy is crazy and you love crazy.

After that, Amado doesn't ask you to stay and you don't want to either. No one is always around, both of you know it. You go to Chihuahua for a few days. A hiking trip to Mexico's tallest waterfall and deepest canyon is a good change of scenery.

The outlaw calls at the weekend, when your vacation is almost over, "You want to see some action near the border?" Fuck yeah, you're bored to death. You tell him you will call back once figuring out the flight schedule.

"Just go to the airport. I'm picking you up in an hour."

You're over this flexing thing long ago but man, piloto Amado looks extra hot with that bomber jacket. And you don't mind flying a private jet. 

Amado sees you lean towards the window. Without being asked, he shifts the plane to your side so you can get a better view of the Copper Canyon. How he manages to wink at you with shades on remains a mystery. 

It's a short flight to Altar, a small town in Sonora. You know the place too well because it's an unofficial hub for border crossers if they choose Phoenix as their destination. You've heard so many tragedies around the desert town, people losing their lives or loved ones on the route to America. Their family can't even bring them home for a peaceful funeral since in most cases the bodies decompose quickly in the desert and vultures prey on them. You never went there before, never met a person before he or she set foot on the deadly route to become an immigrant, despite you're probably dealing with detainees from the very place on a daily basis.

Amado brings you to a dark flat, two rooms full of people who have already paid for the trip, waiting for smugglers' order for their next move. 

When Amado talks to one of the smugglers, you just realize it is the Sinaloa cartel that's been running this business in Sonora.

"Tell them what happened in El Paso with all the kids, which like you said might happen in other border cities soon. See if you can change their minds. I personally guarantee them full refund if you can manage that."

You don't know what exactly Amado wants to achieve by pulling this stunt. 

"Go on, go save the children and their families." Is the narco mastermind challenging you?

There aren't many border crossers with small children in the rooms. Mainly because the desert route from Sonora to Arizona is the most dangerous one among other approaches. You do see a few teenagers among them.

You try to explain the new risk to those families with your limited Spanish vocabulary. They are confused, but you can't tell them you're with ICE which would bring unnecessary panic to the room. In the end, no family with children under the age of 18 buy your shit, no one is pulling back.

"You see, it costs tens of thousands of dollars for each family here to cross the border. They've probably been saving for a long time to get that amount of money. And the risk being caught or separated from their kids is nothing compared to the harsh reality in their home countries. You worry too much. There's nothing you..." You don't need a lecture from Amado. 

You know what he's saying. You can't change nothing about a human trafficking ring that exploits the poorest and a fucked-up system that separates parents and their children. You gonna blame Trump? The notorious Sinaloans? You're helpless.

You can tell from the look in his eyes, Amado means no offense. But it hurts. 

You insist on returning on your own. No more private jet on demand, no more flirting with the hot pilot, no more drunk one night stands with the perfect stranger.

You're done. No more adventures down south.

Months pass by, nothing changes except the tracking list you keep in secret gets much longer. They are more than just a few Sofías, Marías, Juans and Felipes. There must be a big family behind every name on that list, mom, dad, grandparents, aunties and uncles, cousins and second cousins.

More sad stories from the lawyers and detainees circle around. One detainee's request to reunite with her two children was denied because some official from HHS said removing children from foster homes and rejoining their parents would pose welfare concerns for the children. 

What the actual FUCK? Everyone's devastated.

The tipping point comes one day when a newly arrived detainee committed suicide in a padded cell after forcibly separated from his wife and kids. Everyone's told to keep their mouths shut, even the sheriffs who are brought in to make a record and process the body receive gag orders from above.

You're so sick of everything that happens in the living hell you work for. You need to do something, anything.

You go south, again.

You don't call Amado or send messages because he might be tapped. You go straight to his place unannounced. This time, you're held at gunpoint, waiting for his return.

"This is the better solution you come up with to save the innocent people, dear?" Amado unties you, his hands are still warm but his voice is ice cold, "To hijack a foster home because it's less guarded than prisons like the one you work at, then bring those kids back to Mexico, really?"

You try to explain your plan, which is beyond any rationale. You know you're out of your mind the moment you go to narcos for a vigilante move.

"You know what you sound like? A hypocrite. Do you know where exactly their parents are right now? What's their status? In Homeland Security custody? Waiting for results from the immigration court? What family are left in their home countries? Are they able to take care of the kids? If not, who's gonna take them from here? Do you know what happens to orphans in Juárez? Wanna take a guess at the average age of street kids joining a cartel?" Amado keeps asking, and you don't have any answer.

"HHS may have a point. Think about the education and healthcare those kids get from the resettlement, foster family, sponsors, or whatever it's called. Maybe they want to stay in the States, hell, that's why their parents brought them in in the first place. They can find jobs in construction when they grow up, getting minimum wage, which is much safer and better paid there compared to in their home countries. They don't need rescue, have you ever thought about that?"

You're deranged, defeated, and desperate. 

Amado sends his sicarios away. It's just the two of you.

"It's pretty late, you want to spend the night?" He makes it sound like the other day, simpler times.

Before you beg him... To reconsider your stupid proposal? To stay? You don't feel comfortable saying please. That would be humiliating.

"I'll be in another room." He just left.

You show yourself out that night. Drive home, get drunk, as if the alcohol would make you forget everything, including an inside tip that seven children of immigrants from El Paso will be sent to that specific foster home by Friday.

You may or may not drunk dial Amado in the middle of the night. But you definitely don't say please, as far as you can remember.

You're back to work with a severe hangover. Yet you keep digging, trying to find out whether all parents of the seven children are criminally charged, who are the lawyers assigned to them, if any of them has siblings or other relatives, legal citizens or not, that currently live in the States, how to contact them. Any information that might help.

You can't give up. Not because you have a real kind heart, you do it so you can sleep at night.

That's when you receive an unexpected Doordash order of burritos at home. On the back of the receipt it reads "Give me something more concrete so I can work on it."

It's gotta be him. Your heart is beating so fast. Can't believe the plan is still happening.

You respect Amado's discretion on this. No phone calls or emails, you even try to create an encrypted message to sext him. Then he sends one of his associates to personally collect what you have for them. The guy says the less you know about the actual plan, the better for everyone that is involved.

Amado cares. Maybe not about you. You know he's risking so much more on this than you are.

You have no idea what exactly the cartel is planning or when they are gonna strike. After passing over all the information, all you can do is wait.

The kids are gone on Friday as planned, everything is normal. And you hear nothing during the weekend, no report from the sheriff's office, not even a rumor from other law enforcement inner circles.

By Monday, your boss makes a big announcement that since starting the pilot program, ICE's apprehension rate in El Paso municipal district drops more than sixty percent in the last twelve months so they're gonna officially roll out the policy nationwide starting next week. He even says you all should celebrate the achievement.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

You have to get Amado, right fucking now.

"Don't hang up. Please! You need to listen to me. You haven't done it, have you? Abort it. Whatever you have planned. Abort it, NOW." You don't have time to explain everything on the phone.

Amado doesn't ask why, instead he says "You don't get to tell me the dos and don'ts, love."

"I'm not kidding, I swear. Please, please, Amado. I know I'm a mess and you shouldn't listen to me. But..." The line disconnects.

You tell your superior you're not feeling well then hit the road down south right away.

You call Amado again with a burner once you cross the border. He finally agrees to meet.

The remote location serves as a perfect site if the cartel needs to dump your body. 

Amado and his badass shades, a view you usually appreciate, now make you question all the moral decisions you made since you first met.

"Please call it off. I can explain." You don't mind getting down on your knees if it's not too late.

"Explain why you get cold feet at the last minute? To save your own ass?"

"This is different. They're gonna make the policy public next week. They call it zero tolerance. The media, border control in other cities, everyone will know it. There would be nationwide uproar regarding the issue, they will find out any incident connected to it, especially if it happens on American soil. It'd be all over TV, social media, a complete chaos. This is DHS's doing, you don't understand, they are not like the feds, or the DEA, worse. I can't... I can't let you..."

You can't let Amado leave a loose end on the north side of the border and become a potential target of Homeland Security. You can't take that risk. Moral or not, if anything happens to him because of this, you know you'd regret for the rest of your life.

"What about the children? You're gonna leave them rot in foster care?"

You don't have an answer for that. Any explanation will make you sound more like a hypocrite.

"Please, I'll do anything. Just abort it." You're literally begging.

You close your eyes, expecting some cartel style punishment. Then all you hear is a phone call to end the mission. Thank goodness no action is carried out. No one would ever find out the infamous Juárez cartel was once interfering with America's immigration issue.

You don't go back north after that. You call in sick, then stop at the first bar you find open. You fuck up everything, your job, your good intensions, and the non-existing relation with a drug lord. So you drink, like the world is ending tomorrow and Juárez is the entrance to hell, where you belong.

You don't remember much later in the day. It's kind of blurry. You're too wasted to walk, let alone drive. But you are taken care of. There's a familiar scent, like shampoo or something damp, in a bathtub.

You have a dream, Amado pins down you, he really takes it out on you. And you fight back, fueled by anger and self-hatred. You hurt each other.

It's probably the best sex you've ever had. 

Two months later, a breaking story about the secret pilot program in El Paso emerges on major news outlets, quoting an anonymous insider with unprecedented facts. All the misconduct that brought unimaginable pain and devastation to thousands of immigrant families is exposed. People are furious, more and more get out and protest against the brutal policy. The government has to pull the plug on the zero tolerance policy.

All your friends and family are talking about the situation. They are optimistic since the policy has already been abandoned, there won't be any more tragedy. 

You can't share the same sentiment. You know for a fact it'd be a long fight against the bureaucracy to reunite those broken families, some may forever lose their loved ones.

Nothing really changes at work. The El Paso Detention Center is still running at full capacity 24x7, all year round. Immigrants get moved from one facility to another, no one knows when, where, how it's gonna end.

A scandal starts to spread among female colleagues of yours. You can't believe it until a  female detainee is carried out by paramedics to a medical facility one day. No suspect, witness, no surveillance camera footage, but rumor says she's sexually assaulted by guards.

Sheriffs have come but high up DHS officials say it's gonna be an internal investigation. No one is allowed to say a word including local law enforcement.

The woman is no longer in critical condition the next day. She's able to identify four guards, who later deny her accusation and claim their DNAs found and tested in her nails are due to a friction when bringing her under control.

Several females detainees lament other minor sexual misconduct is rampant inside the facility but no one's willing to name names. All victims are afraid to speak up.

You pull some strings and manage to visit the victim after work. You want to speak to her alone off the record.

You learn this is not the first time it happened to her, and clearly she's not the only victim. At least there are two other women she's known. 

There must be more, considering detainees are moved around all the time. Most of them won't stay at the same facility longer than six months. And the lawyers assigned to them are usually doing pro bono, the time and resources spent on them are very limited. All makes the suspects easily get off the hook.

You leave the hospital with a rage for justice. But before opening another bottle, you ask yourself whether you can make it right this time. 

You screwed up hard last time, you can't repeat the same mistake. And the most important thing you learn from last time is you can't sit behind your desk and wait for some savior to come. You can't just do your part, and expect everything is gonna work out and so does your job and your life. You're either all-in or not, you have to get your hands dirty. 

You go straight to the official in charge of the investigation, suggesting a criminal lawyer should be assigned to the victim. Of course this isn't gonna work. In order to shut you up, the official agrees the other two women will get a medical examination for STD, scheduled next week. Also allows you to talk to each of them in private.

This buys you a few days.

You can't even tell your best friend about what you're working on. Speaking to the official already gets you exposed, you aren't dragging anyone else into this. Too many risks.

There's one thing you need and only one person you know can make it happen.

You don't realize you're holding your breath before sending the message. It's quite simple, you need a favor, and in return you're willing to do whatever it takes.

The answer comes with several gift bags, and a driver waiting outside, warning you a private jet is leaving in half an hour. That's how your name ends up on the guest list of Chihuahua governor's party with delegates from the US Department of Commerce. You're Amado Carrillo Fuentes' plus one.

"I'm glad you came." Amado seems not mad at you. The drug lord looks extremely handsome in a black tuxedo, long hair slicked back.

"When someone sends a jet and this..." You adjust the exquisite sleeveless dress a little, a matching handbag in hands.

"You look beautiful." His voice becomes husky. You miss it. If you're being totally honest, many times through the past few months you fall asleep imagining this voice talking dirty to you.

"Thank you. I'm grateful you honor our deal. But I don't see why I'm here, having champagne with politicians, delegates and businessmen."

"You know they are negotiating a new trade deal to replace NAFTA, right? Having a gringa on this side kind of sends a message."

No sense. "So you're using me as a prop?"

"Likewise. And the best part is you look too old for a hooker. They probably think I have some real connection in the States." The bastard gives you a little nudge. Gosh, you want to smash that smug smile out of his face.

"Don't give me that sullen face. Smile. Enedina should be here any minute. You happy?"

That's right. The deal with Amado is about him introducing you to Enedina Arellano Félix, a.k.a. the only lady boss in the world of narcos. 

"You know my roots with the Sinaloa cartel, this puts me in a very awkward position, asking the head of the Tijuana cartel for something personal." Amado pretending to be annoyed is so cute.

"Fuck off. You're The Lord of the Skies, and you run business by forging alliances instead of making enemies. If anyone can sit down with both Tijuana and Sinaloa, it's gotta be you."

It looks like Amado's in a really good mood, which is not what you expected.  

You don't get the chance to ask why though, the Queen of Tijuana is here.

The meeting with the matriarch goes surprisingly well. Amado must joke it's just girl's night, but Enedina is indeed the partner in crime you look for. She's smart, fast, and asks tough questions as you explain the great escape plan to her. She's skeptical yet resourceful, and more importantly, she's a decision maker. 

"So you really think it's better those poor Latinas come to work for a drug cartel than chasing "American dream" in your country? How refreshing!" She jokes.

"No, they won't be working for any drug cartel. They're gonna work for you, the Queen of Tijuana. You hired chicks back in the 90s, when no women were allowed in this game. Please, don't let them get stuck in prison or pushed to the street. You surely know the femicide particularly in Juárez better than I do. They are hard workers, I guarantee you, they will be forever grateful and loyal to you." You're willing to kiss more asses if it helps.

Lastly Enedina asks, "Why are you doing this? Risking your job, even your life? You probably will face charges helping them get out. Just to feel better about yourself?"

You shrug, "If a woman is raped in front you, I don't think you'd be a bystander. As for me, they'd hold me as a suspect but there won't be any substantial evidence if everything works out." That's the best case scenario.

"I assume Amado already knows." She leaves after giving you a knowing smile.

Speaking of the crow, Amado's standing near the window, talking to a group of Americans. What a scene.

"Excuse us, gentlemen. I'd love to have a dance with my date." You take Amado's hand, leaving everyone else in awe.

"You're so damn hot, sweetheart." Amado whispers as he pulls you closer. 

It's slower and much relaxed than your last dance. It's so nice to have Amado in your arms and not worry about anything for just five minutes. Although you're surrounded by politicians and lobbyists, you want this to last a bit longer.

"Why aren't you mad at me?" You can't help but ask. Your body becomes rigid while waiting for his response.

"Well, I was. But since you come up with this crazier idea as an excuse to see me, I'm not that kind of person who holds grudges."

Both of you laugh, "That's not an excuse!" 

He ignores your protest, forehead touching yours, like the first time you met.

After the party, Amado invites you to the cabin of his private jet. 

"You're not flying tonight?"

"No. I've much more important business to tend to." The fucker just winks.

Yeah, like tearing up the dress he just bought you and asking you to join the mile high club. No need to sneak in the tiny bathroom, you blow him on the soft carpet with plenty of legroom. Then ride him on the broad executive chair. You fuck yourself on Amado's fat cock so hard like there's no tomorrow.

"You're sure you don't need backup? I have guys in El Paso..." He asks when pouring you a whiskey afterwards. 

"You're sure you want to talk about that when you have me naked?" You take the drink and continue, "No, Amado. I can't let them trace anything that happens on American soil back to you."

"Why?"

You think he knows the answer, "Don't worry. I get it covered."

You persuade a female guard who's assigned to escort the two detainees to the hospital specifically because she's also Latina, speaks perfect Spanish. She understands the risks both of you are taking and still willing to help. 

The day finally comes. She knocks out another guard during the examination, while you bring in janitorial uniforms and wigs, helping the three victims get changed.

Amado does provide something after all. A stolen vehicle he promises without any trace and a route across the border. Technically the secret tunnel under Rio Grande is long abandoned. It's not the 90s, no smuggler nowadays would get muddy for a few kilos. 

When all of you eventually see the light at the end of the tunnel, Enedina's people are already waiting. You can't promise the three of them a brighter future in Mexico (if there's any,) but this is the best way out everyone agrees upon. After a few quick hugs, they're gone. 

Later on, when threatened with criminal charges, you reveal part of the evidence you've held in secret to the investigation official, "One of the guards turned his body cam on during the assault, later he made a copy before deleting the footage, or he thought he deleted it. For what purpose? Sorry, sir. You can interrogate the pervert yourself. Here is a clip of it, I've had the rest and more stuff saved in the cloud." You warn if ICE doesn't want a huge scandal amid national disapproval after the zero tolerance policy backfired, he should bury the entire investigation and let the female guard and you walk. "And I'm sure you can come up with good reasons to remove the four guards. A little house cleaning wouldn't hurt, right?"

"I can't believe you still haven't quit that questionable job." Amado complains when you finally make time for him after everything against you is cleared.

"That's not fair. I didn't ask you to quit the questionable job you have." You always enjoy the banter with him.

"What? You mean being the hottest drug trafficker? Where are you going? That's what you said before. You can't take it back."

[pertinax--loculos]

‘Dash’

So, for funsies I went through @yourocsbackstory to try to get myself in the writing mood again. This is what happened. I stopped at ‘Skills’ cuz I’ve already spoiled enough if you read close enough haha.

Come meet Dash.

Introduction

My name is Dash.

Or, well, it’s not really. That’s what everyone calls me. It circumvents the pain that comes with my first name, the questions that come from my last.

The knowledge that comes from my second.

I thought my life was pretty much mapped out from here. There was the beginning, that I barely remember. The next chapter, that I wish I could forget. The third, the honeymoon. And then now; not the best, far from the worst, an existence I was fairly certain I’d be able to bear, at least until the drugs or the alcohol overwhelmed me and my body gave out and I’d be buried in an unmarked plot under a false name with maybe three people to mourn me. If I was lucky.

Then that idiot fundie wandered into my life.

The Church is a fucking blight on society, the worst thing that’s happened since organised religion first got a foothold within civilised communities. It’s like they took all of the parts that made people unwilling to admit they were Christian in intelligent company and emphasised their importance until they were the only things that mattered.

To say nothing of what they think of the brainbent.

But unfortunately, what the old movies and books used to say is accurate. Give people a common enemy and they’ll unite under almost any flag.

The brainbent weren’t an enemy. But you consider the prospect of the barista at your local coffee place potentially being able to tell the future, or to read fucking minds, and tell me you would’ve stood against the Church.

I’m sure you will.

You’re lying.

Which is why Raleigh was such a surprise.

The Partners focus on the commoners, on people who know what the Church is about but haven’t been indoctrinated since birth. Members are basically written off as a lost cause. Even if, somehow, that person would’ve been a supporter if they’d been born in the right place, it’s not worth trying to convince them after years and years of brainwashing. They learn to suppress any thoughts, any opinions, that don’t jive with the company line. Trying to tell them otherwise is useless.

Which is why I don’t.

And still he came back.

I mean, Alec is probably right. He normally is. Odds are I’m being an idiot by even considering that this guy may be open-minded enough to accept that people exist that don’t believe the same as he does.

(And that’s not even going into all the other fucked-up facets of my existence.)

But for some reason, I’m willing to take that chance.

Even if it kills me.

Family I

There was always the memory of the Others.

It wasn’t a clear comparison; it wasn’t like he could look at Now and realise that it was different to Then. It was more like some weird false memory from early childhood buried deep within someone; a recollection of a room full of glass when apparently it had been an open-air market. A jar filled with blue that no one else remembered.

A loving mother and father. A melody without words.

There were other hints, of course. They never raised a hand at the child they insisted was his brother. They refused to acknowledge his grasp of genetics and never gave an explanation for the colour of his eyes. When he woke screaming for a mother he knew he no longer had the false one pretended, but she never offered the glass of milk, never pulled him onto her lap and stroked his hair and sung that song until he drifted off into gentler dreams.

Things got worse and worse as he got older. The more he could articulate the problems he had with the narrative they fed him the worse the punishments got. The first time he’d mentioned having another, a different, father they’d been too taken aback to respond; the reaction the second time had ensured he’d never bought it up again.

Every achievement, every failure, always framed within what he wasn’t and what he’d lost, what he lacked and how he disappointed.

One day, teenaged and trying to squirm his way into their good graces, he’d heard his brother mentioning the girl in class. He’d piped up as well, after seeing their indulgent responses, letting them know that there was someone in his class too, a boy who’d caught his eye. He’d been banned from school for a week after that.

His father told him people would ask questions about the bruises.

 Friends

He’d assumed that the confession that the intimacy bought him no pleasure would be enough to make her disappear. He’d lost acquaintances for less, many times before.

So when she turned up on his doorstep three days later he stopped, stunned, with the door open.

She raised her eyebrows at him. “Letting in the cold?”

It was nearly a hundred degrees outside, and he was already sweating through the long-sleeved shirt he’d pulled on to open the door. He stepped back to let her in, still speechless, and followed her as she walked confidently through the rooms to his favourite.

He swallowed a few pills just for something to do. It was a stupid idea, his supply was already running low, but he hoped the kick would help him through whatever conversation was to follow.

She watched, her brows pulled together in disapproval, but didn’t break the silence.

“What do you want?” he said finally, his voice too rough, too apprehensive. He’d told her he couldn’t do it anymore, but he knew deep within himself that if she offered enough…

She shrugged, her face clearing. “I’m of the opinion that no one should be alone, today of all days.”

Dash just stared at her, utterly uncomprehending.

“Y’know,” she said, and then raised her eyebrows a little when his expression made it clear he didn’t, “Christmas?”

Oh, fuck, of course. He’d known the date was approaching but it meant less than nothing to him, except for the fact that most of the shops were closed. He really shouldn’t have had those pills, not if he was gonna have to last another two days before he could restock.

She kicked her legs out in front of her as she leaned back against the wall, eyes roving the spartan room. “So you got a tv or what?”

Which was how they ended up sprawled on his bed, fully clothed and above the covers, picking at the leftovers of a pizza he’d had in the fridge while a tiny voice in the back of his head insisted that this was what friends actually were.

 Education

He accepted the envelope with a sinking feeling. He knew what the letter inside was going to say.

Miss Phillips gave him an encouraging smile all the same.

“I know you struggle in some classes,” she said kindly. “But you really do excel in others. And really, all you need is a little extra help in English and I think you’ll be doing fine. I’ve explained that to your parents in your report.”

Like that’s gonna fucking help, Dash thought, but all he did was smile and nod. It wasn’t her fault he was stupid. It was his. He’d been told that many times.

He walked to his locker and gathered his things slowly. He could already hear his brother crowing in his ear, with his perfect scores and better comments. If he didn’t know better he’d think that the teachers were aware of the identify of their father and tailored their comments to suit.

But if that was the case why did they still throw him under the bus?

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to learn. He did, and he loved the stories, loved listening to what happened and even analysing why the author might have put certain characters and phrases in certain parts and why. But expressing that through writing was beyond him. Understanding why or where a comma went or why through was spelled o-u-g-h but throw was spelled o-w sent his head into a spin and there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing his teachers could do about it either, as they spent their time with those that were better, those who had a right to their last names instead of a tenuous and fluctuating claim.

Mr Carr, in the workshop, was astonished by him. Said he was among the best students he’d ever had, was amazed by his ability with electronics and the way he could take apart and put together components without ever glancing at the instructions. He said he was a natural, that if he wanted he could certainly go places, because there was always a need for someone to fix those things that were broken.

But his parents assured him that he was what was broken, and the grades sent him into the dark. They never even read Mr Carr’s report.

 Family II

Family had always been a dirty word.

He was caught in a weird sort of limbo; there was that which he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to bring up, and then that which was current but which he was not really a part of. Intellectually, academically, he knew what a family was. Hell, even from observation he knew what a family was. If he took a step back, removed himself from the equation and simply watched Father and Mother and Brother interact, then he knew what a family was supposed to be.

But try to impose himself upon that and he was reprimanded, reminded that he was not a part of it, that the family he might’ve been a part of no longer existed, that he was Other, that he was Alien and unwanted and his duty was only to disappear and to cause no more problems than he already had.

So when he met his family he was overwhelmed.

They walked through the door and were suffocated in affection, enough that Dash had to get out of there; he found him later, hidden in the garden, his face concerned.

“We were wondering where you’d got to,” he said, quietly, gently, as he always did.

“They don’t need me there,” Dash replied.

His eyebrows tugged together in the beginning of a frown. “Maybe not, but we want you there.”

Dash’s laugh was bitter, a little too manic. “No you don’t.”

It took a while – way too long, he should’ve been back with his family – to coax Dash out of the greenery and into the bulk of the backyard. Waiting there was an elderly woman, older than anyone Dash had had reason to interact with.

“This him?” she’d said, but before either of them could react she’d grabbed Dash’s hand and yanked him forward.

Dash couldn’t help but flinch. It didn’t appear to affect her. Her eyes, bright and the same colour as his, searched his face.

“Ah, yes, very good,” she said. Dash glanced around wildly but he was just standing there, something that might’ve been embarrassment pinking his cheeks.

“Are you satisfied now?” he said.

The old woman grinned at him over Dash’s shoulder.

“Yes,” she said. Dash felt his fingers on his elbow; just before he towed Dash back into the anonymity of the rest of the garden they heard her speak again.

“I see what you say about his eyes.”

 Rivals

Fuck.

Dash had managed to avoid this dick for nigh on two months. Why the hell he was encountering him now, just as the oxy started to kick and make him loose and easy and happy, was anyone’s guess.

Probably the Members would say it was god’s work. Dash was pretty sure it was a punishment.

The guy stalked up to him, characteristic scowl twisting his features. He had to be six inches taller than Dash, but he didn’t back down.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he growled.

Dash stared into his dark eyes, tossing up a number of responses. Sarcastic, sardonic, flippant, honest; none of them seemed quite right.

He went with combative, in the end.

“I heard you’d be here,” he said, conversational. “Figured I might take the chance to learn your name.”

The guy’s eyes narrowed. They were close enough that Dash could feel his breath on his face.

“What the hell would you need that for?” he said. “Seeing as you’re not supposed to be here, and all.”

Dash twitched his shoulders in a shrug. “Yeah, well. Sorry, but I’m not really good at taking orders.”

Something flickered behind the guy’s eyes, something that might have been amusement. “I get the feeling that you’re more likely to do the opposite of what the orders might suggest.”

Dash caught his eyes again and raised an eyebrow. “Wow. It’s almost like you know me.”

Pause. The guy’s breathing had evened out, but he hadn’t moved away.

“Are we having, like, a civil conversation right now?” he said.

Dash quirked his eyebrow again. “Certainly seems that way.”

Another couple of beats. “Is it just me, or does there seem to be an extraordinary amount of sexual tension involved?”

Dash couldn’t stop the grin from tugging at his lips, even as he leaned in closer.

“Oh,” he said quietly. “It’s not just you.”

 First Love

Despite the mistake of telling Father about him, Dash kept watching him.

Over the week it took for the bruises to fade he thought about him. When he first returned to school, his was the first face he looked for.

He didn’t seriously think it would lead to anything. How could it, given what everyone believed? But Connor was new to the city, and he wasn’t involved with the Church. That much Dash had figured out through rumour and innuendo. And he was left alone, during recess and lunch, all of the Members turning their noses up at him, to the point where Dash wondered why on earth his parents had sent him to this private school. After all, there were schools for commoners. They weren’t as good, but that was the sacrifice people made.

Not Connor’s parents, apparently.

And he was the only one who didn’t conceal his staring at Dash’s fading bruises.

He’d been staring beforehand, of course. That was what had made Dash first mention him to Father, the mistake that had led to him realising that he wasn’t the same as his brother and never would be. But it was he alone that continued to stare even after Dash’s absence. The others seemed to have been told not to.

Not Connor.

Dash cornered him after school one day, halfway across the green in the front of the school. Connor looked surprised but not alarmed, moving easily backwards as Dash stalked towards him. His ease crackled against Dash’s already strained nerves and he had to viciously curb the instinct to lash out, his learned impulse to beat down anything that stood against what he was trying to do.

They stopped when Connor’s back hit the wall of the gym. Dash was mere inches from his face, trying his best to channel the disgust and rage he’d seen so often on Father’s face.

“Why do you keep staring at me?” he demanded.

Connor hadn’t flinched like Dash would’ve under the violence of the question.

“I’m worried,” was all he said.

That threw Dash for a loop. Why the fuck would anybody be worried about him?

“You’re lying,” he said, suspiciously.

Connor raised his eyebrows. “Why would I do that?”

Dash hesitated for a couple of seconds, made his voice even more strident to make up for it. “Because you’re trying to get me to admit it!”

“Admit what?”

Connor’s voice was still gentle, questioning without prying, and Dash found himself whirling away from him, knotting his fingers in his hair and pulling, focusing on the burn on his scalp and not on Connor’s placid, knowing words.

The touch on his elbow was foreign in its gentleness. “Whatever they’ve told you,” he murmured, barely audible over the shouts reverberating in Dash’s ears, “They’re wrong.”

When Dash’s fingers found his he felt like he was home for the first time he could remember.

[fanfic-inator795]

RotTMNT/Baron Jitsu fanfiction: Dating… With Children - Chapter Ten

(Also on AO3 if you want to leave a comment or kudos)

Plot:  Benjamin Draxum hardly considered himself a man of high social standing. Not because he was uncouth or unworthy of it, mind you, but simply because he didn’t have much of a social life. Hard to have one when he usually spent his days at work, cooped up in a lab for so long that he often had his lunches in there, and his nights at home reading or doing research for more personal projects. But perhaps meeting handsome semi-retired movie star - as well as his four young sons - could change all that…

((Last of the updates for probably a while, unless I get hit with another bolt of inspiration. Again, hope you all enjoyed! ^v^))

As reluctant as he was to do so, Draxum was man enough to admit that as he stared down the multiple aisles of toys that he was completely and utterly at a loss.

He had meant to buy a present in the days leading up to the actual event, he really had. But online research in-between doing the research he was actually getting paid to do proved fruitless. There were plenty of suggestions and advertisements, but most of the toys and products brought to his attention either didn’t fit at all or just didn’t seem like a good enough gift.

And so, here he was. In the middle of Gilbert’s toy section, mere hours before the actual event, still trying to answer the question of what a seven-going-on-eight year old boy would want for his birthday.

“When I was a kid, I was always the most satisfied when I just got cash,” he mumbled to himself. But cash for a child’s birthday gift would just be tacky, as would a gift card. He tried to think back on what he liked as a kid, and briefly remembered a few science-related toys he had enjoyed fiddling with, but that seemed more like a Donatello gift than a Raphael one. There really wasn’t anything worse than getting a gift that you didn’t just dislike, but was clearly meant for someone else. Draxum had learned that at a young age during an elementary school gift exchange where he had gotten a jewelry making kit that had been meant for the friend of the student who had bought it, not knowing the exchange was supposed to be random.

At the very least, Draxum was confident enough that he wouldn’t make a mistake like that. He had a pretty good grasp on what Raph liked… and that was the problem.

Most of the wrestling and superhero and ninja figures that lined the action figure aisle were the same toys that he had seen in Raph’s room. Stuffed bears had a similar problem, and even if he was sure Raph wouldn’t mind another bear friend, he also knew that at that age gifts were only really exciting if they were something you DIDN’T already have, and something that was instead truly surprising.  

Moving past the dolls and the pool toys that had been put on clearance, as well as a huge display of new Mrs. Cuddles plushies (definitely a bad idea, if Raph’s reactions to her commercials were anything to go by), Draxum then entered the board game and activities aisle. He had been lucky when Trivial Pursuit Family ended up being a good purchase, but wasn’t sure if there was a board game that would appeal specifically to Raph. There were also more interesting things like ‘Make Your Own Fossil’ kits, bead art, Shrinky Dinks and other similar crafts.

“Too bad he isn’t as into arts and crafts as his brother,” Draxum mumbled. Though, Raph DID like to knit… But a bundle of yarn wasn’t exactly an exciting gift either. It was a bonus “just thought I’d pick this up for you too” gift, at best. With a sigh, he decided to give the Lego aisle a try - and that’s when he saw it almost hidden away as it sat on the top shelf.

Funnily enough, he remembered seeing the game in stores when he was a child, though he was sure it wasn’t the original toy even if it was incredibly similar. Just by looking at it, Draxum could tell that it would at the very least peak Raph’s interest. It was inexpensive but not cheap, a surprise definitely yet not a total shot in the dark pertaining to whether or not Raph would like it. “It’s probably as close to a ‘perfect’ gift as I can get,” he admitted. So he picked up the box and headed towards the gift bags…

He ended up being the second guest to arrive to the small party, just a few minutes after April and her family. “You must be Ben,” April’s mother said as she and her husband shook his hand, immediately recognizing the man from both her neighbor’s and her daughter’s description of him, “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Draxum nodded, a bit stiff and professional though thankfully not standoffish. He did loosen up a bit however when Raph nearly knocked him over with a hug.

“You came!” Raph grinned, just as happy as he had been several days ago when his father first offered his boyfriend the invite. Truth be told, even Raph could tell that Draxum wasn’t much of a party guy - not like his pop, who always insisted on celebrating things whether it be in a big or small way. But the doctor had become such a big part of his life lately that it would’ve been weird and kind of sad to not have him there to celebrate with them.

Draxum seemed to share the sentiment, placing a gentle hand on the boy’s head and patting his long and curly hair. “I did. Happy birthday, Raphael.” Raph smiled, thanking him before excusing himself, wanting to get back to his brothers and friend. Having seen the whole scene, April’s parents shared a look before nodding in approval. Really, it was no surprise that their neighbor who had been single for as long as he had lived on their street had ended up choosing someone like Draxum.

The final guest arrived just a few minutes later, her parents unable to stay and instead just dropping her off. Draxum couldn’t help but stare at the pair as they stood in Lou’s doorway, the two men nearly complete opposites. One of them was huge, practically towering over Lou and his own family, with a firm brow and wearing a casual, light purple tank top and shorts. The other man was much smaller and thinner in stature, his sharp eyes framed with crows feet and dressed in a very nice sweater-vest and khakis combo.

Their daughter stood out just as much, looking about as old as April, wearing a black and purple jumper with hair so short that it had nearly been shaved off and face as serious as a nine year old could be. Though, as her fathers brought her into a hug, giving her plenty of quiet “We love you”s and “Have fun”s, her expression did soften just a little. And, once April took her hand and the boys gladly welcomed her, she even managed to smile.

“That’s Yuu. She’s a new friend from school,” Lou explained as he handed Draxum a cup of juice, “and a new student in general, having been homeschooled until this year. From what I have heard, she’s a bit of a loner. ...And apparently VERY intense when it comes to games in gym.”

“Well, it looks like she’s found her group now,” Draxum commented as he watched a grinning Yuu, who had teamed up with Mikey and was currently chasing after a laughing Leo and April with toy swords.

Lou smiled, nodding. “Yep, I think she has.” This was her first time over, but Lou was already certain that it wouldn’t be her last.

After about an hour of free play for the kids and socializing for the adults, Lou gathered all the guests up for party games. It was typical kids’ party stuff with musical chairs, duck-duck-goose and limbo. It was mostly for the kids, though each adult guest got dragged into at least one round, leading to plenty of laughs for everyone. (The O’Neils turned out to be very skilled limbo players, and Lou practically falling into Draxum’s lap as they both tried for the same musical chair had definitely been one of the most memorable moments.)

But the best game had definitely been saved for last, and all it took was Lou saying that it was time to go outside for the kids to all run to the backyard, where a big and round piñata with pictures of the various New York League wrestlers was already hung.

“You guys can go first,” Raph said, passing the bat to his youngest brother while the adults stood back to watch. He knew very well how strong he could be, and as much as he wanted to bash open the thing, he also wanted everyone else to get a turn.

Mikey tried to hit it as hard as he could, but to no avail. He pouted and passed the bat to Leo, who also couldn't manage to damage the piñata despite his efforts. Neither could Donnie, surprisingly. Not even April could manage to dent the thing, and by this point all the kids were starting to get more than a little frustrated.

“Geez, did you make it with super glue?” Draxum asked.

“Hey, I just bought it at a normal party store!” Lou insisted. Who would've thought a ten dollar piñata would be so tough. “Hmph, if they can't get open soon, I may just have to go over there and Hot Soup it open myself just so they can get the candy.”

“...That's not a verb, Lou.”

“It is the way I use it.”

Yuu took the bat now, screaming the mightiest battle cry she could muster as hit her ‘foe’. And, much to everyone’s delight, it actually cracked some, a huge dent now in it’s side. Yuu grinned at her victory, and passed the bat onto an awaiting Raph.

“Come on, big brother,” he heard Donnie say, “Finish it off!”

The other kids, as well as his father, joined in. “Yeah!” “Do it, Raphie, do it!” “You got this, Raph!” “Just one good hit, son, come on!”

Gripping the handle tightly, Raph prepared to swing. “Hot SOUP!” He yelled as he whacked the stubborn thing, resulting in a candy explosion that was so spectacular that even Draxum had to clap at it.

“Ha, that’s my boy!” Lou cheered over the candy free-for-all. He nudged Draxum slightly. “See, told you it was a verb.”

“Well, it is in this family, at least,” Draxum chuckled.

Once the candy and piñata bits (which everyone gladly let Mikey have for whatever future art project he had in mind) were cleaned up, it was back inside for presents and then cake. As was tradition in their household, everyone sat in a circle with Raph taking the spot next to the small pile of presents, all of which were wrapped or in a bag with the exception of one that instead had Chinese shipping labels on it.

“I know what this is!” Raph grinned, opening the box. He held up the various Chinese candies within for everyone to see. “Thanks, Auntie Shen!” He shouted, not caring if his aunt could actually hear him or not.

The next few presents were just as well received. A basketball from April to replace the one they had lost, some Teddy Bear Town accessories for his bears from Leo (courtesy of the small allowance his father had given him for the occasion), a VERY sparkly and colorful card from Mikey, a small homemade music box from Donnie, and a couple small ninja action figures from Yuu. Of course, Raph gave everyone plenty of thanks and hugs for their gifts.

Finally, Raph grabbed Draxum’s bag, and the scientist held his breath as he took the box out of it. “...Rock em’ sock em’ robots?” Raph read, looking curiously at the stylized pictures on the box before glancing up at Draxum.

“It's a game,” Draxum explained, not too surprised that Raph had never seen it before, “Each player takes control of a robot, and they fight to try and knock the other’s head off.”

“Whoaaa, really?” And now what he knew what it was, the birthday boy didn't hesitate to open it up. Sure enough, there was a small plastic boxing ring and two different colored plastic robots that were ready to knock each other's block off. “Awesome!” Raph smiled as he pressed a button, getting the red robot to throw a punch.

“Hey, I wanna try!” Leo said, already grabbing the controls for the blue robot.

“Me too!” Mikey shouted at the same time that Yuu insisted, “I also wanna challenge you!”

Within a few rounds, it ended up becoming somewhat of a robot rumble tournament, with several fights happening back-to-back with each new challenger going up against the winner of the previous round. Some of the kids even started putting up bets on who would win using some of their piñata candy, though it was still exciting no matter who won. It ended up taking the announcement of cake to finally drag them all away from the plastic ring.

By that time, Draxum was starting to feel a strong headache coming on thanks to all the shouting and excitement from his gift. “Maybe it was too perfect of a gift,” he mumbled to himself.

Still, he didn't want his oncoming bad mood to spoil Raph’s day, so Draxu, simply excused himself and went outside for some fresh air and quiet. Of course, it didn't take long for his boyfriend to join him, two pieces of red velvet cake in his hands.

“Hey, handsome,” he said, handing him a slice, “Everything alright?”

Draxum nodded, silently thanking him for the dessert with a soft kiss on his temple. “I'm fine, just a headache.”

“Ah, yeah,” Lou nodded, slouching a little himself as he reveled in the near silent backyard. “Kids parties can be fun, but they can be pretty rough too. If you need to leave, you can.”

“I’ll be fine,” Draxum told him, “I just needed a break is all, but thank you.” He glanced back towards the old house, and through the window saw Raph and the others race back to the living room, their sugar-spiked energy returned and their thumbs ready for more robot action. A small smile returned to Draxum’s lips.

Lou took a couple bites of his cake before speaking again. “Looks like your gift is the fan favorite.”

“Honestly I wasn't even sure if he would like whatever I got him,” Draxum admitted, picking up his own fork, “I didn't know what to get, and I ended up finding it by chance.”

Lou hummed. “You could've just texted me for gift suggestions.”

“I know,” Draxum said simply, letting the silent subtext behind his words speak for themselves. Lou smiled, shaking his head slightly. Of course Draxum would want to do it on his own, but while a bit unnecessary, it was also still sweet.

“Though, I didn't see any gifts from you,” Draxum continued, “Let me guess, you already gave him one of those big closet-reveal surprise presents?” Leave it to Lou to turn giving a present into a bit of a show.

“Oh, no no, I just took him to the toy store in Times Square after his birthday breakfast to pick out his own present.”

Draxum stood there for several seconds before finally uttering a perfectly flat, “What.”

Lou shrugged, taking another sweet bite before continuing. “I still try to surprise them with their Santa presents, keep the ‘holiday magic’ alive and all that, but birthday presents? I just let them pick it out for themselves. From what I can tell, they seem to like doing it that way. Makes them feel more grown up that they actually get to choose, and it certainly makes things easier for me.” When he noticed Draxum still giving him a flat look, Lou just gave him a “What?”

“Oh nothing, nothing,” Draxum all but sighed as he went to finally take a bite of his cake, “Just don’t be surprised if I use that strategy the next time I don’t know what to get your kids.”

((I love Recruit and her foot clan dads so much, I just HAD to put them in this universe. Anyway *points at Lt. and Brute* When I say underrated, you say ship! UNDERRATED! Lol. And yes, until we get her official name reveal, I am pretty much basing Recruit's name off that one "Hello, you" line from Brute in Hot Soup: The Game. It's silly but it's still better than calling her Karai imo....Also, Andy Suriano actually posted a sketch of Foot Lt. in a sweater vest on his instagram and I just... I need that to be canon. I need it. But for now, I'll settle for him wearing it in this universe, lol.))

[kurtty-drabbles]

“I can’t drown my demons. They know how to swim.” (Any 'verse)

@augment-techs  @rachel-foley @djinmer4  @asakacc

N/A: In Brazil, we don´t celebrate Halloween, and I know little about the story of Halloween, therefore, the only thing I like about this international holiday is the spooky stories.That said, I receive a prompt and I want to fulfill it. Some weeks ago, I watched the remake of Rosemary´s Baby (only the part I) and it gives life to this idea.Yes, I´ll use aoa!Kitty Pryde and Kurt Darkholme. I don´t know much about this version of her, so I´m using more headcanon than anything.warning: rest easy this fic will be spooky but I´ll not cross any line here, no rape or anything like in Rosemary´s baby. This fic is more Dark humor(a poor attempt) than a gore festival.

Moving from a new job is a drastic change for some, now, change the job and country is an aggressive change that few have the stomach to endure it.

Thankfully, Kitty Pryde wasn´t tied up to her old place (nor physically or emotionally) and her boss was pretty adamant that she move out to Paris, France, saying how she is the only one for the job.

Normally, anyone would be thrilled to be in such famous, charming and stunning city, however, people tend to imagine a life in Paris in the most luxurious way possible and Kitty didn´t receive such treatment.

Her shabby and barely lit place is an indication that her job covers many fees and offers nothing in return. The only comfort in her precarious situation is a tiny dragon that loves to be on her shoulder, cuddle with Kitty and follow her around.

The only constant in her chaotic life is a tiny purple dragon name is Lockheed.

One of few perks of the job is how much of free time Kitty actually have, the woman with short curly hair, black leather jacket and a purple dragon on her shoulder explore a city that will never be her home.

Narrowing her eyes as trying to understand how the gothic aesthetic of Notre Dame came to be, what inspires the artist and thinking about Disney´s The hunchback of Notre Dame that didn´t notice a younger boy pick her purse and running from his life.“Hey, thief ” she goes after him, which proves to futile since a blonde girl already catches him and start to beat him up. The astonishing fact is that this tiny blonde Russian girl(she start to swear in Russian and Kitty understand what she was saying) didn´t even sweat over this.

She gets Kitty´s purse back and is smiling innocently as what just happened wasn´t big deal.

“Hi, my name is Illyana Rasputin,” says with a Russian accent and Kitty feels awkward to be able to chat with another human being.

“Hi, my name is Kitty Pryde and this is Lockheed”

“Hello, Lockheed”

Surprisingly, Yana the blonde Russian girl and Kitty forge a friendship which is something Kitty is not against, of course, Lockheed is Kitty´s BFF no one can take his title.

“Kitty,” Yana asked one day" do you like your apartment"

“Not really, but is what I can afford at moment”

Never once, Kitty asked more about Yana´s life, maybe, is out of respect since Yana is not asking too many questions about Kitty´s life either. It is nice.

How long will this friendship last? Kitty prefers to not dwell on this, Lockheed, however, will forever be Kitty´s BFF.

One day, Kitty´s shabby and poorly lit place gets on fire, in a mysterious way. Why mysterious? Lockheed swears for his life that he didn´t start the fire and Kitty completely believes him.

After all, the fire starts far away from where Lockheed was. And the fire starts by the widow quickly spreading to the building. Kitty, along with her tiny dragon, survives the fire along with her neighbors.

It was a luck, sadly, lady luck didn´t seem to like Kitty very much and the unsettling reality that Kitty is a homeless weight on her shoulders.

Kitty and Lockheed are in the hospital, brought by force, waiting for something and nothing at the same time. What can kitty do? Her employer is not a …kind man.

Suddenly, Yana appears in the hospital anxious way and her death glare meet any doctor who tried to stop her.

“Kitty, I came as soon I heard” she is worried sick for Kitty´s health and well being and that is touching “how are you and Lockheed doing?”

“We were marveling the idea of being French buns,” says the woman trying to light up the situation.

“You don´t have a place to stay?” wonder Yana but there´s akin of happiness in her eyes “because if that true, you can stay in my building, we have an empty apartment there that no one wants.”

Normally, she would say no.Her job requires focus and dedication but after lost her home, Kitty decides that she could accept the offer.

It would be fine until she saw how luxurious the place actually was and start having second thoughts. It makes even worse was the fact that Kitty has little to no possessions, a few boxes were enough. 4 little boxes along with an overly excited dragon.

The building is a mix of luxurious, stunning and macabre in one go, Yana seems very happy, Kitty is not sharing the sentiment, but, anything is better than be homeless.

“Welcome, Kitty Pryde, to the building Limbo,” says with a trademark smile and would say something else when her cell phone ring forcing begrudgingly to answer the phone.

After a few minutes, the girl frown and looks unhappy.

“Is everything alright?”

“No, I have to fix something, meaning I´ll have to leave now” clearly unhappy with this predicament “ But Kitty, promise something, don´t be afraid. Nothing will hurt you”

“Yana, I think is easier for me to hurt them then otherwise” the blonde girl crack a smile and shakes her head.

“Whatever you say, Kitty.” Kitty and Lockheed wanted to say something else to Yana, sadly, the girl disappears without leaving traits. No sound or word, she was just gone. And now, the girl is alone in a very fancy place.

“Ok, bye Snowflake,” say to no one “hope you come back safe and sound” complains and with the 4 boxes give a look at her new/temporary home.

“What to do now?” says feeling like a fish out of water. Lockheed probably would eat a fish right now.

“Need help?” a voice sly and with a definitely German accent asked behind Kitty forcing the woman to turn around to see who it is.

“Oh, Gaspard Ulliel?” exclaims Kitty in surprise and the Gaspard have a mock smile on his face as he shakes his head.

“My name is Kurt Darkholme,” says pleasantly albeit seem too sinister for a happy neighbor, but then again, when you look like the young Hannibal no need for Halloween costume.

“Mine is Kitty Pryde, Yana let me stay here” not that she need to justify for the creepy neighbor.

“Oh, then welcome, Yana did mention you are coming” tries to smile in a friendly way, the result was enough to make Kitty never want to see Hannibal ever again.

“She did? great, I guess”

“Do you want help?” gesture the boxes and the new apartment, incredibly luxurious and big, excessively big. She is not stupid enough to let the stranger enter, but having watched Hannibal taught her that it would be rude to turn down the offer.

And then again, Kitty is Kitty and Lockheed has her back, so the new guy is not really a threat, but is unsettling.

“Sure, Mister Darkholme, you can put the boxes on the"she trailed off looking at the apartment and the dining room” in the fanciest dinner room I´ve ever seen"

The man complies smiling in the same way Hannibal did, Kitty couldn´t let that pass.

“ By the way, the tiny dragon on my shoulder is real,” says as a matter of fact crossing her arms and looking deep at the new neighbor. Who, for his part, doesn´t seem to be scared at all.

“Of course it is real, what´s the point in having a fake dragon?” says his pose indicates he wants to say something else “ do you know the history of this building?”

“Not really, a fancy French building for rich people that definitely went bankrupt allowing someone like me to live here, even though, they would be very cross with this, but who gives a shit?”

“You are spunky,” says messing with his hair “I like this answer” and leave the apartment without causing any problem or eat Kitty, but leave this advice “Oh, Kitty, if strange things happen, don´t be afraid”

Kitty was opening one of the boxes when Kurt said that. Diligent in the task, once Kurt gave this advice, Kitty stops her work to talk with Kurt but the man was gone.

“That is…not normal, right Lockheed?” the dragon doesn´t seem to care for this and was more than happy to destroy the box and make a fine nest for himself.

Kitty´s job remains the same and her routine didn´t change much, walk around with Lockheed, doing her job and return home.

She didn´t have much trickery, the lots of her possession are usually in the dining room. She is a very organized person, and hardly ever change the organization.

That´s why after returning from a nice walk with Lockheed, it is odd that her dining room is a mess, no, actually the organization is different.

The painting of a farm is on the left wall, instead of the right, the curtains are closed, usually, they are always open, the chairs are crowed in the center of the room when normally is on the left side.

“What?” this isn´t the first or the last time something like that happen, Kitty would organize the dining room in a way to the next day be completely changed.

“The fuck?” says not liking this prank. But considering how little she will stay here, this ending up not being a real issue. Her neighbor, Kurt, once found out about this incident suggested it may be a ghost.

“This building was Eleanor Garden, she was murder here”

“And what? her ghost leaves heaven or hell to mess with my dining room? ok, whatever floats her boat”

Then, something happens, the walls start having a message for her, in Latin.

“Stupid ghost, trying to scare me with a dead language” and show her tongue to the wall.

The next day, the wall has a message written in English.

“Oh my god,” she says in pure horror"Lockheed, my dear friend, don´t look at this monstrosity, there´s so many grammar errors here “ Lockheed cover his eyes and Kitty show the Star of Davi to the message.

"Ghost, there´s too many grammar errors here, is offensive, try again”

On the next day, the ghost draws an unhappy face.

“Ghost, you are going to clean this”

One day, all her TV channels are only Fox content and this makes her go pale and unhinged for a moment.

“Now, as the news arrives President Trump is the new president of US and will now give a speech”

“Ghost, please, you can have my tv now”

The next day, the TV is gone and Kitty is a relief and lost her faith in humanity.

On the weekend, Kitty brought beer for herself, French beer, of course, it was offered the German one but the woman wanted to try the French.

She never had the chance as the ghost ending up snatching her beer and then write something on the wall, the English improving now, the beer sucks bring a German one, those are better.

“Ok, ghost, I´m tired of this, came out now” growls as Lockheed fly around. “Ghost, I´m going count until 3 and if you don´t appear…”

“What menace threat, Kitty” what she can register in this moment, a blue fur devil appear, with red eyes, tail(he was on the ceiling)  and leather outfit appear in her dining room smirking at her. A slashy version of a smile.

“Oh, you aren´t a ghost, anyway, this isn´t a hotel is my house, so if you want German beer you will get yourself”

“…that´s not the reaction I was expecting”

“What were you expecting? Would I scream and run in my panties? sorry, this is real life, not a movie” she pauses to think about what she just said as Lockheed is back again on her shoulder.

“…you do realize this is a building for demons, right?”

“…Yana forget to mention this”

Yana did come back from her job/mission with a big sword cover in blood to meet Kurt Darkholme and Kitty Pryde talking about the difference between German beer and French one.

Once that Yana come back many things were said, mostly about Demons and beers, the pranks stop and Kitty is somehow forced to bring only German beer and Yana likes to explain about magic and demons. Life is chaotic but truth be told, is not lonely anymore.