#Diablo organics

[sailorr-taylorrr]

Felt too cute to not post

[bespectacledbookworm]

I can't remember if I read about this or if I was just thinking one day, but my theory is that the more sentience you have, the shorter your lifespan is and vice versa.

Also I finally bought the ear weights I always wanted

Thanks Diablo Organics

[wool-string]

[mulinee]

Owner of the Horned Griffin

Any creature that enters the traveling tavern can tell you that it’s owner Ophelie is as mysterious as where the tavern ends up. Some say she was a former queen of a forgotten kingdom, a living goddess, as old as Sanctuary itself, and/or is a witch that bathes in the blood of maidens to keep her youthful appearance. (she neither confirms nor denies any questions, except the last one. So wasteful of a maiden! Now the blood of her enemies on the other hand…)

Regardless, if you stop in her tavern for the night or just a drink, you’ll find the softest beds and the best tasting drinks you’ve ever experienced. Her only rule? No fighting in her tavern, no matter where you’re from. And be careful what you say, as you never know what can be used against you later.

[soulmusicsongs]

La Gira Del Diablo - Amigos (Amigos, 1976)

[gallusrostromegalus]

Might I inquire as to what, precisely, a Mustain't is? (Aside from a string of letters I hesitate to Google in that order.)

In October 2014 I went on a road-trip to the Dryest Place In America.

I was having a rough year, very depressed from having dropped out of college for the third time. I decided a road trip was in order to re-set my brain and get a little distance. Being that it was October, and therefore all the campgrounds in the American Southwest were filled with people who have the good sense to camp in reasonable temperatures, I elected to take my parent's minivan so I could car-camp anywhere suitably isolated, and looked up some of the southwest's geographic extremes- the highest place I could drive to (Pikes Peak), the lowest place (Badwater Basin), and for fun, the Dryest Place in the continental US, which turned out to be the Pinacate Volcanic field just west of Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. It gets rain maybe twice a century and has no standing water, despite being less than 100 miles from the gulf of California.

It's a startlingly beautiful and alien place. The ground is a deep chocolate brown to black volcanic sand, and in mid October, the rabbit brush is turning bright yellow as it shifts to autumn, the organ pipe cacti are a dark green and stand, partially concealed in the brush at exactly human height. The air is alive with birds and insects and bats at night. The stargazing is like looking into the eyes of God.

You get there by driving down a little dirt road called "El Camino Del Diablo", or "The Devil's Road".

I drove out about three hours from Glendale, AZ to get there, arriving at sunset, and felt a profound sense of peace. I stargazed, listening to the bats hunt and sing, and slept peacefully for the first time in months.

I stayed out there for three days, sketching and painting the landscape, taking strolls through this almost alien landscape, and enjoying the light and sound and total absence of human intrusion besides myself.

On the fourth night, it was a new moon, and I awoke in the middle of the night. Something was amiss, and it took me a while to realize it was because I could NOT hear the bats. I was sleeping inside the van with the rear windows rolled halfway down rather than trying to set up the tent, so I when I sat up, I looked out of the van's reflective windows to discover what at first appeared to be A Horse.

It was something between pale gray and bright white in the starlight, standing maybe a dozen feet from the van, sniffing curiously. It made sense- I was in the middle of mustang country and there was quite a bit of foliage in the area for it and it did look like a truly wild horse- lumpy where the bones were jutting out, dusty about the hooves and face.

I was instantly seized by the sort of paralytic fear Sleep paralysis is made of. I couldn't move. It wasn't quite looking at me because it couldn't quite see through the windshield into the shadowy into the shadowy interior, but I had the distinct impression that if I looked away, it would know, and get me.

I already had problems with horses. My beloved Aunt Helen's Prize mare tried to kill me on two separate occasions, and the year before I had to carry my sister-in-law backwards out of a slot canyon whilst reciting the Saint Crispin's Day Speech as loudly as possible to keep a mustang from trampling us to death.

This is approximately what it should have looked like:

Instead, it was... off. like trying to draw a horse from memory.

The waist tapered in.

The legs were slightly too long or the torso slightly too short, probably both.

The ears were Triangular.

The head wasn't quite right- Too narrow and the jaw wasn't heavy enough.

The tail was too long and arced unnaturally away from the body.

The neck arched.

The nostrils were too high and close

The mouth too long.

Whatever this is, a Mustang it Ain't.

I watched it from the back seat as it sniffed around the front of the van, curious with about the side mirrors. It moved around the van, nibbling experimentally on the front door handle. It came up to the side windows, sniffing like a dog, and it's breath didn't fog up the glass.

Finally, it came up to the rear window, which was rolled halfway down to let the fall night air in. Not even half a pane of glass and two feet of air between us, and I could clearly see it's bright blue eyes.

Horses have Elongated pupils to give them a wide field of vision, and eyes that rotate sideways in their sockets so the pupil remains parallel to the ground. Rather creepy to watch, especially the ones with blue eyes.

A real horse that was curious about the interior of the van would have come up to the window more or less sideways, and looked at me with something like this:

Instead, the damn thing walked up and faced the back window head on, staring back at me with this:

I'm not sure how long we watched each other like that, eyes locked. My eyes burned. I couldn't blink. My mouth was dry. I couldn't swallow. My throat began to ache. I couldn't make a sound. My skin began to twitch, like I was severely dehydrated. I couldn't move. My lungs burned. I couldn't move. I couldn't move. I couldn't move. I couldn't move.

Something was touching the side of my hand on the seat next to me. It's my water bottle.

The realization must have broken the terrible paralysis in the lower parts of my brain first, because by the time I consciously realized I could move again, I was already flinging my water bottle out the window at it.

The top was open, and splashed out the window at the Mustain't.

I've never heard such a scream out of an animal. Something halfway between the sound of unquenchable rage vibrating in someone's chest and the way rabbits cry out to God when the dogs catch them.

It jumped back, pivoting away from the van, snarling at the water bottle. I don't think you're supposed to be able to see All of a horse's teeth at once, no matter how angry it is.

I watched it run into the night for some distance, it's pale body visible against the black sand and the dark gray shadow of the ancient volcanic cone it was headed for.

When the blood stopped pounding in my ears, I could hear the bats again.

I debated leaving right then, but I didn't want to get out of the van with that thing in the area, nor litter by leaving the water bottle out there. I also had the awful idea that if I left now, it might somehow be able to follow me home. I ended up staying up three hours to watch the sunrise, shaking and trying to figure out if I'd woken up from a vivid dream, if my meds had stopped working, or if that had really happened. I didn't dare move until I actually felt the temperature rise, before stepping out of the van to grab the bottle. I had my camera ready- I was still using a DSLR back then- to take pictures of the hoofprints, to show how close it had gotten to the van.

No hoofprints.

Beetle tracks in the soft sand around the van, and the clear foot-and-wing prints of a bird that had hopped around then taken off. But no hoofprints.

I went over the entire campsite with the tent broom, to make sure I removed every scrap of evidence I had ever been there, including my footprints, grabbed my water bottle, and drove the three hours back back to Glendale, then decided to do seven more hours of driving to Moab, Utah just to put more than 500 miles, the state line and at least nine things that could be considered "running water" between me and the Mustain't.

-

I still have that water bottle. It has a dent in the bottom from hitting something, but that could have happened at any time. Strange thing though. I can't drink that bottle dry. I'll have it on me, drink whatever I've put in there- water, juice, iced coffee- and eventually feel like I've drunk the whole think and that it's empty. But I open it up and it's still at least a quarter full. I drink that. I get thirsty. I open it up again. ...and there's always a mouthful left.

Not sure what the side effects of drinking from a bottle cursed by a Mustain't to always have some left are, but it lives in the Emergency Breakdown Kit in my car now, just in case I meet another one.

---

(I'm a disabled artist and make my living telling stories, please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi or Pre-order the Family Lore book on Patreon)

[veworvt]

How to make organs work with hero editor diablo 2

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[bpmiranda]

The Bodyguard |l. howlett|

A/N: slow burn, friends to lovers, 1970s, bodyguard!logan x original character, organized crime, violence, drug use, brief mention of underage drinking, suggestive content

When Logan Howlett first began working with the Vasquez cartel, he was Emilio’s bodyguard. They were aware of Logan’s mutation, sought him out for that reason specifically. Logan figured if he didn’t need to hide while under the employment of the cartel, if he could make an ungodly amount of money, then what could the harm be to stick around in Tijuana a little while longer. The harm became obvious to him very quickly in the form of a sweet, yet smart mouthed little sister named Mercedes. The young Vasquez was dark-haired with darker eyes that seemed to be deep enough to drown in, a kind smile always adorning her pretty face, her wits sharp despite her age which wasn’t unusual seeing as she grew up around cartel men. Logan didn’t see her often, not much at all seeing as he had to stick with Emilio at all times of the day and night, but big brother adored his little sister and it wasn’t unusual for her to ride around with them from time to time.

That was how Logan learned that as sweet as Mercedes was, she was also incredibly irritating. Once she found out Logan was nearly a century old, she was always pestering him any time they were in the same vicinity. There was something about showing off her intelligence that she seemed to get off on and Logan was always left wondering what the hell he was doing when all these historic events were happening in real time around him. “I was fighting in wars, kid.” Logan muttered, not having an answer for her question about the first Olympic games. “I wasn’t exactly traveling for pleasure.” He told her as he glanced at her in the rearview mirror while Emilio chuckled in the passenger seat.

Mercedes couldn’t help herself. “1896, Athens.” She answered her own question and Emilio shot her a tired look.

“Is she always like this?” Logan asked him.

“Siempre, compadre,” (Always, pal.) Emilio said while the young Vasquez simply sat quietly with a triumphant smirk on her face that irritated Logan. “You get off here, hermanita.” (little sister) Emilio said they came to a stop in front of their father’s home which was always gated, always guarded. “Tell Pa Logan and I are dealing with the problem in Portezuelos.”

Mercedes gave her brother an interested look as she held onto Logan’s open window, peering past the bodyguard who was trying not to smell the scent of her hair, but failing. “Que problema?” (What problem?) She asked curiously and Emilio shook his head. “Dime!” (Tell me!) She pleaded and Emilio gave her a stern look.

“Go.”

With an eye roll, she took a step back and her eyes fell on Logan who realized he was staring at her. “Take care of him?” She asked, motioning briefly at her brother and Logan smirked.

“It’s my job, sweetheart.” He said and she beamed at him before turning and walking past the guards that let her past the gates into her father’s home.

The problem in Portezuelos was that one of the runners they used to move weight had stashed a great deal of product with the intention of selling it to a rival cartel. The problem had to be taken care of in a permanent way, that’s when Logan came in. Emilio and Logan dragged him out of his home, took him out to the desert because no one would ask questions when a body appeared with slashes like those of coyotes out there. It came in handy to dispose of people this way rather than with bullets, it flew under the radar as an animal attack. The man was dying, gurgling on his blood as Logan lit a cigar a few feet away while Emilio talked to him, told him there was a way to have avoided all of this. The dying man’s eyes fell on Logan suddenly and they stared at each other for a moment before he struggled to spit out through his own blood the words, “Mas sabe el diablo por viejo que por diablo.”

The ride back was quiet and Logan couldn’t stop thinking about those words, running them through his head the whole drive. Emilio could tell and he suddenly asked, “Are you a religious man?” Logan looked over at the man beside him for a moment, his eyes falling on the diamond encrusted crucifix around his neck and Emilio chuckled. “I won’t be offended.” Logan smirked and shook his head as he turned his eyes back to the road, pulling up and parking in front of the Vasquez home.

“Nah, not really.” He said.

Emilio clapped his shoulder softly and Logan looked at him. “Then you have nothing to worry about, amigo.” He said before getting out of the car and then peering in at him through the window. “Come inside, have a drink. My father wants to speak to you.”

When they walked into the mansion, Emilio told him to wait outside the study. Logan sat in a leather chair with a glass of whiskey and he waited, listening to the conversation behind the thick oak door as clearly as if it were being had out here in the drawing room though he didn’t understand too much. A familiar flowery scent began to invade his nose and he looked up to see Mercedes coming down the stairs, her face lit up at the sight of him and it made him feel, well, good. “Logan,” She greeted, bounding over to him in her school uniform. “You’re back. Is Emilio here?”

Logan made a gesture to the closed study with his glass. “Told you I’d take care of him, didn’t I?” Mercedes smiled as she nodded and sat in the chair across from him, crossing her leg over the other as she folded her hands over her knee. His eyes fell on the glint that came from her chest and he noticed a crucifix around her neck, more dainty and simple than Emilio’s large, bulky pendant. “You religious?” He asked her and she nodded immediately.

“Catholic.” She answered.

“Catholics believe in the devil, right?” He asked and she couldn’t help the curious tilt in her head. “Can you translate something for me? Without laughing at my Spanish?” He added quickly and she was unable to hide a smirk, but she nodded. “Mas sabe el diablo por viejo que por diablo.”

Mercedes translated his broken Spanish quietly, closing her eyes as she listened to the words in her head until they made sense. Logan watched her full lips move as she repeated the phrase a few times. “The devil knows more from being old than from being the devil.” She said, her eyes opening and falling back onto the man sitting across from her. His jaw tightened and she figured that he had heard that out there today as it was no doubt in reference to his age, the ungodly amount of time he has spent on this Earth. “Who said that to you?” She asked with concern etched onto her face and Logan shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter who said it - he’s dead anyway.” Logan finished his whiskey and set the empty glass on the side table next to him. “Does it mean anything?”

“It’s just an old saying,” Mercedes shrugged and he gave her a nod that told her to continue. With a small sigh, she did. “You know that Lucifer was originally an angel, right?” Logan nodded, watching her as she didn’t seem to be shaken up having to talk about the devil as he assumed most religious people lived in fantasy worlds where everything was always good. It made him wonder if her faith truly brought her a sense of safety and comfort. “Well, some people might say that he is evil by nature, that he was born that way, you know? Others might say he became wicked simply because he’s been alive for so long.”

“What do you believe?” He asked her and she only shrugged, unaffected by the concept of evil. “You aren’t scared of the devil?” Mercedes shook her head more firmly. “Why?”

“I’m more scared of letting fear control my life.” Logan thought about her words for a moment, and he was about to ask her how she could feel so safe in a place like this, surrounded by people like her brother when the study door suddenly opened and they both turned to see Emilio coming out.

His eyes found Mercedes and he clicked his tongue while shaking his head. “You’re supposed to be asleep.” He told his sister who greeted him with a hug. “My father’s ready for you, Logan.” Emilio said as he led Mercedes out of the study while Logan stood up and made his way towards the office, but not before she suddenly grabbed his arm and turned him back to look down at her.

With her eyes on his, she unclasped her necklace and he quickly shook his head. “I have more, take it,” She insisted and Logan bent forward to let her place the chain around his neck. His hand involuntarily came to rest on her waist to balance her as she stood on her toes while she fixed the clasp securely and then she took a step back, beaming at him as he touched the crucifix. “Just in case.”

Logan chuckled, twisting the pendant between two fingers a few times before dropping his hand and nodding at her. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Their father paid Logan, thanked him for helping them out with their problem, and when he noticed his daughter’s necklace around his neck, he gave Logan a warning that she wasn’t to be touched, much less hurt, by anyone. Logan agreed, not saying anything more about their situation because there wasn’t one. Mercedes was only sixteen, Logan was a much smarter man than to let himself get hung up on some kid.

Five Years Later…

With the smoke wafting around her, the haze and the strobe lights made her appear to be a dream clad in a sparkly sleeveless, black dress and a pair of knee high white boots as she danced in the middle of the floor. Her hips rolled in rhythm to the music against her girlfriends, the joint in her fingers coming back to her lips. Logan had seen plenty of twenty-one year old girls go wild for their birthday, and when the cartel threw a party, they sure went all out. The club had been closed for the night of celebration, and even though it was only for friends and family, it was still packed. Logan had come to know most everyone here pretty well in the last five years since being hired as the bodyguard for a then still underground drug dealer. Big brother had made it big time and as he climbed the cartel ladder, so did the price for his head and anyone in his family, that included his sister. With the promotion, Logan went from being his bodyguard to hers.

After two years of guarding him, Logan was hesitant to take on the task of guarding her as he became so used to Emilio’s routine. Fortunately, Mercedes was easy to care for as she was not necessarily reckless or difficult to handle. The girl had a good head on her shoulders and she understood she wasn’t just any normal person, there had to be precautions. Even tonight when she was letting loose, she understood that she couldn’t be anywhere out of Logan’s eyeline. Much like the other nights before this one because no one was going to tell her that she couldn’t drink before being of legal age to do so. No one in Tijuana said ‘no’ to a Vasquez.

It wasn’t long before the weed she was smoking dried her mouth out and she came back over to him where he was sitting at the corner of the bar, watching her. “Can I get a-um-what was I drinking, Lo?” She slurred, grinning up at him drunkenly, unaware of her hand resting on his thigh.

“I think you should drink some water, sugar.” He said, turning to face her, slyly looking her up and down. How’d she get so grown up so quickly? He thought to himself.

Her bottom lip jutted out subtly and she slid her hand up his thigh a little further. “Come on, Logan, it’s my birthday.” She said in a soft, pleading tone.

Logan only shook his head, not able to keep the smirk off his face as he ordered her drink, “Another vodka cranberry.”

“Si!” She exclaimed happily while pointing at the bartender. “And get him another beer, cause he’s doing such a great job.” Her lips pressed to his cheek as she caught him around the neck with her arm and then she took her beverage back to the dance floor, leaving her joint in the ashtray he was using for his cigar.

“Drunk ass girl.” Logan chuckled, shaking his head as he took the new beer with a nod at the bartender.

At the end of the night, Logan drove her back to her apartment. After having grown accustomed to the privacy and simplicity of a college dorm, she didn’t want to continue living in her father’s home. Regardless, Mercedes lived in the nicer part of town, but it was still his job to make sure she got in safely, so he always walked her into the building. Sure, partly for safety, but tonight she was stumbling and refused to take her heeled boots off, even in this state when she could hardly stand in them.

“Esta sucio el piso, Logan.” (The ground is dirty, Logan) “I’m-I’m not walking barefooted.” She slurred, leaning into him until it was simply easier for him to carry her bridal style. “Oh, this is nice.” She sighed and she relaxed in his arms, her heavy head falling onto his chest as he easily carried her up the stairs of her building. Logan only smirked as he set her down in front of her door.

Mercedes fumbled around in her clutch, searching for her key, and then gave up as she handed the purse to him instead. Logan laughed, taking her key out of her purse and unlocking the door. “You are real wasted, sweetheart.”

Her index finger came up to her lips as if it were a secret and she stumbled through the door when she opened it. “I had a great birthday, Logan.” She smiled sweetly at him, kissing the pads of her fingers and then pressing them to his lips. “Thanks!” She called behind her and Logan watched as she left the door wide open while she fell in exhaustion onto her couch.

With a sigh, he rubbed his face, looked up and down the hall before walking into the apartment and closing the door behind him. “C’mon, let’s get you into bed.” He said, walking over to where she had begun to nestle into the couch.

“You can’t-no-it’s messy, don’t look in there.” She stammered sleepily as he ignored her and picked her up again to carry her to the bedroom.

It was messy. There were clothes everywhere as well as shopping bags, unopened gift boxes, and it reeked of weed. Her shoes were splayed out on the floor in a haphazard line around her bed. It was odd to Logan only because, in the few years that he had known her, she was actually quite neat and organized. This didn’t feel like her at all. “Your brother know you’ve got a shopping addiction?” He asked as he laid her in her bed.

Her dress rode up a little as she curled into herself and shook her head while he tried to ignore her exposed legs. “My brother barely calls me.” She mumbled, letting him take her boots off. Logan set them in her closet and turned around to see that she was trying to undo the zipper of her dress.

“Wait a minute, kid.” Logan said as he quickly pulled the blanket over her and she wiggled out her dress underneath the cover. “Jesus, you can’t handle your drink.” He laughed lightly, making sure she was tucked in when her hand then touched his arm and he looked down at her.

Her eyes were veiled with intoxication, but she seemed to be looking right into him, as if invading his mind as she squeezed his arm. “Thanks for being here for me, Logan.”

“It’s my job, sugar.” He said.

Mercedes shook her head, smiling up at him as if she knew something he didn’t. “No, you’re more than the guy hired to keep me safe.” She yawned suddenly and her hand slipped off his arm as she began dozing off. “You’re my closest friend, Lo.”

In the morning, Logan found himself to still be in her apartment, having fallen asleep on her couch. It wasn’t unusual, he had spent a few nights on her couch before, but last night it was for more reasons than simply wanting to make sure she was okay. There was something going on with her. With a light groan, he got up and checked on her through the crack of her door and saw she was still asleep. He figured she would be hungry and hungover when she got up so he left to grab some breakfast for the both of them, wondering what he should do as far as his suspicions of her going through some sort of depressive episode given the uncharacteristic appearance of her apartment and her behavior.

Logan had met Mercedes when she was just sixteen years old, she was a sweet girl with not one bad bone in her body. It took a few times of her humbling his intelligence before they became friends. She was studying to go into nursing, never was the type of drink or do any drugs which is uncommon for someone so close to this kind of organization. However, that clearly changed recently. Probably around the time she left for college, the same time their father had passed away, and Emilio had far too much going on with the business he inherited and the wife he married to be able to keep an eye on his sister like he used to do. That’s when it became Logan’s job to watch her and he developed a strong sense of responsibility over her.

When Logan returned to her apartment, he could hear the shower running and the faint sound of her puking in the bathroom. “‘Cedes,” He called as he took off his brown leather jacket and hung it on the coat rack. “You alright, kid?”

“No,” She called weakly as he stood outside the bathroom door. “I think I’m dying, Lo.”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head as he slowly opened the door when he heard a flush and saw her sitting on the bathroom floor in her robe, leaning against the tub as she rested her head on her knees. “Oh, sweetheart,” He sighed, stepping in to help her. Logan picked her up and sat her on the closed toilet lid, kneeling in front of her and picking her little head up in his hands. “You look a mess.”

“Thanks.” She grumbled, pushing his hand off her face and sighing. “Never let me drink again, please.”

Logan laughed, knowing that to be one of the most unserious requests a hungover person always made. “I warned you not mix the grass and the drinks.” He reminded her as he caressed her leg, feeling the softness of her calf as he looked at her pitifully. “Can you get in the shower on your own?” He asked and she nodded, letting him help her to her feet. Her hands held tightly onto his strong arms and he waited for her legs to stop trembling before letting her try to stand on her own. “Got some coffee and breakfast waiting for you. It’ll make you feel better.”

Logan left her to wash up while he went to her bedroom and looked around at the mess, shaking his head with his hands on his hips as he tried to find a place to start. Mercedes was currently on Spring Break from school, it was fortunate that her birthday fell in the same weeks so she could recover from the festivities. Logan wondered at what point her space became so untidy and why it had become like this in the first place. As he was picking up her clothes and putting it in the hamper, he heard the bedroom door open and she walked in with a towel wrapped around her body, her wet, dark hair falling over her shoulders and sticking to her arms and neck.

“That’s clean clothes.” She said, glancing at the garments he had dropped in her hamper as she opened her dresser and pulled some clothes out.

“How can you even tell?” He asked incredulously, looking around at all the clothes still scattered in different piles.

“I have a system.” She shrugged, slipping on her panties underneath her towel and then turning away from him so she could drop it from around her body and clip on her bra. Logan looked away from her as she turned back around and he heard her scoff lightly. “Please, it’s no different than seeing me at the beach in a bikini.” She said as she shook her hair out and dried it.

Logan figured she was right and he looked back at her. It was completely different. Her white strapless lace bra contrasted against her tanned skin, her brown nipples were almost visible through the intricate pattern. Her panties were the same lace material, cheeky and hugging her full hips. “What’s going on in here?” He asked, motioning to her apparently organized mess, trying not to be obvious with his staring. Logan would be lying if he said she wasn’t an attractive girl, but he had a job to do, first and foremost.

“I’ve just been going through something,” She mumbled as she pulled on a white tank top and tucked it into a pair of high waisted bell bottom jeans. “Don’t mention it to Emilio. He’s got enough going on.” Mercedes sighed as she sat at her vanity and chugged a half full water bottle that had been sitting there. Logan watched her pick up a roach and light it while she picked out a lipstick shade and some mascara from her makeup bag.

“It’s a little early to be toking, don’t you think?” He asked as he sat at the edge of her bed and watched her. Enthralled by the way she carefully applied her mascara while hitting her joint.

“What’s that American saying? Eat the hair of the dog that bit you?” Logan laughed, shaking his head as he rubbed the inside corners of his eyes and she tossed the empty water bottle at him. “Don’t laugh at me, gringo!” She chuckled before she turned back around and playfully glared at him through her mirror while she swiped a rosy shade across her lips. Logan couldn’t help his grin as he shook his head, stifling a chuckle. “Did you spend the night?”

“Not because I wanted to,” Logan said, wiping his eyes and looking up at her. “You were too far gone last night to stay by yourself.”

Her lips made a soft popping sound as she blotted her lipstick and she took another drag of her joint while she stood up and walked over to him, standing over him with her an arm crossed over her middle. “I appreciate it.” She offered him the joint and he shook his head, standing up and placing his hands on her shoulders.

“Tell me what’s going on, ‘Cedes, this isn’t like you.” He said, looking around at her room with a worried tone that she couldn’t ignore. Her eyes fell on the crucifix around his neck and she chewed her lip anxiously. Logan truly was her friend and she didn’t want him to worry so much about her. The least she could do was have a conversation with him.

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

This piece of writing is so very dear to me! I am so excited to share this story with you, kind readers. Please let me know what you think:)

The Bodyguard II

🏷️: @dontfeedthebigbadwolf @peterparkernotfound @httpsells @evasmlp @ayatotiddies @thatlittlered @seasonofthenerd @littlemisscantloveyouback @scorpiosaintt @simpingfor-wakasa @spencerswh0r3 @thatweirdtheaternerd12 @shybluebirdninja @iamburdened

[awacatin]

Diablo y ángel

[ID: Stylized Trigun fanart of Vash. The first is heavily toned red and depicts him as a dark silhouette with only two yellow lenses for facial features. Vash is holding himself oddly, and black waving lines emanate around him. His coat is off-white and accented with red, making it reminiscent of bone.

The second is toned light yellow. Vash is bending on all fours, and organic, occasionally feather-like protrusions burst from his arm and back. Vash’s face is the same light color as the feathers, with only his glasses as a distinguishing feature. End ID]

ID by @princess-of-purple-prose <3333

[kociamieta]

Out of the scale of 1 to 10 which version/interpretations of angels look horrifying or majestic?

1. Bayonetta Angels

2. Evangelion Angels

3. Diablo Angels

4. Legion Angels

5. Classic Bible Accurate Angels

6. Angelerium Angels

8. DOOM angels

7. Ultrakill Angels

8. The Woodsprite and Death from Guillermo Del Toro's Pinnochio

9. Dark Souls Angels

10. Shin Megamei Tensei Angels

anon i'm afraid i'm unfamiliar with like, 70% of these. so i can't "rate" them other than based on their looks. instead of a scale of 1 to 10 you're getting my thoughts on their designs as i am notoriously bad at Ranking Things. and some babbling overall. enjoy

starting off with Bayonetta angels. Holy shit. the range.... monster-looking ones? humanoids? ships??? cars????? the flesh inside those gold and marble shells??? love them, quite horrifying and majestic at once.

Evangelion! cool stuff. always love some strange organic shapes for angels, and the very geometric ones are pretty interesting as well

Diablo. i like the tendril-like wings. the lack of a visible face is pretty cool as well..

i... i'm assuming you're talking about the 2010 movie "Legion". no comment on this one.

i'm not really sure what "Classic Bible Accurate Angels" would entail. if you're pedantic enough, you can argue that the cherubim and ophanim in Ezekiel's vision aren't exactly "angels" in the literal sense of the word. malakim/messengers/angels could appear as pretty much human. either way, the celestial being category is quite fascinating

my jaw dropped when i saw the Angelarium website. the designs?? the drawings themselves???? the writing as well. obsessed with this???? hello....... Definitely quite majestic

DOOM. huh. that's a pretty interesting looking alien behind that armor. i'm assuming the angel comparison works in the game's context

ULTRAKILL! yay! Gabriel and the Council's armor are pretty cool, and i like the virtues too (their concept art is so good!!!). hope we get to see more angels in the future.

ahhhhg they're both so cool. love how Death is a sphynx. i can't tell if they're exactly supposed to be angels (saw the Woodsprite called a "fairy" somewhere?), but the motifs are so good regardless

Dark Souls. ojh wow. i think these are the most disturbing on this list, i love them. taking organic shapes to another level.... they remind me of mycelia.... huge win for horrifying angel nation

i wasn't really sure what to focus on with Shin Megami Tensei. the angel enemy itself (poor thing went through a lot, design wise)? the divine demon class as a whole (a... lot of characters to look at)? so i went with the archangels. their SMT IV versions are great, the ornate and quite organic-looking shapes put them on the majestic end of the spectrum for me

[sailorr-taylorrr]

Just stopping by to say hellooooo 👋🏻

[dresdencodak]

Dark Science #142 - "Battle Face"

Dark Science #142 - Battle Face

Xiaoling's fighting style, Baguazhang (Eight Trigram Palm), is a Chinese martial art founded in the late 19th century that utilizes unique spiraling mechanics to thread attacking and defending into one continuous flow.  The “Eight Trigrams” refers to the Yi Ching, a prominent Daoist text on divination and philosophy. The style uses Daoist terminology to organize a training method that can synthesize the techniques of many other styles, and in fact was originally developed with this in mind. Bagua is similar to Taiji in its subtle approach to fighting, but differs in that Bagua favors constant dynamic movement over Taiji’s receptive stillness. If Taiji is like flowing water, Bagua’s more like a tornado.

Not sure what “Diablo” training is, though…

Patreon | Gumroad | Store | Ko-Fi | Paypal

[misterxsamsa]

I think the JTHM universe's versions of heaven and hell are very interesting. They're evidently not based on mortality persay, not even just an objective measure of intelligence. It's very nuanced, and specific, and the introduction of it acts a good narrative conclusion to Johnny's character progression.

We're introduced to heaven first, and an evidently very flawed God. He's portrayed as all grotesque, and lazy, and funny-looking — not answering any of Johnny's questions, or doing anything about the the world's suffering. However, in relation to heaven's inhabitants, the concept of "content" is stressed above morality. There's nothing enriching in the enviorment, just chairs to "bliss" in, but they're all completely at peace and given immense power alongside that.

We're not given incredible amounts of insight into the people residing there. However, it seems some of them were likely quite unpleasant in character, like the crabby old woman. Through all this, the notion of morality not being the determining factor of where you reside in the afterlife is established. So, if it's not morality, subjective or otherwise, then what is it? Well, it's not any one thing, and the answer to that question is left somewhat open-ended and subjective.

When catching a glimpse of hell, the characters of its residents are just as mixed as heaven's — some nice, some mean. The shared trait between all of them though is a preoccupation with the inane. They're cartoonishly reactive to the smallest of inconveniences, materialistic, superficial, or lacking in attention span. We're told many of them are driven to neuroticism by an eye in the sky that they all simultaneously believe to be watching them specifically. To me, this is a barely symbolic representation of an obsession with appearences: the judgements, opinions, praises of others.

Personally, I interpret the determining factors for the fate of your eternal soul in JTHM to be that of priorities and perspective. To be specific, what you allow to consume your thoughts — the things you value and pursue during your life. By choosing [or rather prioritizing] contentment, the residents of heaven decided that it was more worthwhile than wasting mental energy on fleeting negative emotions, or other base things. It's not that their souls are being judged from some detached perspective outside of themselves. They're determining the course of their own afterlife, and hell is effectively just a self-imposed state of mind.

That's all intriguing from a lore perspective, but this system is a backdrop meant to emphasize the themes of Johnny's narrative journey. The idea that "heaven" and "hell" are states actively sought rather than assigned is meant to highlight Johnny's agency in his own deterioration. He's chosen to prioritize his misanthropy, and homicidal tendencies, over his art and relationships. By seeing himself in the residents of hell through their shared flaws, he's forced to internally take accountability. That's what ultimately drives him towards a pursuit of contentment in Issue #7.

What's interesting though is that the notion of what exactly "contentment" entails is left purposefully vague. Why wouldn't it be? The concept of "contentment" is subjective and self-determined. That's why Johnny continues to kill, and overall be very morally dubious even after his change in perspective. He's choosing to make it about his own amusement and enrichment rather than centering it in exhaustive hate. Hey, everybody finds happiness a little differently, I suppose, it's still tangible progress nonetheless.

There's an interesting dichotomy to be found between God and Senor Diablo. Upon a first glance, I've seen many take their portrayal [and differences] as a cynical, but straightforward poke at organized religion. That's probably the case, but I see more to it than just that. In JTHM, the systems of heaven and hell are meant to reflect and support Johnny's character progression. As such, I'd make the argument God and Senor Diablo could be symbolic of the judgements Johnny would normally make on others.

Senor Diablo is very distinguished, intelligent, and he loves the word "DOOM". He's seemingly well-off compared to the God of this world, and Johnny respects him significantly more [relatively speaking] as a result. However, he's unhappy with the people he rules over, and exhausted by their repetitively short-sighted tendencies. In some respects, you could view him as Johnny's parallel, both are cynical enjoyers of suffering looking down on idiots who they view as beneath them. Perhaps, by a subjective character evaluation, and on aesthetics, you could say he's above his heavenly counterpart. Still, that judgement would bring him no joy.

It's emblematic of the lessons Johnny has to learn about himself and others. He's not better than humanity for constantly engulfing himself in the sufferings and injustices of the world, ones he only pretends to truly care about. His intellect is only valuable for as much as he can properly utilize it to better his own circumstances. With God, he's greasy and ignorant, but he's completely happy, or content. He's a representation of all the traits that motivates Johnny's hatred of others — he's all fleshy-like, and completely unconcerned with his sorroundings in any deep sense. It makes sense for humans to be apparently made in his image, since he's a fucked up interpretation of the quintessential human.

Still, by the end of the comics, Johnny learns to appreciate his love of content, rather than fixating upon his numerous detestable traits. In life, you'll encounter many people you'll find to be as disgusting as that lumpy God-dude in his chair. Regardless, it's in your best interests to only allow their bad qualities to occupy your thoughts to a limited degree. By learning to internalize to philosophies of people different from him, or particularly flawed, Johnny's learned to become a more well-rounded person. Again, relatively speaking by the standards of a homicidal maniac. Rome wasn't built in a day!

[twola]

The pines, they often whisper They whisper what no tongue can tell He who drinks from the deep water May he know the depths of the well

➵ AO3

➵ requests: open

➵Passerine

arthur morgan x f!reader, explicit, dark/heavy themes, ongoing

When a run-in with an O’Driscoll leads you to a fate worse than death, it’s up to Arthur to pick up the pieces.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

➵Devil's Backbone

arthur morgan x f!OC, explicit, longfic, ongoing

Limpany’s burning was a lot more than meets the eye. Deception, greed, and murder follow everyone touched by Leviticus Cornwall. A story where the Van der Linde gang gets even more inescapably involved in Cornwall’s dealings, with the survivor of the massacre at the heart of it all. Slow burn. Pre-Blackwater and beyond.

Chapter I : Limpany : I | II | III | IV | V Chapter II: Diablo Ridge: I | II | III | IV | V Chapter III: Owanjila: I | II | III | IV | V | VI

➵Seven Deadly Sins

arthur morgan x f!reader, explicit, complete

Because if one thing is true, it is that Arthur Morgan is a sinner. Pure, organic, non-GMO smut. Someone catches feelings along the way.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

Drabbles/One-Shots

on ao3 in an anthology titled "Voluptatem"

➵➵ arthur morgan x f!reader, explicit ➵➵

➵The Fine Art of Knot Tying I, II, III ➵In the French Way I, II ➵Gone Fishin' ➵Barely Hidden ➵NSFW Alphabet ➵Virtuous ➵Convalescence ➵Regret Me Not ➵In Sickness ➵Cleanliness and Godliness ➵Painted Ribbons ➵Anything You Can Do  ➵Learning the Hard Way ➵Accounting and Other Arts ➵Caught ➵To Name a Vista ➵Pain Relief ➵Defying Conventions (ABO) ➵Mirror Image ➵Cartography ➵ Lookin' for Trouble ➵ Snowbound ➵ My Love and I Did Meet ➵ Stance ➵ Holy ➵ Ache ➵ Softness ➵ Bloodied ➵ Ladylike ➵ I can't lose you ➵ Morning Light ➵ Already Gone ➵ Useless ➵ Marked ➵Chasing Waterfalls ➵ Seething ➵ If At First ➵ Fortitude ➵ Of Many Talents ➵ Sunkissed ➵ Bare ➵ Thank God for Whiskey

[sockslippin]

Not sure if it was asked yet, but what games do you like to play? 😊😊

I cycle through them, currently in a Minecraft phase. I play all kinds of games though. Fallout, Far cry, Slime Rancher, Assassin's creed, DDLV, Borderlands, love getting my ass humbled in Elden ring, Diablo, Spyro, Crash Nitro racing, Disney speed storm, Fortnite, fall guys, Call of Duty, Left 4 Dead, Mass effect. I feel like I'm missing a lot but it'll probably come up organically later. Thank you for the lovely question 🥰

[intoxicated-chan]

Hey so I was wondering if you could do an Valeria x f reader where the reader goes to infiltrate the cartel instead of soap and the reader gets like scared and starts tearing up a lil bit yk?

Anyways thanks if you do it 🫶

Learn and Convince Me

♡o。.✿ฺ Paring // Valeria Garza x F!141!Reader

♡o。.✿ฺ Summary // With the rest of the men being too military, you went instead but what you hoped would be a walk in a park became a fear for your life.

♡o。.✿ฺ (A/n) // Thanks for requesting! Sorry for the errors in the Spanish translations… Yes I did use google translate, please don’t look at me like that. I decided to make this a bit longer since I feel like there wasn’t enough Valeria in it. I hope this is all to your liking and hope you enjoy it!

♡o。.✿ฺ Word Count // 3k

♡o。.✿ฺ Content Warnings // Female reader, violence, murder, profanity, blood, guns, drugs, death, horrible flirting, pet names (cariño, crybaby?), incorrect medical stuff…

“I’ll do it.”

Why the hell did you do it? Like Ghost said, make your presence known and show that you mean no harm. Like it was so easy for him… You peer from the car, with no radio in your ear and no weapon, fear became known when the guard caught sight of you. They shouted, guns aimed. One marched over and dragged you forward and pushed you down to your knees.

“¡¿Quien diablos eres tú?!” (Who the hell are you?!) Feeling the barrel of his gun pushing into your head, and arms held high.

“I’m (Y/n) (L/n).” You spoke, not even attempting to look up from the ground, “I have information that El Sin Nombre would like to hear, I can tell him who attacked them.” One guard stepped aside, speaking into his comms.

“Stand up.” He ordered.

Even with your pace, the other grabbed your arms while the other threw a bag over your head and roughly pushed you forward. You were lucky not to fall on your feet, but you continued your way blindly into the mansion of one of El Sin Nombre’s members.

You could hear whispers of others in the mansion, some in Spanish and some in english. All eyes were on you as two guards held their grip on you, leading you to the elevator. You were too focused on memorizing the path that the two left you alone and another was waiting for you.

Suddenly the bag was pulled off your head and you were faced with a man, “You’re alive.” Alejandro spoke, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You let out a sigh of relief, “Alejandro, thank god it’s you.”

“Listen…” He comes in closer, “Give them good intel, American PMCs, the Shadow Company, Mexican Special Forces, everything.”

“Even you?”

The elevator doors open before he can speak, Alejandro steps to the side to which you are greeted with a new face, Diego, “¿Es esta ella?” (Is this her?) The man asks Alejandro who nods, “¿Cómo se llama ella?” (What is her name?)

“...(Y/n).” You answer.

Diego laughs at the tone of your voice, “¿Trajiste una perra tímida?” (You brought a shy bitch?) It was difficult to tell if he was angry or not. He grabs you by the collar of your shirt, “Listen here.” His breath reeks, he smells of gunpowder and men’s body spray, “You give me some good information or I’ll let my boys finally have some fun.” He laughs in your face, finally letting go of your shirt, “Get the fuck out of my elevator.”

Another man pushes you out of the elevator, seeing it close on Alejandro, “This is my house. That means you don’t meet the boss until I say so. You don’t speak unless spoken to. Y lo mas importante (And the most important thing) tell the who fucking truth.” Diego is brought to a halt when one of his men is sniffing cocaine, you don’t need to watch what’s gonna happen, all you need is the sound of Diego’s fist coming into contact with the man, and his shoe stomping on his face.

You open your eyes before Diego can see, “Las Almas is at war. You want to win? Don’t disobey.” The guard following you pushes you again, “That is how the organization survives, and that is why the boss is here tonight.” Diego brings you to a door.

“El Sin Nombre is here?”

“Heh, no... Sin Nombre’s personal sicaria is.” Diego opens the door as he and you enter the room. A woman and another guard with three soldiers tied to their chairs, one is struggling against the bag tied over his head, the other is alive and not harmed, but the third…

“Valeria, il y en a une de plus.” (Valeria, there’s one more.) Diego walks down the steps, leaving you standing there, “A gringa.” He stands next to Valeria who eyes you carefully.

“Come…” Valeria pushes the dead soldier off the chair, “Take a seat.” You’re slow to move down the steps, shaking, “We don’t bite, that’s unless you tell us something we don’t want to hear.” She warns, giving you a push of encouragement.

You sit in the chair, anxiety feeling your stomach as well as worry, was it the right choice to offer yourself up so quickly?

“¿Quién es?” (Who’s this?) Valeria asks Diego.

“Su nombre es (Y/n). Ella vino a nosotros.” (Her name is (Y/n). She came to us.)

Valeria walks behind Diego, “¿En serio? ¿Y la dejaste entrar?” (Really? And you let her in?)

“Ella dijo que tiene información-” (She said she has information-)

Valeria kicks Diego behind and brings him to his knees, then she takes her knife and holds it close to Diego’s face, “¡No la conocemos y ha visto caras!” (We don’t know her and she’s seen our faces!)

“Valeria, necesitamos la información. Ella podría ayudarnos.” (Valeria, we need the intel. She could help us.)

Valeria drags her knife across Diego’s face, “Ella debería o después de que la mate, estarás en la silla.” (She should, or after I kill her, you’ll be in the chair.)

Valeria releases Diego, who gets up and rubs his throat. Valeria unholsters her pistol and walks up to you. With a happy and kind smile spread across her face, she pats your leg when she comes in close.

“¡Niños y niñas! (Boys and girls!) This is simple. I ask questions. You answer truthfully. Do not lie to me.” knowing she meant Nunez, “Recently someone attacked us up in the mountains while we were protecting a friend... Who?” Now looking at Nunez.

Nunez shakes under her glare, “Era un caos... yo no-” (It was chaos… I didn’t-)He stammers before Valeria angrily cuts him off.

“¡En inglés!” (In english!) You could’ve swore you saw him jump the second he heard her shout.

“I-I think it was the Rivals Cartel.” Nunez finally comes up with his answer.

Valeria cocks her head to the side, then turns to you, “Your turn, cariño. Who attacked us?”

You feel your hands start to sweat, feeling your heart beat rapidly, “It… It wasn’t cartel.”

“Then who was it?” Valeria asks, coming in closer.

“...I-It was-” Suddenly you’re pistol whipped.

“¡¿Podrías responder más lenta?!” (Could you answer any slower?!) Valeria growls growing frustrated, “Who attacked us? Or do I need to beat the answer out of you?”

Your vision went hazy for a second before focusing. Your head sting, letting out a hiss which made Valeria more irritated.

She again pistol whips you, “Answer me!”

“Valeria!” Diego shouts, “We need her alive.”

You hear her scoff as a warm feeling falls down your face and onto your lap. You’re beginning to bleed, “I’ll ask one more time, who attacked us?”

“It was Mexican Special Forces.” You finally speak, giving her a satisfying answer. She backs off and you let out a soft groan.

“We found the bodies… Fuerzas Especiales.” She smirks. She now looks back at Nunez, “Now, how would an outsider know they were Mexican Special Forces and not you?”

“M-Maybe she was there!” Nunez said.

“Tú también estabas allí, imbécil. Tal vez ella también…” (You were there, asshole. Maybe she was too…) Diego offered Valeria another question.

“Were you there?” Valeria asks, her grip tightening around her pistol.

“I-I was.” You spoke before she could even lift her arm threateningly.

“Looks like you’re learning.” Valeria comments, “So then, there were outsiders helping the Mexican Special Forces… Who were they?” Asking another.

“W-We heard them yelling, some in English. They were with the-”

“Enough.” Valeria ordered, “Your turn.” Now looking at you, again her grip tightens on her pistol.

“Shadow Company, private military companies.” You tell her, feeling more of your blood.

Valeria takes a few steps back and confers with Diego, “Los vaqueros están trabajando con mercenarios…” (Los Vaqueros are working with Mercenaries…)

“Esas malditas serpientes.” (Those damn snakes.)

“¡¿Verás?! ¡Yo tenía razón!” (You see?! I was right!)

Valeria scoffs and comes back to her original place, “Can you even prove this ‘Shadow Company’ even exists?” She asks Nunez whose face shows fear.

“H-How can I prove this…?”

She turns to you, “What about you cariño? What proof do you have?” Again ready to whip you.

“My pocket. Left.” You feel her left hand pull the patch out of your pocket.

Valeria hums, observing the insignia, “How did you get this cariño? Come on.”

“Off one of the dead Shadow.” You lie.

“I’ve told you before that I do not like lying.” Valeria hands the insignia to Diego, she comes in closer than she was before, “I’ll give you one more chance, who?” You feel the cold serrated steel against your neck, slowly pressing into your skin, burning…

“I-It was given to me!”

Valeria sighs loudly, dramatically, “You were doing so good.” Shaking her head, pulling the knife back. But she doesn’t move, still too close, “Now, who leads this Shadow Company? Give me a name.”

“Phillip Graves.”

“And is he the one who gave you the proof?”

“...Yes.”

Valeria moves back, “See? That wasn’t that hard.”

“Fill Graves… Me gustan.” (Fill Graves. I like that.) Diego smirks.

“This man… Graves… What does he want?”

“He wants the Iranian you’re protecting, Hassan.”

“¿Cómo sabes eso?” (How do you know that?) Diego asks, getting in Valeria’s way and now the one in your face, “Answer me! How the fuck do you know?!”

You choked on your words, trying to come up with a reason that’ll not blow your cover. But you couldn’t find any, you shook under his glare, his voice scared the ever lasting shit out of you.

Diego is pushed back, “¡Bastardo! No te atrevas a interponerte en mi camino.” (Bastard! Don’t you dare get in my way.) Valeria warns him, she then looks at you, “But like he said, how do you know?” Valeria spoke in a more softer tone but you knew the venom behind it as she was filled with it.

“I-I… um…” You couldn’t say it, you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t risk blowing not only your cover but Alejandro who was still somewhere in the penthouse. Your eyes begin to water as you panic, “I…”

“What? You what?” Valeria asks, “Don’t you lie.” She warns.

You’re tearing up and now head hanging low, you say, “...I can’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t?” You don’t respond but you shake your head, refusing to answer. Valeria grabs your hair and pulls your head up, she sees you beginning to tear up, “Oh, now you’re gonna cry? Like a little crybaby.” She growls, she releases your hair, “Go on, cry!”

“¡No puedes confiar en ella, no puedes! ¡Te lo estoy diciendo!” (You can’t trust her, you can’t! I'm telling you!) Nunez shouts.

“¡No nos ha dicho nada!” (You haven’t told us anything!) Valeria retorts, looking at Diego.

“Te pagamos bien, y este llorón sabe más que tú.” (We pay you well, and this crybaby knows more than you.) Diego comes around as Valeria holsters her pistol.

“Es hora de matar a este inútil hijo de puta.” (It’s time to kill this worthless son of a bitch.)

“Con mucho gusto Valeria.” (With pleasure, Valeria.)

Nunez is next to beg and begin to cry, sobbing on his words, he shuts his eyes as he could hear the sound of Diego’s gun before the sound of the gun going off makes you jolt and turn away. Diego comes back to Valeria’s side who is just staring at you.

“Mira a este llorón.” (Look at this crybaby.) Valeria snickers with Diego, “But I do love the ones that cry.” She comes back again, taking your chin into her hand, titling your head to look at her, “I’ll let it slide… For now.”

Again, Valeria unsheathes her knife, and cuts on the zip tie off, “You’re bleeding all over the place, get this llorona fixed up, I’ll have your head if she dies.” Valeria walks out of the room.

“To be clear we are not done with you.” As you walk towards the open door, you take one final glimpse at Nunez’s body, “¡Vamos, llorona! (Come on, crybaby!) We don’t have all day.”

You follow back into the elevator with Diego and you see Valeria waiting, you’re pushed again inside. You feel cornered, maybe because you are cornered, feeling so small and helpless…

It wasn’t long before Diego’s inside, swiping his keycard on the sensor before pushing the three buttons on the elevator wall, “Los Vaqueros se están moviendo rápido.” (Los Vaqueros are moving fast.)

“When can I talk to him?” You ask, quickly regretting your choice of words.

“Valeria is going to speak with the boss, now. You will wait with the others.” Diego tells you.

“I have a feeling El Sin Nombre will be very interested in talking to you.” The elevator doors open to outside where another guard is there waiting, “Fix her up and keep a close eye on her, I have a feeling she’ll try something.” Valeria orders.

“Sí, señora.” (Yes, ma’am.) The guard has a tight grip on your arm, pushing you up against the glass, ready to pat you down.

Alejandro appears, “Lo tengo. Te necesitan afuera.” (I got it. They need you outside.)

“Bueno. Dale una máscara y obsérvala. Haz algo con el sangrado también.” (Okay. Give her a mask and watch her. Do something with the bleeding too.)

Alejandro begins to pat you down until the guard is no longer in view, “¿Qué mierda te hicieron? (What the fuck did they do to you?) He brings you into one of the bathrooms, sitting you down on the toilet.

“Valeria. Pistol. Head.”

“She pistol whipped you?”

“Two times.”

“Two times?”

“Or was it three?”

“Fuck.” Alejandro curses, “Ghost, we have a problem.”

“What is it?”

“(Y/n) my have a concussion, and it looks like a bad one.” Alejandro holds your arm to keep you upright.

“Bloody hell, they must have a good arm. Soap get in there.”

“What about (Y/n)?”

“I’ll leave (Y/n) here, you’ll be taking her place.” Soap appears suddenly, nearly scaring Alejandro.

“El Sin Nombre is on the third floor.”

“We’ll be back.” Alejandro hands you a pistol, “Let’s go Soap.” Handing the mask to Soap, “Comms are hooked in.”

“We’ll need a keycard.”

“Diego has it.” You tell them.

“Just don’t sleep.” Soap warns before following Alejandro out and turning off the lights. You hid from view and from the door, anyone could walk in and that’s what scared you the most. Your head felt heavy and your eyes were ready to shut, it was a struggle to stay awake in a quiet environment.

But you were jolted awake by shouting outside, “¡¿Dónde diablos está ella?!” (Where the hell is she?!) It wasn’t just any guard, Diego… He was marching through the halls of his penthouse looking for you.

“¡Se suponía que debías vigilarla!” (You were supposed to watch her!)

“¡Me dijeron que me necesitabas afuera y cuando regresé ya no estaba!” (They told me you need me outside and when I came back it was gone!) The guard tried explaining, obviously scared.

“¡¿Qué tan estúpido eres?!” (How stupid are you?!)

His voice became louder and louder, and stopped at the bathroom you were in, “¡Lo siento señor! Te prometo que la encontraré.” (I’m sorry sir! I promise I will find her.)

“Será mejor porque él te despellejará vivo.” (You better because he'll skin you alive.) The doors are slammed open, scanning through the room. Did you forget to say that you shoved yourself into the cabinet under the sink, a tiny movement would make a sound but your pistol was aimed right at the doors.

“Señor, Valeria lo está buscando.” (Sir, Valeria is looking for you.)

“Bueno.” (Alright.) He walks away with the guard.

The instant relief washed over and you quickly relaxed, but your eyes were too heavy to stop them from closing on you. All you heard was you dropping your pistol and a thud of your head lightly hitting the cabinet, falling asleep.

“How’s the damage?”

“She received a head injury which caused the bleeding and considering she was hit twice, there was no internal bleeding, only external. We have her hooked up to an IV and she may receive additional transfusions later. I recommend that she physically and mentally rest to recover.”

“For how long?”

“At least two days, limit activities that require thinking and mental concentration.”

“That means she’ll be put on bed rest?”

“Yes.”

How many hours passed since that conversation you overheard. You sneaked out of your room late at night and headed towards one of the buildings, where you found a shipment container. Slowly you opened the door and found Valeria leaned up against the wall.

“I see you’re still walking.”

“And you’re still talking.”

“When I say I’m surprised, I am. I didn’t think you had the nerve to sneak into the penthouse and lie to me. It explains everything.” Valeria now stands.

“Then you understand how I was able to get the insignia for the Shadow Company. I offered myself to get in and Graves gave me the proof I needed.”

“Come on, cariño. Talking to me like I’m a criminal.”

You scoff, “Because you are a criminal, hoarding a terrorist while a narco. You think it’s good for business and I say you are just digging your own grave.”

“You dug yours the second you stepped foot on my grounds.” Valeria gets in your face, “This isn’t what’s good for you cariño. I know it, Alejandro knows it, hell I think that gringo knows it too.”

“I can’t wait to watch you burn.”

“You’ll be burning with me, cariño.” Valeria laughs, “We’ll burn the world together, I can be very convincing.”

“...Then convince me, I don’t have all night.”

© Intoxicated-Chan, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without permission.