#i don't feel too guilty consuming it compared to sweets&etc

[einsatzzz]

hello i just inhaled 14 pieces of sushi in one sitting in like <15 minutes, i feel like i can eat more but i just ordered 14 pieces so that's the max. this is what not eating sushi for three weeks does to sushi lover mf. now i can answer june's sushi delivery ask with peace of mind 😋🍣✨

[yandere-romanticaa]

The votes are in and the winner is: Shuu Sakamaki! I hope you guys like this!

Yandere Alphabet.

ft. Shuu Sakamaki. 💛

A - Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Shuu's affection is simple but subtle. He always has an arm around his darling, even while he is sleeping. By doing this not only is he keeping his darling close but he is also telling the world that they are his and off limits. A win win situation.

As for intensity, Shuu isn't a very intense yandere compared to his brothers but that doesn't make him any less possessive. If his darling tries to leave he will complain and he will end up drinking their blood and marking them. Can't let little darling think they have so much freedom now, can he?

B - Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Hmmm, not too messy tbh. As lazy as he is, once Shuu actually decides to do something he will finish it. As the eldest brother he just has some experience that the others do not and because of that he can probably just use his words to intimidate rivals.

He will throw hands if anyone gets too close though.

C - Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

He would definetly be a bit of a tease even though he does complain a lot. At first he's just annoyed, why is his darling being so noisy? It's driving him nuts! But then again, there are days when he finds darlings desparate face especially amusing and a small smirk finds its way on to Shuu's face. s/o little screams and whispers soon become Shuu's favorite thing to listen to.

D - Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

No actually, believe it or not. The only thing Shuu will do is drink darlings blood. The guy has to, you know, eat? He isn't super sadistic like most of his brothers and he really won't do anything harsh unless he is jealous or really mad.

E - Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Shuu would prefer it if his darling was the more sensitive one, that just brings him greater piece of mind. Most of the time he just doesn't really talk about his feelings which can make Shuu a bit of an enigma. But after being with him for a while, s/o will pick up on the subtle signs in case Shuu is irritated or anything of the sorts. His grip always seems to be especially tight then.

F - Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Sad and disappointed. He actually does love his darling but a part of him also gets why they are doing it. It doesn't make it any bothersome though... Please, just... love him, okay?

G - Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Shuu might say it i to tease but it's not. He sees no point in meaningless flings, this the long run. And Shuu would be heartbroken if darling tried to leave - darling is like a lost puppy in Shuu's eyes, he has to protect them at all costs, he has to.

H - Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Whenever he gets jealous, plain and simple. He just hates it when his brothers get touchy feely with his s/o and Shuu always drags s/o away to his room, his face showing no emotion but the look in his eye says it all.

A rough and sleepless night awaits...

I - Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

He never had any plans but he wouldn't mind staying in the Sakamaki household with his s/o. With his home and lovely spouse, Shuu would be on cloud nine.

J - Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

You bet he does, painfully so. He is able to hide it most of the time but if someone just flat out flirts or touches his s/o, Shuu is by their side ready to fight.

K - Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Normal, for the most part. He will probably become affectionate over time though, even downright shameless if he feels like it.

L - Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

He doesn't really know what he is doing but he will try to put in the effort even if it doesn't look like it. He treats them normally for the most part but there is a subtle soft side reserved for his darling only.

M - Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

He's pretty much the same 24/7 but if he gets mad his more sadistic side will be a bit more obvious. He'll wipe the floor with anyone if they dare challenge him.

N - Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Heck yeah. Sharp bites, a few slaps, teasing little licks, it varies with Shuu. He mostly just bites their neck to shut them up but he isn't afraid to use more force if need be. He'd rather not though.

O - Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

All depends on darlings behaviour. If they act accordingly he won't really care, just as long they aren't too far away from him that is. But in case darling decides to do something stupid, Shuu will put his foot down.

P - Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Depends what it is really. He will try to be reasonable but if his darling keeps making a fuss that patience will run thin.

Q - Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

Never. Shuu would never let this go, the grief would just consume him and destroy him, he won't even bother stopping it. He is nothing without his live and he would have a hard time moving on if this happened.

R - Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

No, not really. He did because he had to, and he did it to protect them. He just hopes darling will realize that one day.

S - Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Shuu can get very insecure and because of that he wants his darling to always be by his side, that way he can always protect them. He doesn't want to lose them, Shuu wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he were to lose yet enother loved one...

T - Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

"What a pain."

He will grumble to himself and this kind of behaviour won't be tolerated for too long. Yeah, it's cute to hear darlings pleas for help but Jesus do not shout.

U - Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Well yes but no. He does do the usual things such as kidnapping but it's his attitude towards it that makes him stand out. He calls everything a pain and an annoyance, why can't darling just come to him? He'll treat them nicely...

V - Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

No, actually. He loves being spolied rotten with affection and he often catches himself falling for darling's sweet words but Shuu isn't dumb. As lazy as he is, he is smart, very much so, and he can tell if his little songbird is plotting something. He just knows, don't even bother finding out how.

W - Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Yes. Mostly by sucking darlings blood, which can get a bit rough. Shuu just loves to mark his little darling up with his deep love bites, just seeing them so out in the open, it gives him a real sense of pride. He especially loves it when Reiji complains that darling should cover up but Shuu merely replies with a smirk and just brings darling closer, much to Reiji's dismay.

X - Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

He will try to court his darling but he'll just give up halfway and kidnap them. It's a lot easier that way, you know? And Shuu wouldn't exactly worship his darling, but they make up a huge chunk of his world and he wouldn't really know what to do without them in the end.

Y - Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

For quite a while, actually. Shuu might appear as though that he couldn't care less, but he does, he really does. He tells himself that darlings feelings are irrelevant but he doesn't mean that, ever. He wants them to actually be happy, to be happy with him.

Z - Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Intentionally? Never. He fell for them for a reason, he doesn't want them to change. But he will leave long lasting scars on his darling which will affect darlings psyche. And there just might be a chance that darling dearest might not be able to handle those deep wounds.

[narcolini]

quite literally woke up in a feverous state to read this here we GO!

first of all, the gifs of them from ep 1 :( babiessssss they look so cute and young and familial also i love the synopsis like yes CAN SHE?

✴︎ Cómo me has engañado, mi hermano! Si me ha dicho lo que ibas a hacer, nunca habríamos venido. ✴︎

help? why is that so upsetting omg

Or maybe those were just the stars I was seeing after hitting too many potholes headfirst.

shouldnt have made me snort but did im sorry im sorry youre in pain im focusing rafa

actually obsessed with him getting fucked up, like severely fucked up and being like. well. once upon a time... like you are mentally unwell rafa. i love it

Creation myths, right? Fucking trippy.

so true king. mentally im sitting on a sofa passing a spliff around and nodding while he rabbits on. perfect perfect rafaisms, if he wasnt getting his follicles sandblasted off rn id be pikauwu-ing at the little insight into his love of story telling

So, they did. They went and they danced.

im feeling very pepe silve meme but this is sooooo. like this is such a gorgeous parallel for rafa's work with miguel. so they went and danced. i see you kay. and then what THEN WHAT!!! they went and danced and then something fucking awful happened i bet

So they kept on dancing. Stomping on poor, helpless Iriria.

YEP! there it is also ow jesus fuck

Seeing her daughter’s demolished remains, Tapir seethed with rage: How, my brother, you have betrayed me! If you had told me what you were going to do, we would never have come.

i was going to be like hahah like rafa with his weed business that miguel absolutely disposed of but then i was like... but actually tho

this is why we bury the dead. Return them to Earth for her to consume.

ok work! im learning and loving. also i see you rafa, absentmindedly thinking about death and where you'll go next but indirectly so you don't scare yourself with it . i see you. owowowowow ow.

But all I could think about was Sibú. About how his curiosity yielded the universe’s great masterpieces at the expense of those around him.

okay obsessed with the fact i was comparing him to a different part of the story you mustve been cringing reading my last few comments LMAO... we are seeing the self-criticism and placement of guilt already. no es tu culpa mi rafie :(

Because I realized it wasn’t really me who was Sibú, after all.

OH WAIT !!!!

THATS WHAT IM SAYINGGG RAFONCITOOOO

I couldn’t remember them, the “they” that left me. I couldn’t remember me. The pain in my shoulder was too much. I couldn’t remember why.

:(

I used to call her the brains of the operation

ok but this is really sweet its killing me. like maria is SMART i know that im not taking away from that but clearly, rafa is the brains of THIS operation, so saying that to her in return of all her favours, letting him crash at hers then saving the weed eventually lol etc etc, is really so sweet. he was sipping his woman loving juice from the start, i love the idea of him making her feel like a much needed presence in it all. i know that nasty rat miguel never did

Because I knew who she was and she looked at me like that and I didn’t have to feel guilty.

because i knew who she was because i knew who she was because i knew who she was because i knew who she was because i knew who she was because i knew who she was because i knew who she was because i knew who she-

The eggs she cracked against the edge of the bowl buckled my shoulder. Sofia screamed in the steam of the kettle going off.

the surrreeeeeeeeealism to show his mental state and ptsd, tu veo morritaaaa

She shook her head, “Ay, Rafa. Qué voy a hacer contigo?” and smiled my favorite smile.

me smiling and kicking my feet and squealing and shit

I would’ve told her I deserved it por todo lo que hice. Even if he deserved worse but wouldn’t get it.

really love this but cant explain why.... the holding himself and everyone else up to scrutiny and guilt, the acceptance of knowing miguel got away with it and he didn't... hm... *savours and considers like wine at a vineyard tour*

I probably would’ve told her too that I was far from the boy she raced dirt bikes with.

clutching my chest NO RAFA!!!! YOU ARE ALWAYS EVERYTHING YOU HAVE BEEN BEFORE!!!! SHE KNOWS IT TOO!! :NOOO:

I would’ve wept right along with her because that’s how much I missed him.

no this reallllyyyyyyy hurts him grieving his own innocence and life whilst still being alive thats sosososo sad and real. tu cerebro.... lo estoy comiendo

When I could finally walk without getting dizzy, she took my hand and led me out into the backyard, my favorite smile blooming with the flowers on her red dress.

this is so romantic this could be an entire story in a single line

HELPPPPPP THE FIELDDDDD OMGGGGGG she is quite literally holding his hand and giving him the permission to start over and to go right back to how he wishes he was and how she remember hims to be im OKAY IM OKAY AND NORMAL

A man of great passion, no sense, and odd enthusiasms.

she's in my head reading notes in my roladex of men fr

seeing María’s face in place of eso pendejo Calderoni. Savage brown eyes, enraged, beads of sweat dotting her perfect forehead.

the way he does this so easily and casually even though its really quite a horrible thing to do, imagining someone you love like that and does he even mean to do it!!!, says sooo much about his mind and his.... oh covid please give me the word... his like acceptance and absorption of cruelty and things. these are not the words i want but whatever like he's normalised agony. and of course he has

“Chocolate, coffee, little addictions. Una sombra de las drogas, sí but always indulgent.”

well well well. god damn. she's right. kisses

sometimes, she still cried in the middle of the night. A vision in a white caftan, sleeveless shirt, linen pants. Chain-smoking La Llorona, haunting the steps of her own front porch.

THIS IS SPOOKY IM INTRIGUEDDDDD you know i love weird shit (affectionate) LETS GET WEIRD!

We tried so hard to get the bloodstains off the wood but they’d have to be sanded and revarnished, which I promised I’d do.

unreal miserable horrible detail. they both need to be sanded and revarnished too

Except I hadn’t yet because I was scared when I did, I’d lose me for good.

him putting self and worth and even his possibility for a future tbh, into the literal blood hes blelt bled, is so unreal, your huge huge galaxy brain

pretending she wasn’t living with a dead man, hiding me from him and the whole world.

OW!!!!!!!!!!! also snogs . love this

this time it was raining and she couldn’t catch her breath and I got scared

perfect example of how sometimes just plain simple description really does hit the hardest because im sticking my bottom lip out so much at this :( rafa baby :(

She didn’t seem to notice as we sewed back together again,

I studied the bloodstains that dotted the wood, tracing them with my finger. “I’ll take care of these in the morning,” I said, dusting them. “Then I think I’ll go.”

no because after what i said about the blood being his anchor to life... this is so sad.... i could truly shed a tear. he's willing to just... let himself get sanded off the wood and disappear into whatever comes next... just for her....... oohhghggdohh im just making noises at this point ouuhgghhhs :(

Perilous, rigid edge of her teeth on my lower lip made me hitch my breath, to prepare me for— She bit down hard.

Hyperventilating gasping writhing etc etc BUT also. the way even she knows that all he recognises now is pain, all that brings him back to reality is the physical pinch of life... smart AND sexy. shes like do you get it now rafa? do you understand when i put it like this?

please don’t— don’t make me what you use to get back at him.”

omg that literlaly just made my lungs utterly colllapse. the way he thinks thats what this is? thats so sad oh myg od

“What makes you think this is about him at all?” Then she kissed me again, and again.

We both knew it was a lie.

ffs ive added so many things now that tumblr is freaking out and wont let me indent but OWWWWW IM STOMPING MY FEET LIKE A TODDLER

I had to stop pretending when she started taking his calls again.

OH NOW WE CAN INDENT? fuck sake the wya i hate miguel at a base state anyway but now i really hate him pORQUE ÉL NO SE VA. A LA VERGAAAAAAA

I caught her arm as she reached for them, and pulled her in for a kiss.

sorry i cannot believe my silly little prompt has led us here. the domesticity. the journey im on. the way its only halfway. my eyes are huge i cannot believe my luck

staring at the outline of the man responsible for my death,

im panting like a beast. fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

I should’ve been afraid at least, considering what would happen if he or anyone knew I was alive.

but he's not because he's already dead, right rafa? already dead and in some sort of afterlife with the woman he never deserved RAHHHHHH im growling this is SOOOOSFGGGGGGH gnashing teeth and clasping air

That was the end of pretending.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO IM ON MY KNEEESSSSSSSS NOOOOOOO

It hadn’t happened in a long time but I kept seeing them today. Flashes of dirt road in the wood grain of the posts, rushing, dragging beneath me.

NOOO NOT THE FLASHBACKS COMING BACKKKKKK OMGGG IM IN AGONY you are so EVIL (affectionate) im gonna kill you (loving)

“Supongo— lo que quieres decir es si piensas en la venganza?”

en este momento, yo fucking hago . lo haré por ti rafa

The sky looked like hell and she looked at it like it was hers.

ok, work!

“Did you know, when I can’t sleep, sometimes I count the ways he’s hurt us like counting sheep.”

they really do both need sanding and revarnishing (therapy)

I asked it with no anger, no jealousy. That wasn’t what this was about. “So why go, then?”

love that because it seems so unlikely like i fucking could not ask like that but he respects her so much he's able to

I should’ve said it even if I knew it wouldn’t have made a difference. Unless you were dead, he’d find something to take.

incoherent noises clawing my face etc etc he;s RIGHT

Ya tienes más de que lo necesitas. Ya dejar de soñar, Rafael. And maybe that was the whole problem.

oh fuck OFFFFFFFFF IM SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP

She gave me plenty to dream about and I loved her for it and I loved her.

But I was awake now.

OH IT WONT LET ME INDENT BUT I GIVE UPPPPP IM SCREAMINGGGG THROWING UP godddd ddkjdfhgdfgdfghj RTERAHHHHGGGGFG rERAHhhghghg fuckckcccc ccc omggomgg the simple and i loved it for her and i loved her was so OWWWWW so simple and painful and then the following line??? you just shot me in the chest then again in the head for good measure. Fucking hell

For some reason I thought of the story again, about how the world was made.

im collapsed. ive been dragged through the desert behind a truck for 5 thousand words and now you win . i have passed away

I’d finally worked out that I wasn’t Sibú, but I never decided who I was instead.

HELLOOOOO???? oh my god this endinggdfjhgdkjfhgdf gomg im literally chomping my teeth trying to eat this up this was such a fucking journey and the way its endededddfjkfhgfg so bittersweet hes come so far but still has so far to go and its so painful but entirely right and correct but AHH oh mygod fuck off kay. im staring at the wall. what now. what do i do with this. you've ruined me

| This is why the earth eats the dead |

⁂

Pairing: Rafa Caro Quintero x María Elvira

For @narcolini - Narcos fanfic exchange 2022

Word count: 6K

No, those days were the best because when my swollen eyelids slid back, I saw the sun and the sky and a girl I knew from way-back-when. That girl stood over me with tears in her eyes and a look on her face I’d been chasing my whole life. Betrayed by his bestest good primo, Miguel Ángel Félix Gallardo, and captured in Costa Rica by a one DILF, Guillermo Calderoni, instead of being taken to prison, Rafa Caro Quintero is taken back Mexico to be tortured, dragged by a pickup truck down a back alley road in Sinaloa, and left for dead … on the front porch of the house owned by Miguel’s ex-wife, María. Still fuming after Miguel kicked her to the curb and told her he was staying in Guadalajara to bang barely legal chicks he met at a museum, María’s further devastated by her ex-husband’s descent into assholery when she finds Rafa’s nearly lifeless body. So, the question remains: she can nurse him back to health, but can she fix him?

⁂

✴︎ Cómo me has engañado, mi hermano! Si me ha dicho lo que ibas a hacer, nunca habríamos venido. ✴︎

A conveyor belt of sky rushed above me. Chaotic streaks of what should have been full, puffy white clouds cut across waves of light blue. Or maybe those were just the stars I was seeing after hitting too many potholes headfirst.

But with the sky up there, rushing like that, the earth against my back like steel wool at seventy kilometers an hour, and the rope embedded in the skin of my ankles with the full force of the pickup truck they were tied to, I kept thinking about la Bribri historia de la creación del mundo.** I had heard it from one of the old ladies in the cathedral once. We liked to tell stories while we waited for the fire bombing in the fields to stop y esos shingadamadre chotas to get in their tanks and fuck off again, until next time.

The story went something like this.

The great creator god Sibú was having a hard time. He needed a place to put his creations but could find nothing suitable to make it with. You’d think since he created life, he could make a place for it too, but it seems even gods have their limits. So, when a bat, flying by, happened to shit soil from which all kinds of marvelous plants grew, naturally Sibú had to know his secret. (Creation myths, right? Fucking trippy.) The bat, who Sibú called tío even though they weren’t related (which never made any sense to me), told him he’d been feeding on the blood of Iriria, the newborn Earth. And wasn’t this great news for Sibú because Iriria happened to be the child of his sister, Tapir. Except, Sibú no era su tío and she wasn’t his niece (which never made sense to me either but maybe it was different for gods that way.) Anyway, Sibú hatched an elaborate plan. To lure Tapir and Iriria from where they’d been staying in the underworld, he invited them to a grand festival and asked them to put on a show, dancing the Sorbón dance for the attending lower gods, demons, and spirits. So, they did. They went and they danced. But something happened when Tapir and Iriria danced and it changed everything. The young girl tripped and fell, and all according to Sibú’s plan, in the furor and excitement of the Sorbón, the demons and spirits couldn’t see her. So they kept on dancing. Stomping on poor, helpless Iriria. Over. And over. And over. Until all that was left of her was trampled earth, from which Sibú made, well, the Earth. Seeing her daughter’s demolished remains, Tapir seethed with rage: How, my brother, you have betrayed me! If you had told me what you were going to do, we would never have come. So it’s said today, for the sacrifice of her daughter, tapirs are sacred animals not to be hunted for food or sport. And as atonement for Sibú’s betrayal and the wounds inflicted on her by his creations, all life, this is why we bury the dead. Return them to Earth for her to consume.**

𐮛

𐮛

I thought about Sibú a lot when I worked in the greenhouse. When I finally had it, mi sinsemilla, primo declared me a genius. María joked that I was a regular mad scientist. But all I could think about was Sibú. About how his curiosity yielded the universe’s great masterpieces at the expense of those around him.

But thinking about it just now, sky rushing up above and the steel-wool-earth against my back, seventy kilometers an hour, I couldn’t stop laughing. It was fucking hilarious.

Because I realized it wasn’t really me who was Sibú, after all.

𐮛

Those early days were the best. Well, maybe not the first few. Definitely not the first one, when I woke up in a cold sweat, hands and ankles tied together, blood-soaked shirt, now dried, fusing me to wood slats of her front porch. Maybe I’d been her front porch all along. Why else would they leave me here? I couldn’t remember them, the “they” that left me. I couldn’t remember me. The pain in my shoulder was too much. I couldn’t remember why.

No, those days were the best because when my swollen eyelids slid back, I saw the sun and the sky and a girl I knew from way-back-when. We raced dirt bikes in the town square. She let me sleep on her couch when I’d been out too long in the field, then the greenhouse. I used to call her the brains of the operation - ‘No se la llevaron toda, compa.' - because she saved mi sinsemilla, then me. That girl stood over me with tears in her eyes and a look on her face I’d been chasing my whole life. Looking at me like I always wished she would. Only this time, I didn’t have to feel guilty.

She shouted for help, wild, brown hair whipping in the wind while she demanded answers from the nothing and nobody that left me there. In all my dreams before, she wasn’t so sorry for me. But who was I anyway? No matter. I didn’t need to remember to know who she was.

𐮛

I thought one of my fractured ribs might’ve punctured a lung because it took days for me to stop coughing up blood. Weeks to stop screaming out in the night. For Sofia. Sometimes Miguel. Mostly María. Because I knew who she was and she looked at me like that and I didn’t have to feel guilty. Except, it took a few more weeks to remember why.

It came together in the kitchen one morning, when she was making breakfast. Easy as always, the smell of cafe con leche, bacon, tortilla chips, soon-to-be migas sizzling in the pan. She sang softly con Los Zafiros. ‘El gringo, Rafa. Adónde se lo llevaron?’

The eggs she cracked against the edge of the bowl buckled my shoulder. Sofia screamed in the steam of the kettle going off. Then that face from the edges of the darkness behind my eyelids - eso hijo de la shingada chota con su bigote negro and those beady little eyes.

'Sabes que me gusta mucha acerca del hombro, Rafa? Cuánto duele cuando lo sacas de su articulación. Duele igual. Cada vez. El dolor te rompe el alma mucho antes de que se rompan los huesos.'

El dolor te rompe el alma, no mames. Mi alma ya se rompió when the first gunshot exploded the glass and I knew what mi primo did to me. If that fat bastard hadn’t been so sweaty when I spat in his face, it might’ve made a difference. Maybe not, since he never missed a beat and the cracking never stopped. The bones of my shoulder in and out of its socket, cartilage stripping like threads of a screw.

My head swam, my mouth tasted like iron, my throat was numb, I felt cold. Was this finally my time? Qué lástima sería. I just got her, just got here. Were there tiny needles swimming in my bloodstream? Cortisol. Adrenaline. Like high, but none of the flavor, none of the fun. She caught me just before my face smacked the table.

I came to with my head in her lap, mumbling, “Lo huevo– vas a quemar los huevos.”

“Qué?”

“Huevos. Pa’ las migas.”

She shook her head, “Ay, Rafa. Qué voy a hacer contigo?” and smiled my favorite smile.

My lips felt like rubber but I beamed back up at her anyway. “Ocuperás de mí?”

It took a few weeks for her to stop sobbing when she sat by my bed and watched me sleep. I didn’t know who I was, so she knew it was bad. Without a clue how, I still wanted to comfort her. I guess I did in a way, since she only ever stopped when she got up to place her finger under my nose.

If I’d been awake and remembered who I was, I would’ve told her I deserved it por todo lo que hice. Even if he deserved worse but wouldn’t get it. That old house, piles of leaves in the empty swimming pool. 881 Lope de Vega. I heard from someone later on that they’d drilled into his hands at the end, demanding to know the nothing and nobody he knew.

So, it seemed only fair they’d dragged me down some backwoods dirt road. Seventy kilometers an hour never felt so fast and took so long. I hadn’t met the man, but they said he’d had a family. My whole foolish life, I wondered what it was like to be missed by so many that much. Of course, that wasn’t why I did it. I did it to remind him I was flesh-and-blood real, standing right there. And yet when it was all over, cold, calculating, with eyes as old as time, mi primo still didn’t see me.

I probably would’ve told her too that I was far from the boy she raced dirt bikes with. But that other boy we knew from way back when? The thoughtful one with eyes as old as time, that boy was lost altogether.

And if I’d been awake and remembered who I was, I would’ve wept right along with her because that’s how much I missed him.

𐮛

When I could finally walk without getting dizzy, she took my hand and led me out into the backyard, my favorite smile blooming with the flowers on her red dress.

“Where are we going?”

“Tranquilita, mi Rafa. Vas a ver.”

Mi Rafa. I couldn’t remember when she started calling me that. But to belong in such a way? It hurt how much I never knew.

We continued past the yard, onto a dirt trail that led downhill until we came to the edge of a great, big, empty field. She glowed when she told me it was all mine.

“What’s this?”

“Es tuyo para hacerlo como que tu quieras.”

“No me chingues pues. Toda esta madre?”

She nodded, soft lips in a soft smile. And I couldn’t help but pick her up and swing her around, even as my shoulder screamed. She screamed too, like we were kids.

I set her back on the ground with a wince. “Ya tengo un plan.” When I put my arms down, the right one bent awkwardly to ease the throbbing in my shoulder. She took it, splinting my elbow against hers between us, and put her other arm around my waist. I grumbled but she shot me a familiar look that assassinated any and all will to resist.

“Leave it to you to overdo it after being out here no more than five minutes.”

I laughed. “You know me better than almost anyone. When have I ever made things easy for myself.”

“Sí, sí, Rafael Caro Quintero. A man of great passion, no sense, and odd enthusiasms. Like swinging grown women around with a shoulder no sturdier than ground beef.”

“Aahh, no me digas. You love it.”

“Entonces, cuál es tu plan?”

“Pues por supuesto, I’ll build a greenhouse. And when that’s done, I’ll start with sinsemilla.”

She smiled wryly, “Claaaro qué si. Because it hasn’t caused you enough trouble.”

“And then, I was thinking we could sell it.” She cocked an eyebrow up and pursed her lips, a look that said she thought I’d lost it. Again. “But instead of competing with the other plazas, we unite them, create una grande federación, controlando todo el mercado de mota.”

Her face relaxed and she chuckled darkly, elbowing me in the ribs.

“Ay, ya basta. I’m still fragile.”

“If that really is your plan, pues voy a romper tu otro hombro, hombre.”

I looked out at the black hills on the horizon, seeing María’s face in place of eso pendejo Calderoni. Savage brown eyes, enraged, beads of sweat dotting her perfect forehead.

“Si ese chota hubiera sido tan hermosa como tu?” I looked down at her and winked. “El dolor? No me valía madre. I wouldn’t felt a thing.”

She elbowed me again. “Ay, pinshe bruja, no mames.” No loyalty left to dam the tide, it was hard not to get carried away ‘cause I adored her more than the world.

“No mames tu, cabrón. So, c’mon. Let’s hear it. The real plan.”

“Sí, sí, bien.” With my arm still propped against hers, we started walking slowly along the edge of the field. “Esos manos,” I wagged my hands, “fueron hechas para cultivar sinsemilla, pues sí? Pero quien sabe pues? I can grow other things, coffee beans, cacao. Algo así.”

Maria looked down at the ground and shook her head. “Appropriately indulgent.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Chocolate, coffee, little addictions. Una sombra de las drogas, sí but always indulgent.”

“Pues sí, pues. Qué dijiste de mi? A man of odd enthusiasms.”

She leaned her head into the crook of my neck and squeezed me tight. I didn’t have to feel guilty. Sometimes I did anyway. Instincts of self-preservation were hard-earned-hard-lost in my line of work.

𐮛

She stopped crying at my bedside while I slept but sometimes, she still cried in the middle of the night. A vision in a white caftan, sleeveless shirt, linen pants. Chain-smoking La Llorona, haunting the steps of her own front porch. She usually sat in the spot where they left me that first day. We tried so hard to get the bloodstains off the wood but they’d have to be sanded and revarnished, which I promised I’d do. Except I hadn’t yet because I was scared when I did, I’d lose me for good.

My room was at the front of the house, so sometimes I’d turn over in bed, close my eyes, and listen while she swallowed the sadness back so hard, she could barely breathe. That conveyor belt of blue sky would pop in my head with her sobs like a soundtrack. The more nights we played out this routine, the more I knew we— she couldn’t go on like this. Too great a toll, pretending she wasn’t living with a dead man, hiding me from him and the whole world. None of it was any of mine, anyway.

So, it was the weirdest thing. When I’d finally decided to leave, that’s when it happened.

I went out and sat with her, which I never did. But it this time it was raining and she couldn’t catch her breath and I got scared. You could call it inconsolable but that’s too small. She didn’t stir when the screen door slammed or rush to hide the evidence. No doubt she knew the angry red splotches on her cheeks gave everything away.

I didn’t know what to do. But then I remembered what someone told me once: how comfort is like a kiss. No rulebook, but instinct. So, I did what I felt. I sat on the steps next to her, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee like we were two sides of the same seam because it seemed the thing to do. Splinting her to me to ease the pain like she did with mine.

We sat there like that. For a time.

I took a joint from my pocket and held out my hand. “Encendador, amor.”

Her hands were so cold, I nearly jumped when she passed it to me. She didn’t seem to notice as we sewed back together again, this time with her head on my shoulder. I lit up and tried to blink away the dark spot in my vision left by the hot embers at the end of the joint. Because it made me think of the metal rods they’d used. Hands tied up and hanging. Glowing red tips pressed to my sides.

I inhaled, then breathed her name out with smoke, “María.”

She sniffled, “Sí.”

Looking down next to me, I studied the bloodstains that dotted the wood, tracing them with my finger. “I’ll take care of these in the morning,” I said, dusting them. “Then I think I’ll go.”

In the crook of my neck, I felt her stiffen. “So that's how you’d repay me, then. Just leave.”

“I thought you’d be relieved.”

We sat there like that. Some more.

Until she jerked her head off my shoulder and looked at me, not bothering to wipe the new tears rimming her eyes. Her caftan slid off her shoulder. I pulled it back up and watched goosebumps spread across her collarbone, up her neck. On my hand, up my wrist, I got them too like they were contagious.

“Querida.” Confused, I swiped a tear from her cheek and held my thumb up, “No se trata de eso, o qué?”

She cocked her jaw to to one side, then looked away and scoffed. I loved the way she looked when she did that and hated when she did it to me.

“A día de hoy, estás una de las chingas personas más listos que he conocido en toda vida, mi Rafa. But sometimes.” She turned to look at me through half-lidded eyes, exhausted all of a sudden, “Sometimes you still see the world through the eyes of a boy I knew from way back when.”

Before I could ask what she meant or if she’d been reading my mind, her lips were on mine. And every nerve from my scalp to the heels of my feet detonated. My whole life flashed before my eyes. What I wanted most in the world, that I never had, because none of it was any of mine, anyway. That’s what she was supposed to be until I ended up in an early grave, right? Oh, right. Funny, since I actually had died. In a way.

Her cold hand wrapped around the back of my neck, lips and tongues ebbing, flowing against each other. My brain like it was knocking against my skull, mind screaming at me to stop and still I found my hand sliding around her waist. Perilous, rigid edge of her teeth on my lower lip made me hitch my breath, to prepare me for— She bit down hard. Hard enough to snap gravity and I dug the pads of my fingers into the small of her back to ground myself without it. Then I caught her lip in my teeth and nipped back. Two sides of the same seam. So, it must’ve been insanity itself that brought my hand to that satisfying spot where her neck met her jawline. And ripped it. Like an idiot.

And all I could choke out was, “Not … this … way.”

She was alert suddenly, startled by what I’d said. Or maybe the way I said it. Maybe trying to piece out the truth from the lie. Since I didn’t mean it really. Except I really did. With all of me. I wondered if she could see my mind vibrating, violently searching for an explanation, and that’s why she waited. Waiting while I malfunctioned.

“I can’t— the— why, how— please don’t— don’t make me what you use to get back at him.”

Her lips pursed and she furrowed her brow. Looking at the little lines that creased her forehead and between her eyebrows, I wanted to take it all back, grab her, crush her into me. Probably before I was insane, I would’ve. But sanity got burnt up at seventy kilometers an hour and all that was left was the echo not like this, not like this, not like this over and over.

There was a look of awe on her face. And it gave me the strangest, most painful feeling. Like I wished a hole would rip open in the Earth, so we could jump in and entomb ourselves there for forever. Scar-tissue-thoughts I called those ‘cause they reminded me how my mind would probably never be like it was before. I tried not to get lost in that one like I did sometimes.

She cupped my face with one hand, and pulled my arm around her waist with the other, placing it in the same spot as before. Except for her hands, she felt warm against my chest in a way that made my stomach drop. The clouds parted a little, so I saw her eyes in the light of the moon. They looked lit with it, from the inside.

“What makes you think this is about him at all?” Then she kissed me again, and again.

We both knew it was a lie. But on nights like those and many others, nights when we got tangled like that, nights when we were both sides of the same seam, we pretended it wasn’t.

I had to stop pretending when she started taking his calls again.

𐮛

I don’t know how long it was. It must’ve been months, a year, maybe more. Long enough for me to forget I was dead. Time didn’t pass for me how it did before. No, that’s right. It must’ve been years because it was sometime around the election. I only knew he got into trouble with that old bat in Matamoros and in trouble with the politics. Again. Only this time he had no one else to feed the machine when it was done and they got what they needed. Yeah. That was it. Because he came back to Badiraguato, back home to lay low.

That was when he started showing up everywhere. He even came by the house one time.

There was something satisfying about the squeaking sound the hinges made when the backyard gate door swung open and closed. I liked to pull extra hard just to hear it and that day was no different. Nothing different about the way I skipped up the steps to the patio either. Or how I wiped my boots on the rug outside before I stepped in the house.

Before I could smell the food, I heard them in the kitchen, María chiding Abril.

“No, no, no, no. Nada de dulces antes de cenar.”

“Pero tengo haaaambre.”

“Después de tu tarea. Ándale. Dile a tu hermano también.”

I walked through the dining room to the kitchen and set a pile of herbs on the counter.

She smiled slyly at me, “Nunca paran de tragar.” Her face lit up when she saw the herbs. “Ah, fresh from the greenhouse. Didn’t think you’d have them this time.”

I caught her arm as she reached for them, and pulled her in for a kiss. She deepened it, sliding her hands from my forearms to my shoulders. She always held on longer than I expected. I’d never gotten used to it.

She pulled back and smiled. “After I add these, dinner’ll be ready.”

“Ah, for you, amor. I’ll wait forever.”

Her hands still around my neck, she threw her head back and rocked me forward a little. “If it weren’t for that diabolical smile of yours, that would be the cheesiest line I’ve ever heard.”

“No te preocupes, mija.” I winked. “It’s the cheesiest I’ve ever used.”

She fiddled with the buttons at the top of my shirt, “Given what I know of your history, chulo,” then let go and turned to the stove, “that’s saying something.”

I grinned as I walked away, “What history?”

I headed to my bedroom to find her father looking out the window. He tried not to look embarrassed when I knocked on the open door.

“Lo siento, Rafa. I was just—” When he couldn’t find a proper excuse, he just sighed and raked his hand over is face, motioning out the window.

That’s when I saw his blue Buick idle up the driveway and park at the big metal gate. He didn’t get out right away. Just sort of sat there. So, her father and I just watched him, watching.

“Papá, ya quieres tu café? Papá!”

Neither of us answered her.

“Qué pasa?” Her determined footsteps got louder and louder, until she breezed into the room.

I didn’t bother trying to lie but he attempted a too-rushed, “Nada. No pasa nada.”

The joy of intrigue wiped from María’s face and now she just looked wary. “Qué estás mirando, entonces?”

Incredible how little I felt, holding back that curtain, staring at the outline of the man responsible for my death, while he sat in the driver’s seat of mi primo’s blue car. For a split second and all at once, I hated him because I missed him. It hurt how much I missed him. Then I hated me for missing him. And then it emptied to nothing. The oddest thing. Pretty fucking dumb too. I should’ve been afraid at least, considering what would happen if he or anyone knew I was alive. Back in that room with the metal prods, pain, shoulder popping, in-and-out, in-and-out, pain, dry mouth, wet concrete tongue dragging across the roof of it, pain and too much more.

I didn’t know how I felt, so I didn’t know how I wanted her to respond because it never mattered so much what I wanted. But there was no denying my heart seized up in my chest, the arteries all throttled, when I saw how hard her jaw clenched and watched her rage nearly warp the air around her. I supposed she’d have to have been hit in the head as many times as me, to feel the nothing I did.

The three of us stood motionless for a moment, until she sighed, turned around to look at the bedroom doorway, then back again to the window, before making a break for the front door. As she dashed down the still-stained front steps and marched across the courtyard to meet him at the gate, it hit me. He’d just got there. Hundreds of feet from us and not even out of the car yet, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. And even though I stood right there, next to her, she never once looked at me. Before walking out the door.

That was the end of pretending.

𐮛

I was putting up the fence around the greenhouse, hammering posts on the north side of the field, when she brought out iced tea and empañadas. It hadn’t happened in a long time but I kept seeing them today. Flashes of dirt road in the wood grain of the posts, rushing, dragging beneath me. I had to stop now-and-again to wipe them from my eyes. She told me I looked tired. When she could tell I was tired, she liked to give me things to dream about. Maybe that’s why she asked.

“Quieres venganza?”

I stopped hammering and stood up straight.

“Qué?”

“Supongo— lo que quieres decir es si piensas en la venganza?”

I swung the mallet over to rest on my good shoulder and looked out onto the horizon. Something about these sunsets at home made me want to hold her. And the wanting but not, made me want too much at once.

“Claro que no, querida. I'm just happy I’m not dead.”

She looked at me quizzically as she walked over. She set the cup and plate on the empty wood barrel next to me and picked a piece of hay from my hair.

What was she asking? And why? And why now? Too many tangled up questions and the words came tumbling out. No amount of grabbing empty air would shut them back up into the leaky box, my mind, where they belonged.

“Why? Do you?” Because I had stopped pretending but I didn’t know if I was I ready for her to. “Is that what this is?”

She leaned her head against one of the posts. Looking out into the red-orange sky, no hesitation, crisp like glass, “A veces.”

I suppose I knew. It never made sense for her to love me all of a sudden and for no good reason except I just showed up one day and needed her.

“But not usually.”

Windswept hair and brown eyes lit red by the horizon, downright dangerous was how she looked. The sky looked like hell and she looked at it like it was hers. María at her most dangerous gave El Jefe de Jefes a run for his money. I always figured that’s why he sent her away. And yet, just like me, she felt so much more for him than he deserved. How could she not, padre de sus hijos. And how could I expect her to let go when I couldn’t. Still, being reduced to a weapon was a familiar disappointment. It meant, like him, she couldn’t see me just then.

I grabbed an empañada and shoved it in my mouth, too fast, so she couldn’t see how hard my jaw was clenched. It burned my tongue and nearly cooked the back of my throat as I swallowed. Maybe this was my sign to run, take advantage of being dead, leave the boy and the girl I knew from way-back-when for good.

My throat, still with that numb, burnt feeling made my voice thick, so I didn’t sound so wounded. “Given the look on your face, I see you have.”

When she closed her eyes, I realized she was crying. I always thought it was weird how that happened sometimes when she was angry.

“He’s their father. But with how they left you, Rafa–” She pulled in a deep, shaky breath like preparing for confession, “I— I don’t know where to put it. All this rage.” Her hands balled into fists and she turned to look at me. “Did you know, when I can’t sleep, sometimes I count the ways he’s hurt us like counting sheep.”

Those few solitary tears sliding down her cheeks, catching at her chin, dripping off the edge of her jaw onto the collar of her shirt, I felt the urge to bottle them up and take them with me everywhere. Scar-tissue-thoughts. I didn’t know what to say, so I just stood there, waiting to follow her lead. Just as I had in all things.

“And that’s when I think, yes. He was their father. But now? Ya no más que una puta infección, un enfermedad de la verga, polluting everything he touches.”

“Do you feel polluted?”

“Qué?” She gave me that look again, eyebrow cocked, like I was nuts.

I dropped the mallet, and walked over. Arms crossed, I rested them on the finished part of the fence and propped my chin up to look at her.

“It’s just what I said. ‘Cause well,” I tapped my temple with my finger, “I have some screws loose and– how did you put it? Ground beef for a shoulder?”

She cracked a small smile. Success.

“So, we both know I’m polluted. Owe that to myself more than anyone, most likely. But not all of it, true. So, do you feel he’s polluted you?” Then I jutted my chin up toward the house, “Them?”

She was quiet for a long time, long enough for the sun to slide behind the hilltops, casting her in new shades of purple. I was trying hard not to disappear like I did sometimes. She fixed her eyes on me just in time, swiping her cheeks quickly. “Ah, mi Rafa. It’s just what I said. Everything he touches.”

I asked it with no anger, no jealousy. That wasn’t what this was about. “So why go, then?”

We’d never talked about it but she knew what I meant. She never lied to me, so wasn’t some big secret. She didn’t even try to hide the invitation. To some political three-ringed circus to celebrate the election. He was sending a private jet for her and everything. It was a big deal.

She considered the question for a long time, before whispering, “I have to know for sure.”

“Know what?”

“That I’m right to believe he can’t change.” She stepped away from the post and walked down the length of the fence, grazing her hand along it until it came to rest on my arm. Then she leaned in and kissed me. It didn’t feel like goodbye just yet. But we were getting there.

Then we stayed like that for a little while, forehead to forehead, eyes closed. In my head, I got the sensation like I was falling.

“And what more is there to lose when the damage is done, when we’re polluted already.”

I watched her disappear up the hill heading back to the house. I should’ve said it even if I knew it wouldn’t have made a difference. Unless you were dead, he’d find something to take. Because he only saw the world in terms of “more.” He polluted you with the prospect of “more.” It’s what made him so brilliant. And why he was all alone.

I grabbed the mallet to get to work again. But I was seeing the road in the grain of the wood still. It was coming at me, faster this time. Not flashes. I was there again. It had been a while but actually, I’d been back a few times since it happened.

In the beginning, I couldn’t stop living there. That’s why she started climbing into bed with me. To remind me I wasn’t there because I couldn’t be because no one could be in two places at once. She’d put her arm around me and I’d lean against her, unable to move except to jolt every time a rock kicked up and seared the back of my neck, gouged another welt in my shoulder blade, cracked against one of my elbows. My hands were always the worst, no circulation, bound numb and twisted in the ropes, mangled by the friction of the gravel they slid over. Before I blacked out, I was curious every time. How’d I get here? The answer in his voice, always so calm, and filled with love lost and sadness. Which made sense since he knew I was a lost cause.

Ya tienes más de que lo necesitas. Ya dejar de soñar, Rafael.

And maybe that was the whole problem.

𐮛

After that, I didn’t wait too much longer, a few weeks maybe. Then one morning, I got up at dawn and crept around the house, collecting my things. If I waited to say goodbye, I'd never leave. Because she wouldn’t want me to and it still wouldn’t be enough. She gave me plenty to dream about and I loved her for it and I loved her.

But I was awake now.

I was holding too much stuff, so I swung the door open too hard. Caught just before it slammed, and I sighed, chest full with disappointment and relief. I guided it gently to a close, then strode across the porch to the steps where I stopped short to look down at the clean, newly varnished planks where my blood used to be. It happened just like I thought. I lost me. I was gone. For some reason I thought of the story again, about how the world was made.**

On that back alley dirt road, laughing into the sky like I wasn’t dying, I’d finally worked out that I wasn’t Sibú, but I never decided who I was instead.

Was I the chorus of trampling demons and spirits? Was I Tapir? Or the trodden Earth Iriria? Or maybe, since I’d sort of died, I was thousands now buried, recompense, fodder in the machine of their vengeance. Or maybe I was nothing at all.

My heel hit the first step. I guess I had time now and the whole world to figure it out.

𐮛

And that's a wrrrrap! Sorry for all the Spanish. I was going to make a glossary but I already wrote the thing and it's 6,000 words give or take, so just gonna have to give it a good ole Goog. Thanks for reading.

**See here if you're interested in learning more about mesoamerican myths and legends or about the bribri tribe specifically, this is where I found the story.