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buckstaposition · 3 years

Text

I cling to your lips like gloss (4)

a Javier Peña x OFC story

also on AO3

tags&warnings: spoilers for S3 eps1+2 mainly, some for later episodes also; mention of drug use; brief description of a panic attack; sleazy David Rodríguez is sleazy; somewhat liberal use of the f-word and also other swearing; reference to past canon character deaths; this blog is CIA station chief Bill Stechner-phobic to the max; most non-graphic, vaguest possible reference to sex (to when Javi goes home with that lady in episode 1); oblivious mutual pining; idiots with zero emotional self-awareness; domesticity

word count: 15.435 (I’m sorry, here are some snacks 🍌🥨🧁🥤)

summary: Diana goes into the lions’ den. Javier is not having a good time. No one gets enough sleep.

tag list & author’s notes have been moved to the bottom. let me just say sorry this took me so long and I hope you’re all well and healthy and happy holidays and may the new year be better for all of us

Masterlist

Prologue • Chapter 1 - The Informant • Chapter 2 - A Wedding and Four Funerals • Chapter 3 - Swallow Pride and Anger

Chapter 4 - Prime Numbers

Franklin Jurado, Diana thinks, is a bit of an ass. It's not even that he happily, willingly, goes around laundering narcos' blood money, or that he gets rich off that himself. In this moment, it's mostly the way he dismissively rolls his eyes and can barely keep the contempt out of his voice when arguing with her about Maltese vs Caymanian tax loopholes. Like she's an idiot for actually reading the laws, spotty as they are.

On top of everything, it's keeping her in her office well past the time she was meaning to start getting changed and dolled up for the grand party that night, and she feels a pressure headache of annoyance building behind her temples to boot.

She's this close to bludgeoning the man with her stapler when an insistent knock sounds at the door, followed by a blonde head poking in. The blonde lady starts speaking in rapid English, too abrupt for Diana's brain to keep up with what is being said, but she instinctively recognized the tone of a husband being reamed out with righteous indignation and if nothing else, it gives her a certain kind of vindication.

"Hi, I'm Christina Jurado. Just Christina is fine. Pleasure to meet you!" The other woman now stepped fully into her office, holding out her hand and smiling just a tad too brightly.

"Diana...Galindo." Why she'd chosen to be known here under her married name is anyone's guess. Perhaps it was mostly a matter of having grown used to it. Perhaps it allowed her to pretend that this wasn't quite her, just an act to be put on for a greater purpose. That helping drug cartel bosses hide their blood money from the tax man and signing off on their henchmen's paychecks was something that Diana Teresa Artemisia Rivas Rincón would not be caught dead doing, no matter the circumstances. "Pleased to meet you."

"Franklin, we'll be late!" the other woman throws over her shoulder. Rather pointedly, too.

"We're not done discussing-"

"I don't care, Franklin!" There's a moment of very animated eye contact, the kind of wordless back-and-forth that she'd dreamt of developing with Juan Mateo but that they never quite managed. Just another little detail that ultimately spelled the end of their marriage. "Actually, why don't your ride with us?"

"I, um-" Diana instinctively reached to adjust the wire she'd been wearing for most of the day (to get used to the feeling and not inadvertently betray herself later), only catching herself in the last moment and fidgeting with the collar on her blouse instead. "I- Felipe was supposed to drive me. I need to get ready still, too."

"Eh, he can tag along. What are you wearing? Do you have your dress here?" She did. There was no arguing with Christina, but no malice in her overbearing imperiousness either. Nonetheless, Diana tried to argue, if only for politeness' sake. How she wouldn't want to impose. That it wasn't a problem, since Miguel Rodríguez had very kindly arranged for her transportation in the form of the afore-mentioned Felipe. Mrs Jurado waved it all off. And perhaps the obvious annoyance in Franklin Jurado's eyes gave her a little push. Say what one might about the Rodríguez brothers, but at least neither of them had ever questioned her professional expertise.

Before she knows what hit her, the three of them are sailing out of the building and towards the cars parked out front. Well, Christina is sailing, while Franklin and Diana are trotting along behind her and shooting each other sour looks. It's the kind of wrathful indignation that she hadn't felt since second grade, when Bruno Moreno had pulled her pigtails and stolen her pencil. Christina seemed unperturbed, ordering the drivers around in her accented but surprisingly decent Spanish. Felipe caught Diana's eye, wringing his hands and questions in his eye.

"It seems I will be riding with Mr and Mrs Jurado. Perhaps you'd be kind enough to follow us to their hotel and then take my work clothes back to the office after I've changed? I'd hate to have to lug around my stuff or leave it lying around somewhere. You'd be a great help this way, and as far as I'm concerned, you can go straight home after that."

"Of course, ma'am." He nodded, seeming relieved by the clear instructions. Diana smiled and handed off her garment bag to the Jurados' driver.

The drive itself could have been more awkward, what with being caged in the back of this limousine with two strangers, one of whom all but openly despised her and spent his time pouting after his wife had told him in no uncertain terms that if a single word of work talk left his lips she'd shove him out the door and into oncoming traffic. Luckily she also had made it her personal mission to pack half an evening's worth of small talk into the barely twenty-minute-ride.

The Jurados' suite was grand, the lounge alone bigger than the house Diana had grown up in. She was still trying not to show how out of place she felt among all the marble and gilded edges when Christina steered her towards the back, still prattling on in a way that the DEA would have a lot of fun picking through when they got the recording from her wire.

"Ugh, this place is so... Sorry, we wanted the president's suite, but one of the North Valley people snatched it up. Their... Who is he, Franklin? That unpleasant little man - is he the leader of the pack? With the young woman we saw when we checked in. Was that his wife?"

"Salazar." Franklin muttered, his face curdling into a deeper frown. At least Diana wasn't at the top of his most hated list, apparently. "Yeah, I think so honey."

"She looked awfully young."

"I'm sure we'll meet them all at the party."

"Something to look forward to." Christina grimaced and pulled Diana into the spacious bathroom, settling her down in front of a gigantic vanity mirror.

"Alright, what are we doing with you?" Diana looked at her own wide-eyed reflection staring back at her while Christina started pulling her hair free from the simple clip she'd used to hold it up.

"I, uh-" Diana pushed her glasses back up her nose and frowned. "I have contact lenses." She gestured vaguely towards her reflection. She had also packed a small bag with the handful of make-up items she owned, but lack of practice didn't exactly serve to make her adept at using them. Christina grinned excitedly, her whitened teeth shining. "Well no, that won't do! Hang on."

She sprung up and rushed towards the door, only stopping when she reached her husband who had lingered there, leaning against the frame.

"Hey you." For a moment, they softened, stealing a small kiss amid halted momentum. Diana ached to witness it. "Hey yourself."

"Go get changed." Christina smiled, kissing his cheek as she brushed past to dive into her suitcase.

"You're telling me? Don't take too long, we're on a schedule here." The words were softened by his tender expression, and as she walked past on her way back he reeled her in for another, deeper kiss. Diana pretended to be very invested in not poking her eyeballs out. Well, half-pretended. Putting in contact lenses was another thing she wasn't exactly used to. When she'd finally managed to fumble the second lens onto her eyeball, Franklin had long left and closed the door.

Without further ado, Christina set to work. Within moments, the marble counter was covered with various cosmetics and the other woman's eager hands set to work. Diana had no choice but to submit. Thankfully again, it was Christina who shouldered the bulk of the conversation.

"So, I did notice you're not wearing a wedding band, Mrs Galindo." Diana's eyes were closed, as her eyeshadow was currently being blended, but she did stiffen and instinctively her other hand went to touch where her ring had been. "Oh damn, I hope that wasn't- He's not tragically deceased, is he?"

"No, we're...separated. Divorcing. It's... it's dragging on, to be honest. I've learned more about Colombian marriage law in the past year than I ever wanted to know." She tried to diffuse with a joke, but it didn't quite land.

"Sorry, you must think me so rude. We only just met and here I am acting like we're friends!" She bit out in a jarring departure from her hitherto genial tone. "Anyway, I admire you. That can't have been easy what with how...uh-"

"...Catholic this country is?" Diana supplied, clasping the other woman's hands in hers with a slight smile. Christina huffed in relief. "Yes, I suppose. It's just... it's so hard. Marriage I mean. Sometimes I don't even know how to bear it." Her gaze fell towards the bathroom door that Franklin had closed behind himself upon leaving. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she continued. "How did you even know you couldn't go on like this?"

Diana gulped, hating what she was about to do. Resenting, for a moment, women like Gabriela who only had to sell a bit of their time and acess to their bodies to these people. She felt like she was selling away her soul every single day.

"Mrs Jurado-"

"Christina. Please, you can call me Christina."

"Christina, let me be honest. I never truly loved my husband, and he didn't love me. We liked each other and it was convenient, and expected, to get married. And in the end that proved to not be enough. But from what little I have seen, that's not something you and your husband have to contend with. Even if things are hard, as long as there is love you can overcome them. You have to believe in that."

Christina choked out a tearful little laugh, like in spite of herself.

"Oh God, good thing I haven't put on mascara yet. You're making me all dewy-eyed." She chuckled, then threw her arms around Diana and gave her a tight squeeze. "Thank you. Really."

"Of course," Diana awkwardly patted the other woman's back, thankful that she wasn't currently facing the mirror, "and I would be happy to become your friend." Whatever ice had remained between the two women was broken after that. Christina perked up and returned to chatting animatedly, finishing her make-up, doing up her hair in a very elegant twisted bun, and gushing over her dress.

"Do you have any jewelry to go with it?"

"Not really, no. I only ever wear this." Diana indicated the thin silver chain around her neck. Christina tutted.

"Well, that just won't do. Wait, let me just-" An impatient knock at the door interrupted her. "Oh dear, looks like we're running late."

Diana saw a chance to get a moment alone and suggested they each get dressed quickly, and separately, lest they waste any more time and husbandly nerves with their chatter.

"Okay, but holler if you need help with the zipper or anything."

Diana had never squeezed into a garment faster, glad that she had chosen to put on the wire device that morning already. She tugged the actual wire tight around her body where it had loosened over the course of the day, then shimmied into the underdress she'd brought in the hopes that it would conceal any suspicious bumps or lines. She had almost wrestled the zipper into its final position when Christina knocked and entered, quickly getting the last inch or so with a comment of how husbands were useful for some things.

"Anyway, I thought these would suit you." Christina presented an opened velvet case. Sitting inside it was a jewelry set, sapphires with diamonds set in gold. Real ones, judging by the Cartier labelling embossed into the velvet. A necklace, earrings, bracelet and ring, all fancier and more ostentacious than anything Diana had ever set eyes on. Immediately, her palms started sweating.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly-"

"Nonsense." Christina cut her off, placing the case down and snatching the bracelet and Diana's wrist. "You'll look so pretty and expensive. You can return them to me later, we'll be in town until Tuesday." Having clasped the bracelet around her wrist, she now moved on to the earrings. "Maybe we could get coffee on the weekend or something."

"I'd like that." Diana lied. Christina smiled at her brightly. "Great! I just need to ...uh, freshen up a moment." Taking the hint, Diana gathered up her things and stepped outside, awkwardly holding her bag of of work clothes to give to Felipe down in the hotel lobby. Franklin was standing by a sideboard, boredly rifling through a magazine.

"Mrs Galindo." He acknowledged. For a split second, he looked like he wanted to add something, but caught himself. Diana followed his gaze towards the closed bathroom door, behind which low noises of shuffling and splashing water could be heard.

"How long have you two been married?" She had no idea how this information might help the investigation, but determined that wasn't for her to worry about. Franklin sighed, gaze still fixed on the door and absent.

"Seven years now." He finally tore his eyes away from the door and let them flit over her briefly, catching on the borrowed jewels but electing not to comment on it. "They say the seventh year is the hardest, don't they?"

"I wouldn't know. I never made it that far." Though if Juan Mateo didn't pull his head out of his ass soon she would spend the seventh year still technically married. The thought made her frown.

Before either of them had to search for more overburdened smalltalk, the bathroom door blessedly clicked open and Christina emerged with a wide grin and a spring to her step, her eyes just a smidgeon glassy and too bright. Diana politely pretended not to see the remnants of fine white powder that Franklin surreptitiously wiped from her nose and upper lip. --- They arrived not exactly on time but not fashionably late either. There's a line of cars already plugging up the driveway to the sprawling estate, stringed lights illuminating against the darkening sky. They got out and sauntered towards the two-storey villa, the Jurados up front and Diana trailing behind like the kid that's finally allowed to come along to the fancy family outings. Her dress hadn't felt this tight in the store, or at any point afterwards, until just now.

"Franklin! I'm so glad you're finally here! Mrs Jurado, it's a pleasure." Diana can only just contain the flinch at the sound of this voice, and before long Miguel Rodríguez turns to her with one of his bright, self-satisfied smiles. "Mrs Galindo, I'm so glad you could come. We need to introduce you to the rest of the guys! It's been too long!"

He has his arm around her shoulders within the same breath, exuberant and steering her through the scattered throngs of people at a pace that doesn't even allow for snatching a champagne flute from one of the waiters floating around. She plastered on a fake demure smile. The 'invitation' hadn't exactly been a matter of mere suggestion.

Miguel led them to a dainty pagoda that sat a comfortable distance from the pool and most of the din and chatter of the other guests, nestled between the luscious greenery of the large garden. Diana could hear the mumbled whispers of the Jurados behind her, Miguel's droning on of meaningless small talk that she barely paid attention to. She could see Gilberto's back, his stature dwarfed almost comically by that of a much larger and broader man sat to his side, with short silver hair that gleamed in the low light.

"Gentlemen, I believe we are complete!" Miguel boomed, ushering her up the few steps and into the circle.

"Mrs Galindo, what a pleasure!" Gilberto shot up and made a show of shaking her hand and pulling her close to present her to the rest of the ...associates.

"Now I believe you've not yet met these fine gentlemen. Pacho Herrera, Diana Galindo." Pacho stood and took her hand gingerly, his face impassive and tone painstakingly polite and neutral. "My pleasure."

"Mr Herrera." Diana replied, heart thumping up into her throat. They'd not so much met as passed each other in front of offices or meeting rooms a handful of times, his tightly coiled, jaguar-like energy always seeming just a smidge out of place in those blandly corporate spaces.

"And here's Chepe, came all the way down from New York especially!" The large man with the silver hair stood to his full impressive height, snatching her hand with a wolfish grin and dropping a just-too-moist kiss on the back of it with a wink. Diana did her utmost not to flinch. For just a moment, she regretted the moment she'd taken off her ring and put it in front of a shocked Juan Mateo on their kitchen table before leaving their shared apartment. It was moments like these that she missed the protection it had afforded her from some unwanted advances.

Pallomari was last, balding and skittish, with huge owl-eye glasses not unlike the first pair she'd ever had.

"Mrs Galindo, how interesting to finally put a face to the name." He greeted, sounding painfully rehearsed. Diana returned with some meaningless pleasantry, hyper-aware of the wiretap device against her skin. She wondered whether it even picked up anything apart from the thundering of her heart.

"So, about your big announcement-" Miguel began once everyone was settled into a seat with a drink in hand. Gilberto cut him off almost immediately.

"Now, now brother, let's enjoy the party a bit beforehand." A look passed between them, a challenge issued and accepted, until Miguel turned his gaze away with a barely concealed snarl. Gilberto leaned back in his seat, glass raised with a smug and triumphant smirk. "Let's just say that I have made an important investment into our future. We will continue to thrive, but more importantly, we will be safe. Our families will be safe."

With that cryptic remark, he threw back his drink, expression melting from jovial to grim. The ensuing silence made the hair on the back of Diana's neck stand up, a feat she wouldn't have thought possible with the amount of hairspray Christina had encased her head in.

"He's dead, Pablo's dead." Miguel reached over where she was squished between the two men, squeezing his brother's arm in reassurance. "He's gone and we helped bring him down."

"We did. This country should build us monuments, instead they issue arrest warrants!" Gilberto bit out, pouring himself another glass of whiskey.

"To Pablo Escobar, may he forever rot in hell!" Chepe bellowed, glass raised high. They all joined in. Diana thought of her father. How he'd done her hair and walked her to school every morning and tucked her in with a new story every night when she was a girl. How, during her first year of university when she'd been so lonely and homesick she broke down crying, he'd taken precious time off work and taken a night bus to come visit her in Bogotá for a weekend. How her heart still split down the middle whenever she so much as thought of the crash that killed him. But the gentlemen didn't need to know that she despised them just as much as she did Escobar, not yet anyway. So, she raised her champagne alongside and joined her voice in the chorus of gleeful condemnation. - She'd just escaped Christina and the gaggle of wives for a moment, excusing herself to the restrooms. What the DEA might glean from their inane chatter, she couldn't possibly fathom. She was glad that she was free of them for a moment, and that disecting the recording wasn't her problem to deal with. On her way into the house, she must have passed by at least two dozen important and powerful people. There were a few handfuls of representatives, a number of mayors, at least two senators, an attorney general and an army general. No one she'd ever voted for, at least. And those were just the ones she'd managed to get Miguel to introduce to her, or her to them - either way, she'd made sure to repeat every name as clearly as possible for the recording.

Rounding the last corner in from the veranda, she all but ran into Salcedo.

"Mrs Galindo." His tone was clipped as ever. She wasn't sure whether he might be suspicious of her in particular, or whether it was a general thing and he was just like that.

"Mr Salcedo." She nodded, tone painstakingly polite. He set her teeth on edge, always so stiff-backed with that serpent edge to him; in a ranking of people within the cartel who had this effect on her he would probably come in about third. She wondered what Javier- what Agent Peña would make of the man. "What brings you here, Mrs Galindo?" Or perhaps he just didn't like her for some reason. Which was very much a mutual sentiment. Not that she held particular sympathies for anyone here.

"To the restroom?" *Take a wild guess, buddy*, she thought, one eyebrow arching with clear condescension.

"To the...house."

"The restroom." She resisted rolling her eyes. As much as she may personally dislike Miguel's chief of security, purposely antagonizing him was probably a bad idea. And yet, petty temptation beckoned in every nook and cranny. Like the sideboard they were currently standing in front of that displayed a solid bronze statue of a very rotund dancing couple. "To marvel at the Botero, naturally."

Salcedo's eyes followed her nod towards the heavy bronze. "It's genuine, you know." He said it not in the tone of an art aficionado, but rather in the crudely suggestive one of a third-rate telenovela detective trying to be slick by not outright asking if she meant to steal it.

"Of course, Mr Rodríguez wouldn't stand for anything less." The thing was half her size and probably twice as heavy, what was he thinking? Himself a master at subtle insinuation, probably. Or that being poor and growing up in the comunas naturally meant she had sticky fingers. Uptight, hoity-toity middle class prick. Like his employers weren't internationally wanted criminals of the highest degree. The audacity of it!

His mouth was already halfway open to retort when his name being yelled from outside made both of them turn. David Rodríguez hung onto the veranda door, snapping at Salcedo that his father wanted him for something, and pronto. Diana could practically hear his teeth grind in irritation, but he schooled his face into a carefully blank facade before he gave David a nod.

"Ma'am." Salcedo gave in and moved, squeezing by David. David purposefully did not budge, instead giving her a leery once-over before following after the other man.

Diana fled into the bathroom down the hall in a manner she hoped looked urgent rather than as panicked as she felt inside. She held it together until the lock slid closed, and then she was crouched on the floor, curled up and heavy breathing into her hands. The small pressure point of the wire recorder thingy felt like a ton weight against her chest and her heart was beating so fast she could feel it everywhere.

Hyperventilating. You're hyperventilating, her brain supplied unhelpfully, and she almost laughed at herself. She wished she wasn't here all on her own, wished she had at least one of those spy devices in her ear for some moral support, tried to recall the exact feeling of Agent Peña's hands on her shoulders, warm and grounding. One hand remained up, muffling the desperate breaths and whimpers from her mouth, while the other dropped, thumb dipping underneath the fabric at her chest to brush soothingly across her collarbone. It worked...to a degree. A very small degree. What she would give to at least have the deep, comforting rumble of his voice, or the way he'd held her close after the festival. Did he even know how calming his presence was? It always seemed to work on her, in wrath and anxiety both (something that Juan Mateo had never been able to affect unless it was to irritate her more). So much so that now even just focusing on it was enough to help her pull herself together.

The guest restroom was bigger than her childhood room had been and, of course, looked more like it belonged in some fancy hotel. All warm-toned marble and matte gold appliances. The mirror was huge and its frame, naturally, also gold. What was it with rich people's obsession with gold?

"Okay." Diana said to her reflection, then went to work freshening up. Carefully, she wiped away the smudged mascara under her eyes and reapplied her lipstick where it had come off on her drink earlier. She stuck her hands underneath her dress to check on the recording device, concerned that a wire had shaken loose or something, but the small rectangular container still sat right snug right against her sternum. She gave it an absent tap and adjusted the microphone bit so it sat just below the seam of her collar again.

"I hope you'll get something worthwhile from this because I am never doing this again." A knock on the door nearly sent her into cardiac arrest. Diana swore under her breath, then called out that she'd only be a moment.

"Sorry," an apologetic female voice came from the other side of the door, "You've been in there a while, is all. Are you alright? I have an aspirin in my purse if you need it."

Diana stopped dabbing at her still damp eyes and tried to determine whether her near panic attack was the sole reason her vision was still a bit hazy. She could count the times she'd been out without her glasses on one hand.

"Oh no it's just-," she crossed over and unlocked the door to find a young, very pretty and very concerned looking woman on the other side, "I just had some trouble with my contact lenses. They're awfully fiddly." She stepped back and opened the door wider. "All yours."

"Oh I don't-" She looked down the hallway, further into the house, her eyes widening slightly when she caught sight of something or someone outside of Diana's field of vision. "Actually, I think I need to...uh, powder my nose or something."

The door fell into its lock the same moment the younger woman had stepped into the room, not giving Diana a chance to leave. Not that she was over-eager to get back outside and mingle with the corrupt and criminal. That and the discomfort and anxiety hung around the other woman like a cloud. Diana made up her mind, sitting down on one of the plush benches in the room.

"I'm not a big fan of parties either." She stated, voice careful and soft. The other woman stood, unsure and tugging at the short hem of her dress.

"I wish they could just open the buffet already. My husband is three drinks in and he gets-" She trembled. No, shuddered. Diana patted the space beside her on the bench, a gentle invitation.

"It's alright, we can stay here for a little bit. I'm Diana."

"Maria." She stuck out her hand, which was also still trembling slightly. "Maria Salazar." --- By the time the two of them dared venture outside again, there was indeed, finally!, food to be had. Diana pulled Maria along to the relative safety of the gaggle of wives, busy amusing themselves while their husbands dealt with their important business matters. But then, the bandleader announced that the dancefloor was now officially open and started off with a spirited selection of the finest Colombian rhythms of the past twenty years. One by one the wives were collected to fill said dancefloor, leaving Diana sitting alone at the table with the sad remnants of various canapees and salads. Here was another occasion where she didn't miss Juan Mateo. Or his two left feet. Idly, she turned the near-empty cocktail glass between her fingers and wondered whether Javier danced, or could at least be persuaded to try.

"You don't dance?" David appeared so suddenly that she almost spilled the last bit of her drink. She remembered his leering earlier, forced her face not to flinch until she had raised the glass and could hide her expression of distaste behind a sip of the overly sweet and fruity cocktail. Hummed non-committally and hoping against hope that he'd grow bored and leave. Of course, she had no such luck.

"Oh, whom with? Everyone's paired up already." Sip again. The glass had another three or four in it, if she stretched it smartly enough. "I'm afraid third-wheeling is the unenviable fate of divorcees." How old was this boy anyway? She must have ten years on him, at the very least. But apparently he'd got it into his head that he must prove to himself what a man he was, and how irresistible. At least he had the good sense not to try anything with the wives of any of the powerful men present.

"Dance with me." David stated. Ah, bingo. He might have at least pretended to ask, she thought sourly. "I insist."

Of course you do, you entitled brat. "It would be my pleasure." She lies, as most politeness is lies, here in these circles comprised of snakes. Fakes a smile the way she's been taught to by this world, so easy to act and conceal the disdain underneath. It doesn't falter even when his hand, clammy and slightly sweaty, settles way too low for comfort or propriety on her hip. She resolves to step on his feet - accidentally - at least twice.

David Rodríguez was not what one would call a skilled dancer. At first, Diana had been thankful that the band wasn't playing any slow songs yet, but it had taken approximately half of 'Bamboleo' to dispel the hope that this would keep David's hands from wandering. Well, if she was stuck here she might as well try to get some intel out of him.

...It takes about two and a half songs - the band now switching to their international collection - to determine that this route of inquiry is absolutely doomed and David completely useless. Doesn't know any business particulars, and doesn't care to. Too distracted with trying to put some moves on her, which she steadfastly ignores. Well, if details of her failed marriage and dragging divorce aren't enough to discourage him, she's got another one up her sleeve. Not to mention she's been curious ever since the gaggle of wives had made their introductions earlier.

"You're not married." She leaves the 'yet' unsaid, hanging in the air between them as heavy insinuation.

"If I were, would I be dancing with you?" A faithful husband, and in these circles at that? What a novel idea. Diana almost snorted out loud. Left it at a telling look that seemed to go over his head completely. Doesn't have the energy to dissect how a dance with a friend or acquaintance at a party isn't exactly on par with, say, the juridical definition of adultery. Which brings her mind back to the tedium of having to explain to various lawyers, notaries, judges that no, her husband wasn't a cheating pig who drank and beat her, and that there were a multitude of quieter reasons why marriages failed.

"I have been wondering, though, where the third of the Mrs Rodríguezes belongs. Besides your mother and your aunt." She nodded over at the three women in question, one dancing with either Rodríguez brother, the third being currently twirled about by Chepe and looking a bit motion sick from it.

"My mother is dead." Ah, shit. Diana faltered, and this time the graze of her heel on his shoe really was entirely accidental. Something in David's eyes shuttered and hardened, gaze for once lifting from her body and darkly fixing on his father. "They're all my uncle's wives."

"Oh. Oh!" Diana's mouth falls open. Of all things she could have expected, this was certainly not one. "That's um... That sounds, uh..." Illegal, but then again, what did a bit of consensual polygamy matter in the grand scheme of things, she supposed.

"You sound so scandalized. Didn't think he had it in him, didn't you?" David smirked, tightening his grip on her back again and leading her in a turn.

"No, I'm just...wondering...about the, um...time management...aspect." In fairness, that was one of the things she did wonder about. David laughed, bringing her in closer.

"Each gets two days per week and Sundays he has them come all together and sit there while he watches sports."

How thrilling. "Whatever works for them, I suppose."

Diana tried to subtly twist away again. She wasn't going to get anything else from this, what with David already being bored and growing increasingly impatient. And she didn't have an escape plan that didn't consist of ramming her heel into him somewhere until she struck bone.

"Damn, can't they play something from this decade?" He whined as 'Money, money, money' faded into 'Knowing me, knowing you'. "All of this ancient stuff-" Sensing another chance to subtly nudge him away from his inexplicable sudden attraction, Diana jumped. "Oh I quite like it," she remarked lightly. Now go in for the kill "Reminds me of my youth."

David harrumphed, then grunted as her heel dug into his toes again. "Oh dear, so sorry." Diana said breezily, forcing his hand up from where it had been creeping towards her ass with a deft twirl.

"It's fine." He gritted. "Did you want to-"

"Allow me to cut in." Herrera stepped up, lightly shoving David aside to take his place. "I've not had the pleasure yet, Mrs Galindo." Diana forced a smile as his hand settled at her waist. Pro: at least this one wouldn't spend the whole time trying to feel her up. Con: not being thus distracted, he might notice...something. And become suspicious. If he wasn't already. Truth be told, Herrera scared her almost as much as Navegante did. Sometimes more so.

"Right, well this is a very tight dress, so I can't do any adventurous moves." She warned, plastering an apologetic expression onto her face. Thankfully the band had changed to a faster track, though they kept with the international flair of the selection. Next up was some Brazil, if she wasn't mistaken. David stood between the twirling couples for a long moment, glaring but not daring to do or say anything that might affront his father's business partner. She shot him a fake apologetic smile, but suspected it was more the insistent raised eyebrow from Herrera that ultimately got him to scurry.

Pacho Herrera could dance, that much was undeniable. Under different circumstances she might have even enjoyed this. He was also unnervingly quiet. If the purpose of this was to unsettle her, his tactic was very successful. At this rate, just keeping her feet under her proved to be challenge enough. One could think the band had launched into a Tarantella, given the speed they were going. Her head swam from the quick succession of turns and twirls, and when he dipped her upon the song's grand climax, her heart stopped for a variety of reasons. One of them being that she thought she felt some of her concealed wiring dislodge.

"I think your dress is not too tight after all, Mrs Galindo." He pulled back up and righted her again, blessedly stilling a moment while the band segued into a mellower number. Diana gulped in a few deep, unladylike breaths.

"No trust me, it is." She was still catching her breath; meanwhile he didn't even have a single hair out of place. Unfair. "So," Diana began her feeble attempt to bring the situation back under some semblance of control, "Are you interested in... tax exemptions?" Apparently humans could wheeze and cringe simultaneously. Very interesting. Herrera didn't answer immediately, just started leading her back into a mellow sway.

"I think you're interested enough for all of us, Mrs Galindo. Miguel showed us the figures earlier. Very impressive. I see why DIAN recruited you right out of university." How he made what was ostensibly a compliment sound like a threat, Diana didn't know, just that it did nothing for her heart rate.

"Thank you." He spun her out along with a flourish from the brass section, turning her already shaky voice into a squeak. She really hoped the recording had not picked that up. After the spin, his hand slid up over her back, before settling back on her waist. To her horror, something in Pacho's expression twisted and he pulled her closer, hand splaying over her mid-back again. So much for avoiding being fondled for one dance.

"What's this?"

"Oh, I don't want to bore you with the details of women's undergarments. Suffice to say I'm wearing an insane amount of Spanx right now."

There was a prolonged moment, during which Diana tried to keep her cool while deciding how much of a scene she was willing to cause should he not let it rest. Normally none at all, then again it was her life on the line.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Mr Rodríguez requests you make your way to the equestrian ring for the big announcement."

Never in her life had Diana welcomed an interruption like at this very moment. Herrera hesitated for a split second, expression still unreadable, before joining the throngs of people set in motion. He grasped her hand firmly, looping it through his elbow until it rested on his forearm, where he pinned it with his other hand. Just unconspicuous enough to look polite to any onlooker, just forceful enough that she knew she couldn't free herself without obvious struggle.

"He could have done this up on the other stage." Miguel grumbled when they reached him, standing off the side to the stage that had been set up in the area.

"You know how he is, Miguel. Always has to have his way." The two men exchanged a glance around her while more people filed past.

"Mrs Galindo."

Diana hummed in acknowledgement, returned the meaningless pleasantries. Yes of course she was enjoying herself. What a lovely party. The music? Exhilarating. The buffet? Exquisite. Her divorce? Ugh. She would really prefer not to think about that right now, thank you very much.

"It's next Thursday, right? Your court appointment?"

"Yes, thank you for letting me combine this with a work trip to Barranquilla. It's my personal business after all."

"Of course, we want you at your best. Undistracted. Unburdened." Diana almost laughed, barely managed to suppress the snort and cover it with clearing her throat.

"I thought that had all gone through ages ago." Herrera remarked lightly, grip finally easing up some from her wrist. Diana sighed.

"I'm divorced, as far as I'm concerned. I moved out, signed my papers. I don't know what he thinks he's doing. I'm not going back to him. This obstinate little tantrum isn't helping his case anyway." Countless hours spent arguing with various legal professionals flashed before her eyes. "It's a very tedious process."

"It's a very catholic country." Pacho said, somewhere between wistful and embittered. She used his momentary distraction to pull her arm free.

"That's true."

Up on the stage, Gilberto was fiddling with a microphone and waiting for the last few stragglers to come and fill up the equestrian ring so he could begin. Again, the two men exhanged a telling glance around her.

"You gonna go up there with him?" Pacho said lowly, hands now crossing behind his back. Miguel shook his head.

"You go. I'll stay here. Better view."

Diana stayed demonstratively rooted to the spot when Herrera started moving. He shot her a look, which she pretended not to notice in favor of striking up more mindless small talk with Miguel. Apparently Herrera decided that it wasn't worth making a big deal out of, choosing instead to let her be and weave through the audience until he reached the bottom of the stage, exchanging a greeting with Santacruz and glowering over the assembled crooks and accomplices.

Gilberto's speech was... full of pathos and grandstanding, and too many high-minded terms for such a petty crook, she thought. When did the delusions or grandeur usually start appearing, she wondered. Was it with the first million? The first billion? But it's the core of the announcement that makes her gasp and sets the wheels in her mind into overdrive, the implications just mounting up. She spares a quick glance at Herrera at the foot of the stage, his face too demonstratively blank save for furrowed brows. Miguel beside her is more expressive, but quick to reign his face back in. Among the surprised gasps and whispers all around it tells her enough. Briefly, she thought of making a comment to Miguel, but his jaw is set so tight she can hear the grinding of teeth and she doesn't have anything productive or intelligent to say anyway, so she lets it be. Swallows the bile that rises up in her throat as Gilberto proclaims 'For our children! And for our children's children!', and tries not to roll her eyes. Or gouge his out, for the sheer gall of it. Because here she stands, approaching thirty-five and still deathly afraid to bring a baby into a world they have made so violent, so toxic, so dangerous. Meanwhile Salome is without her parents, both murdered by this unending war. Meanwhile a David Rodríguez flounces around as some sort of better henchman, he and his cousins all cushy and carefree thanks to daddy's blood money. It churns the stomach with rage.

"Mrs Galindo! Just the woman I've been looking for!"

The crowd parts for him, less so out of reverence and more because people are slowly drifting away, gossip already flying about, Diana is pleased to note.

"Mr Rodríguez, what an...impactful speech." She said demurely, keeping all her sneering tucked safely away behind the mask of officiousness.

"It's the coup of the century!" She catches Miguel's scoff just in the corner of her eye. "It also means transferring our assets into the...ah, ...legitimate sphere, if you will." He's got his arm around her shoulders again, leading her back towards the dancefloor, the buffet and tables, the house. By chance and his smaller stature, he's speaking almost directly into the shoulder with the hidden microphone attached, detailing all the financial acrobatics he wants her to perform to save all their assets from both law- and taxman. There she went again, trading complicity for access. --- Just over an hour on and the gender ratio has left Diana sitting squished between Herrera and the youngest of the Mrs Rodríguezes, but at least he seems to have taken his measure of her. And swallowed her undergarment excuse. Swallowed...undergarments. She snorted semi-loudly into the cocktail she'd been nursing this whole time, the ice in it all but dissolved. Dammit, here eyes were getting heavier by the minute and it wasn't even that late, barely midnight. Then again she had been up since five and alcohol, even though she hadn't had all that much, always made her sleepy. And the guests had started trickling away, leaving behind a scene of mild devastation.

"I think Mrs Galindo needs to go home." It was Franklin Jurado speaking, Christina's head buffered on his shoulder as she slept. Diana had just enough self-control left to not tell him to fuck off. Or maybe she really is too tired to; doesn't even have it in her to get annoyed at Gilberto's patronizing tone as he agrees.

"Yes, why don't you drive Mrs Galindo home?"

She hums more in acknowledgement than agreement to Hererra's suggestion, tired eyes hazily following his line of sight to the man stepping forward from the shadows at being summoned. His gaudy shirt reminds her of one Juan Mateo had worn on their honeymoon and which she had hated half because it had been a gift from her horrible mother-in-law, and half because it was the most hideous thing she had ever seen. And then realization hits and her blood runs ice-cold and alertness slams back into her consciousness like a bullet.

"Mr Velasquez." her voice is so weak and brittle, she thinks it must give her away if nothing else did so far. She took one last sip to wet her dry mouth, and because frankly she needs the alcohol now more than ever. The suggestion to call a taxi died on her lips as she realized that there was truly no way out of this. So, she steels herself and stands on sore feet, bidding the bosses of Calí and their dependents a good night. "I would be much obliged, Mr Velasquez."

Navegante approximated a smile and stalked ahead. --- Well, there goes his progress. He'd been down to three smokes a day, four on a bad day, due in part to an iron adherence to some hard and fast self-imposed rules, such as no smoking in his office (or, in fact, no smoking inside the building at all). Tonight, however, is the night of the Calí godfathers' big announcement party, and Javier had not moved from his office for longer than a quick bathroom break or coffee run. He had also gone through half a pack of cigarettes in the last two hours, and his stomach was beginning to feel queasy the longer he spent glancing at the phone on the edge of his desk from the corner of his eye as he pretended to make his way through the mountain of paperwork that somehow never seemed to get any smaller. The fact that he'd woken that morning with the memory of Diana Turbay's lifeless body crumpled in that cupboard certainly hadn't helped.

He last looked at a clock around half past nine, when a very insistent cleaning lady had shooed him out of his office and he'd spent around ten anxious minutes hovering by the door in case the phone rang. It hadn't, and now here he was, eyes burning and brain mushy with his heartbeat a steady pulsing behind his temples. And he wondered–

Javier swiped up the phone before the first ring had even finished. "Miss Rivas!"

"I'm fine." She didn't sound fine. She sounded on edge. Rattled. Like she was trying to reassure herself. He gripped the phone receiver tighter.

"Where are you?" What was he gonna do? Drive all the way to Calí from Bogotá at half an hour past midnight? Even a flight would take hours, and raise suspisions to boot.

"I said I'm fine," she replied, nails clacking rhythmically against the plastic phone casing in what he knew by now to be a nervous tick. "I'm safe. I'm home."

Javier breathed a relieved sigh, rigid shoulders slumping a fraction. He supposed he could have ordered Duffy or Lopez to do something if push had come to shove, though what he honestly had no idea.

"Good, that's good."

"Mr Velasquez gave me a lift."

Who the hell was that? "Who the hell is that?" Javier asked.

"You probably know him as Navegante." Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Mentally he's already halfway out the door, physically at least halfway out of the office until the phone wire makes known its spatial limitations.

"You alright? Is he still there? Lock your door, double lock it, I-"

"I didn't give him the exact address, please calm down." He does, but only enough to catch his breath and not bolt out the door. There's a rustling from her end of the line, and she makes a sort of breathless little sound, somehwere between a sigh and a grunt, followed by a low but vicious curse.

"You okay?"

"It's the damn zipper again; I'm this close to pulling something. Hang on." Judging by the thud that reverberates she set the phone down on a counter or table. Javier's hand went to rub at the back of his neck, half reflex, half sympathy. "Let's focus on the real issue here. The announcement."

The way she said it was urgent, but he chose to believe this was due to wanting to get the message out and not to any concerns of Navegante lurking nearby. He had to, for his own sanity.

"Apparently Gilberto cut a deal with the government."

"The government?" Javier echoed weakly.

"The new Samper administration. I knew why I didn't vote for those clowns. No, that's ...I had many reasons for that actually, first and foremost of them being that the Liberal Party nowadays is a damn joke. And to think that this is the same party that my parents fought for in their youth! Anyway, enough of that. They get half a year to get their house in order, then turn themselves in on the smallest possible charges, minimal jail time, back out again after a few years and back into their cushy lives with all of their blood money laundered neatly away. A clean slate." He'd never heard her sound so bitter, and he'd heard a good deal of her opinions on the Gentlemen of Calí over the past year.

"So they're just going to get away with it." Javier grit out, equally livid. "Wait, you said Gilberto cut the deal? What about the others?"

"Yes, so here is where it gets interesting. I didn't get the sense that they knew. Beforehand I mean. You should have outfitted me with a camera too, because Miguel's face was priceless." Another grunt and then a triumphant little 'ha' and then her voice sounded clearer again, nearer as she picked the phone back up.

"He doesn't like it."

"None of them like it. Don't want to give up the power, if I had to guess. What is it with men and building their entire ego on how much they can make others fear them?"

Javier hummed non-committally, deciding that he had nothing valuable to add at this point.

"Yeah, you're right. So how do I get the 'ooof' ...the recording to you? Usual way?" Javier didn't even get to reply no when she went on, now audibly shuffling around her apartment and out of the rest of her clothes. "I can't believe I almost forgot! I met the money launderer. His name is Franklin Jurado. He'll be in Calí until Tuesday with his wife Christina. I somewhat promised her to meet for coffee on Sunday; if you can have one of your agents trail me you can get them."

She sounded so hopeful that he hated to have to dash it, even for her own safety, but snatching such an important cartel member so soon and with her so close would cast suspicion. She couldn't be involved. And he hadn't heard back from his agents yet, which was possibly a bad sign. Javier made up his mind, cringing while he glanced at the clock to make some mental calculations.

"I'm coming over."

"To Calí?"

"Yes, what's your address? Unless you'd rather meet somewhere else?"

She gave her address, sounding stunned. He jotted it down under the note he'd made of Jurado's name; he'd need someone to look the guy up first thing tomorrow.

"You're not leaving now, are you? It's late, you need to sleep." Javier could picture the way her brow creased in a frown just from the tone of her voice.

"No, I'll call you again as soon as I know when I'll be there." Driving the whole way would be a nightmare and eat up most of the day. Javier whirled around and pulled an atlas from the shelf behind his desk. Flying in directly was out of the question with the way the godfathers had the whole city under surveillance. Buenaventura, under two hours by plane and then about two and a half from there to Calí. Yes, that would work.

"Goodness, you're actually serious about this."

"Of course." Javier stopped in his tracks for the first time in several minutes now, taking a moment to breathe and slump in his seat. He was exhausted yet wide awake, and likely would be for some time. "I mean, if that's okay with you."

"Of course, umm...anything in particular you'd like for dinner?" Javier stopped. He would be staying for dinner, possibly the night, too. In a hotel of course, he couldn't possibly impose-

"You don't have to cook for me." His mouth said, but his stomach said bandeja paisa. Briefly, the thought of taking her out for dinner popped up, indulgent and unbidden, and was immediately squashed by the thought of the godfathers' eyes everywhere. "I can pick something up on the way."

Her protest turned into a yawn not two syllables in. Javier couldn't help the small smile appearing on his face, felt it only by how it twinged his tense jaw. "You're tired, you should rest."

"We're not finished with this." She mumbled obstinately. "You rest."

"I will." He would, eventually. "I'll call you tomor- ...today." A quick glance at the clock revealed it was now past midnight. She made a very grumpy, very adorable huffy sound, mumbling something about the inexorable passage of time.

"Sleep well, Miss Rivas."

"You too..." There was a rustle and the quiet squeak and groan of a bedframe and mattress. He waited a moment, unsure whether more was coming or whether she'd just been too tired to disconnect the call. A short silence burst into a quick curse, her voice remote but still clear enough to make out. "...God fucking dammit, fucking contact lenses! Son of a rabid-"

"Miss Rivas?" By the rapid padding of feet and the continued cursing he had to suppose that she hadn't heard, and by how either sound seemed to be at about equal distance with neither decreasing, he supposed further that the phone was still in her hand. As soon as he heard the 'thunk' that most likely meant that the phone had been tossed down on some surface, he tried again. "Miss Rivas?"

"You're still there?" She sounded marginally more awake now, but not like this state would persist for very long.

"You didn't hang up." And perhaps Javier wasn't all too opposed to having the continued assurance that she was alright and her cover intact. "You swear very entertainingly, by the way."

"I'm glad my lack of filter and ladylike decorum amuses rather than appalls you." Splashing water interrupted them for a moment, but was quickly replaced by more colorful cursing.

"Please, don't hold back." Javier commented drily, not really expecting to be heard clearly since the satphone didn't have a loudspeaker.

"Very funny. Why don't you talk to me a bit more while I try not to poke my eyes out by accident-"

"I- ...I'm afraid I don't really have anything interesting to talk about."

"And I don't have enough brain left today for anything more taxing than the weather anyway. I just need your voice; I'm dead on my feet. How was the weather in Bogotá today? I always found it so cold when I was at university there. Nothing like Medellín. They used to call me 'chompa' at uni because I would never go anywhere without one. Too cold. And of course Calí is so much warmer than either..."

"It's been quite grey here, and not especially warm either. Back home it's at least twice as warm but I've been here so long now I think I'm more used to it."

"I never asked where exactly you're from..."

"Laredo, Texas. It's right on the border with Mexico."

"Laredo..." She mused, puttering about still. "Oh like the song? As I walked walked out on the streets of Laredo..." She must really be tired and devoid of all usual inhibitions, Javier thought, to just start singing like this. Not that he minded. She got halfway through the first stanza until she faltered, the lyrics escaping her. Her voice was soft and with that same raspy edge she had when speaking. It was a voice suited best to lullabies he thought; or to yearnful ballads performed in smoky bars, or some similarly wistful thing. "Aren't I supposed to be the one talking?"

"Hmm, this works too. I'm almost done, so you won't have to humor me much longer. So, tell me more about Laredo while I brush my teeth." --- He ended up talking longer than that - divulging more than he ever planned to as per usual, of the town and the ranch that sat up against the river - until she was settled back into bed and about to doze off for good. If nothing else, it settled him too somewhat, though sleep would elude him for a a good while yet even despite the physical and mental exhaustion the day, or in fact the whole week, had brought him. No sooner had he disconnected the line with a soft 'Sleep well' than the phone rang again.

"Yes?"

"Boss, I've been trying to reach you for half an hour!" Duffy's voice sounded strained and any modicum of relaxation Javier might have gained dissipated with immediate effect. He scrubbed a hand over his burning eyes and resigned himself to dealing with one more catastrophe.

"Duffy, what is it?" Agents Duffy and Lopez had organized their own infiltration of the godfathers' party, courtesy of the intel provided by Miss Rivas as well as what Operation Cornerstone had shaken loose. At least he knew it was nothing that had blown the cover of his informant.

"Okay well, no use beating around the bush here. Our guy got made, and Calí knows we're here-" Javier listened to his agent's report with his frown deepening. Why was it that with every step forward, another wrench was thrown his way?

"Alright, close up shop. Leave as soon and as inconspicuously as you can. I'll see you back here at the embassy on Monday morning." He ordered. Hopefully the gentlemen and their security would leave it at the gesture of intimidation, especially if they thought themselves well on the way of becoming untouchable, but one could never be too careful.

---

Javier consulted the clock for what must have been the hundredth time that evening. Normally the bar down the street from the embassy wouldn't be his first or even fourth choice, but tonight he was looking for a place to wind down with the shortest possible distance to cover afterwards. The danger of being accosted by any of his co-workers was one he'd simply have to brave. If luck was on his side for once, none of the more sociably inclined would be there any more, or too engrossed in their own merriment to notice him slink in, and if not, his curmudgeonly ways were known well enough that a civil yet decisive refusal would hopefully be deterrence enough.

It was for Stoddard, but of course not for Bill Stechner, the non-drug-lord bane of Javier's existence. Ostensibly on the same side, though Javier would argue that the CIA was on its own side entirely. Or that their budget would be spent more productively by making the damn lot of them just feed dollar bills through a shredder, but no one asked Javier about these things. So, he sits and grinds his teeth while Stechner's smug voice grates on his nerves. Visualizes strangling the CIA station shief with the tie he'd just pulled off and balled up into his pocket moments ago, which does a little bit to alleviate the almost overbearing urge to smash Stechner's face into the bar top. "Oh come on, you don't care about American streets or dead Colombians."

And the deal? How the hell does Stechner know about the deal when it's only just been announced? For a split-second, he wonders whether Diana- but no, he trusts her completely, and he hasn't told anyone except a handful of his agents about her, deciding this information was so sensitive it was strictly need to know, and even they only knew her by her assigned code name. Not even the ambassador knew that he had such a high-priority informant on the inside of the cartel. Stechner must have some government source, be it an informant of his own or bugs in the offices of ministers. The way he only mentions Lopez and Duffy's operation confirms it.

"Same goal my ass." Javier muttered into his whiskey after Stechner slithered away. This had been supposed to be a one-drink-night, but now he was feeling like he might need at least three more, if only to dull the screeching of his swirling thoughts.

It's no use. He's all keyed up still, something feels like it's burrowing inside of his chest, some sort of woodland critter both desperate and unable to settle down. He's tired, too, of course, eyes heavy and burning and sore, feels like his eyeballs are coated in smoke and pitched open by caffeine. He shouldn't have had that much coffee that late; despite his high tolerance it does still have an effect on him. Thank goodness on any given day, but right now he's regretting it. His leg jumps, knee knocking painfully against the bar front. He feels eyes on him. They've been there since he walked in, furtively glancing throughout his confrontation with Stechner, but bolder now. He feels it like a prickle on his skin. Turns his gaze finally. Sees long dark hair, open, melting into the late shadows of the bar. Too long, but it'll have to do. She's... he's definitely seen her around before. The elevator? Different department, perhaps press office, or visas. Definitely nowhere near the DEA offices or he would have known her name. She's coming over now, leaning easily against the bartop, slender fingers tapping, and an easy, eager smile. Her hair isn't dark enough, and too long and wavy all the way through instead of only curling at the ends, and nothing else about her appearance quite matches up, but she's pretty and willing and he's pent up and about to crawl out of his skin. And so he lets her take him home. And he means to leave right after, he really does. If only not to give any impression of this having even the slightest potential of becoming any more than it is. But Katie (that's her name, but he's learnt a long time ago to not groan out names during, because whether the name is correct or not it always turns out bad somehow), Katie sleepily mumbles that he can stay because it's late, and truth be told? He's completely shot, feels like he couldn't move if he wanted to. And the thought of dragging himself back to his empty apartment with only his thoughts for company is the most unbearable thing at this moment. Her mattress is too soft and despite the fact that he only laid on it until waking again at first light, it messes up his back for almost a week. --- It is indeed much warmer in this side of the country, and an especially hot day in Calí itself. On the coast where he'd landed, there had at least been a breeze blowing in from the Pacific, but the further inland Javier drives the less the air seems to move. He felt the sweat start to gather at his hairline, and down his neck, as soon as he parked the rental car in front of the cluster of new-ish high rise apartment blocks in one of the north-western boroughs of the city.

Javier grabbed his one piece of luggage and the bag of takeout he'd picked up on the way, just as promised, and walked up to the first building to study the panel beside the door for the correct bell to ring. A sharp whistle made him look around, then up at the next building. Miss Rivas was all but hanging off the side of her balcony, waving down and giving Javier half a heart attack seeing as she was on the sixth floor. He waved back in acknowledgement, then jogged over to the already buzzing door, which he pushed open. Blessedly, there was an elevator, and not two minutes later he stood in front of her apartment, the door swinging open before he could raise his hand to knock.

"Hi." She sounded breathless, as if she'd run up six flights of stairs, not across an apartment.

"... Miss Rivas." In his relief, he'd almost slipped. Almost called her by her first name, but they're not there yet, strangely. Or not strangely at all, in fact. It's quite by design. It's a way of keeping himself detached; professional. Or whatever excuse he could come up with to maintain this state of perpetual denial.

"Umm, ...lunch? I brought lunch." He thrust the bag foward, watched it swing between them while cringing inwardly.

"Good! I've only been up for two hours or so; I don't even care what it is, I'm starving!" Carefully, she took the bag from him, one hand supporting the bottom like a newborn's head, the other brushing his as she looped her fingers through the handles. "Come in, come in."

Javier stood a full three seconds or so after she'd already turned around and walked down the narrow hallway, rooted to the spot and struck dumb like some sort of imbecile. His skin prickled in all the places he'd let Katie touch him the night before, which, admittedly, hadn't been too many - but still enough to be burning him with that familiar mixture of guilt and shame now. So he does what he does best when it comes to emotions: deny and repress.

He left his shoes beside the pair of strappy heels she must have discarded there the night before, probably in a hurry to get the severely uncomfortable looking things off after spending a whole evening in them. The hallway opened into an open living room and dining area, the balcony beyond that, and a galley-style kitchen off to one side not unlike his own apartment. It was a sparse place, not quite enough furniture to fill the space - a long couch and coffee table, a low sideboard with a TV on it, none of it new save for the stereo system that was of course on and softly playing the usual eclectic music mix. Javier dropped his bag beside the couch where it would be out of the way. The dining table barely deserved the name. It was a small, round, reedy looking thing, just large enough for two, or maybe two and a child, with two plastic fold-out chairs. On it stood a light blue and white ceramic fruit bowl that currently held zero fruit, just the recording device he'd given her and... some pieces of golden sapphire and diamond jewelry? Puzzled, Javier picked up what turned out to be a bracelet. He raised one eyebrow at her as she set down plates for them.

"Got a raise?"

"Ha! As if. I should have, though. What with the extra work I got saddled with last night. That's the problem with rich people. Miserly. The more zeroes on their bank statements the stingier they get." She scoffed, ranting away all the way to and fro carrying the cutlery. "No, this-" she stabbed a spoonhandle through the bracelet and swirled it around once, twice, before glowering at the gemstones darkly, "This is what Mrs Jurado had me borrow to complete my outfit yesterday. Obviously I have to return them, which is why I'm meeting her for coffee tomorrow afternoon. If you do your whole government agent covert spy observation thing you could at least get eyes on her, maybe even him, too. Franklin Jurado, the money launderer. You can just smell the entitlement on him. I bet he went to one of the really fancy schools over there, like Princeton. Or maybe Harvard."

"I'm glad to see you're making friends." Javier had followed her to the kitchen, leaning against a cabinet and watching her place the food on plates, any attempts to help or make himself useful deftly rebuffed as always.

"I think it was Harvard actually. I think he mentioned it- It's on the recording, in any case. Real smug about it too. La Javeriana is a perfectly good university, too. Older, too. Luis Carlos Galán attended it, you know? Graduated in economics and law, like I did."

"Like the new president, too." Javier dared remark, only to be leveled with a death glare that could make a man fear for his life.

"Professor Samper, oh yes," she said pointedly, thrusting the plates at him, "Don't remind me please. The whole family attended, have for generations."

Javier dutifully carried over the dishes and set them down, returning a moment later for the pitcher of water. Diana followed him, wiping her glasses with her tee-shirt in a gesture he had come to know was more about calming down than it was about being able to see better.

"Right, no politics at meal time. Tell me something interesting instead." Diana attacked her food with a frightening kind of fervor. And suddenly the only thing he could think about was what Stechner had told him the night before, how the deal would go ahead, a neat little setup by politicians whose only objective was looking good enough for re-election. Naturally, the words died in his throat. He shrugged and started digging in.

"Nothing huh? Okay, well, how about this then: How many Mrs Rodríguezes are there?"

"Is this a trick question?" There should be one only, seeing as Miguel was widowed and his little shit of a son wasn't exactly husband material - nor looking to be. "One?"

"Close. There's three."

That didn't make any sense. "That doesn't make any sense. Miguel is widowed and David- ...Gilberto! Gilberto?"

"Gilberto." She confirmed. "All three. They have a rota, apparently. On Sundays they just sit around while he watches whatever game is on which sounds thrilling. And I thought my marriage was crap."

"Huh." If Javier thought that the farcical nature of governmental - and inter-governmental - bureaucracy had prepared him for the absurdity of chasing drug kingpins he had apparently been sorely mistaken. But mostly, he was relieved to see that Diana was in such good spirits again, what with how affected she'd sounded the night before. Lunch was over in no time at all, and Javier felt his short night starting to catch up with him. He yawned surreptitiously as he helped carry the dirty dishes back into the kitchen, or what he thought had been surreptitious anyway.

"Okay, coffee or nap?"

"Huh?" Dammit, his eyes were burning. Diana took the plates and deposited them in the sink, leaving him to blink sluggishly. "I can do those. The dishes."

"You're about to keel over. Haven't slept a wink, have you?"

"About three hours, and another half hour or so on the plane. I'm fine, really." He admitted. The fact that he had to lean against the cabinets did not exactly serve to strengthen his argument. Diana tutted.

"I need to run some errands, grocery shopping and the like. If you are really determined to get to work on the recording I'll make you a good strong coffee before I go, but I would personally suggest you use the time to catch up on some sleep. The couch pulls out."

It was tempting, it really was, but Javier also knew that he'd have a harder time falling asleep later if he messed up his rhythm more now.

"Coffee it is, then." She set to work in the same breath.

A fond smile pulled at Javier's lips. "Thank you." --- Even knowing she was fine and safe now, she hadn't expected that listening to the recording would be so excruciatingly stressful. She had very helpfully compiled a list of encounters, along with time estimates (and a very evocative caricature of the chief accountant, Guillermo Pallomari), which had allowed him to fast forward through the recording to get a general overview. Even so, he'd gotten stuck on several bits, even replaying a few. The introductory round, for one. Her panic attack in the bathroom. Or the segment with that slimy little bastard David Rodríguez. Her quick thinking and clever diversion of Pacho's suspicions. He hated hearing the strain in her voice, the barely masked anxiousness that none of them even seemed to notice but that stood out to him so very clearly. His jaw was clenched so tight he could feel his teeth grinding– The lock on the front door clicked open, jolting Javier from his focused state. A quick glance at his watch told him it had been well over three hours since she'd left for her errands, afternoon now melting into early evening. In his haste to get up he tangled the wires, cursing as he he sat back down. Diana huffed into view, heavy-looking bags on each arm.

"Hey there," she threw him a quick smile before vanishing into the kitchen to set down her load, re-emerging a heartbeat later. She crossed the distance in a few strides, lightly squeezing his shoulder as she leaned over him to peer at the notes he'd taken. "How's it going? Anything viable?"

Her touch, given with such casual affection, electrified him. He'd never been, never considered himself the type of person anyone would come home to.

"Plenty." He needed to collect himself, clear his throat and mind and get a grip. "You did amazing work." And I can't use it in court because you incriminate yourself all throughout.

"Good, I'm glad. Would have been a re-"

The shrill ringing of her landline interrupted them. Immediately, Javier mourned the loss of her touch, the spot on his shoulder where her hand had lingered now turning cold. Pull yourself together, dammit!

The telephone was mounted on the wall that separated hallway and kitchen, and had a cord long enough to allow for a range of movement to about halfway into the latter. Unsure of whether he was supposed to be listening, he tried to go back to the recording. Only tried rather turned into pretended. As quickly as he had put the headphones on, he took them off again, watching Diana for a moment of hesitation. She was shuffling around the kitchen entrance, emptying her shopping bags with the phone receiver pinned between her cheek and shoulder. She was talking to her aunt, tense and worried, but managed a small smile when she caught Javier's eye. Wordlessly, he started helping her putting the groceries away as directed.

"No, I know you don't approve. No one approves except Gabriela, and incidentally Gabriela is also the only one who saw that I was making a mistake right from the start and the only one who tried to dissuade me from going through with the wedding, and if I'd only listened to her and my gut back then, I wouldn't-" She turned her back at this, and Javier put away the last few pieces and left the kitchen, giving her the pretense of privacy at least. It wasn't like the apartment was so vast that her voice wouldn't carry. He walked over to the stereo system he'd turned off earlier and switched it back on, fiddling with the volume by way of looking distracted.

"...No, and I don't want to talk about it any more. I don't care what the Pope says; the Pope was never married! ...Yes, put her on; I think that's better for everyone involved."

Immediately her voice and stance relaxed, became softer and warmer, and the conversation a lot more one-sided as Diana talked to Salome on the phone. Javier's knees were starting to protest at his half-kneeling by the sideboard, but he was too transfixed by trying to determine whether the little girl would perhaps say a few words today. She sometimes did, though very rarely, and Javier had yet to witness it himself.

"Okay, my little darling, you be good for granny, alright? Sleep well, sweetheart. I love you. Bye-bye."

Diana hung up and shuffled over, taking a seat on he edge of the coffee table closest to him. Javier gave up on the volume dial and turned towards her.

"Everything okay?" She nodded and took off her glasses to rub at her eyes. Cautiously, Javier placed his hand atop hers where it laid in her lap, rubbing his thumb back and forth across the top of it soothingly. "And are you okay?"

"I will be; I just- ...I try that she at least hears my voice every day, even if I can't be there and- She's so little and has already lost so much, and every time I have to leave I feel like I'm just making it worse and like maybe that's why she still barely talks. And it's so unfair! She's just a little girl and she needs her mother or at least she needs a mother and we try - my aunt and I try our best but we're all that's left of this family." Her voice got quieter with each word, fading to a whisper before ceasing. Javier didn't know how to respond; all the obvious things seemed like meaningless phrases, frivolous and unhelpful. Diana deflated, her whole frame drooping like misery personified. She let out a single, quiet sob, gripping his hand in both of hers like he was her anchor. "I just wish I at least knew what I was doing."

She wiped at her eyes angrily, blindly grasping for the glasses on the table behind her until she found them and shoved them back on. She stood abruptly, but did not let go of his hand, instead tugging him up, to which his beleaguered knees only objected more.

"Sorry, forget that. Let's sort out dinner." She stalked back into the kitchen, and Javier could only follow of creaky knees, the blood rushing back down into his feet and making them prickle and almost falter. She finally let go of his hand in front of the refridgerator, throwing open the door of it like a shield between them.

"So for dinner I was thinking-"

"Miss Rivas." She didn't even hear him, just went on explaining what was possible with the ingredients she'd picked up earlier. Javier laid his hand on top of hers gently, feeling the tension in her fingers, the tremble in them as she gripped the fridge door tight. Gently still, he eased her grip and shut the door. She didn't even look at him, obstinately staring down at the tiled floor instead.

"I'm in control of my emotions." She declared defiantly. "I'm not a liability to your investigation."

"I know." Javier took both her hands in his now, squeezed them once, still gentle. Kept his voice soft too; soft and low and for her ears only. "I know you ...aren't. It's okay. You're doing so good. You're doing amazing. It's okay." On the last few words, he raised their entwined hands, nudging her chin up to look at him. Took in her reddened but stubbornly dry eyes, her lips pressed into a painful line, and the hard set of her jaw and brows. All she needed was one final push to let go, one word of permission, and he gave it gladly. "It's okay."

He'd expected an outburst now, an explosive outpouring of grief or at least wrath. Instead, Diana squeezed his hands back once before letting go, leaving him standing in the kitchen while she went into her bedroom. He heard her rummage around for a moment, then she returned with a small photo album in her hands which she carefully set down on the counter before throwing it open and flipping through the pages until she found the picture she was looking for. It showed what he assumed was her family. He recognized only her and Maritza, both noticeably younger then. Side by side, the family resemblance became more apparent, especially in comparison with the respective parents. Wordlessly, she flipped through the pages. In the next one Maritza's father was missing, the one after that, her own father was no longer there. The one after that showed the addition of a young man and what must have been a newborn Salome, him holding the baby with a broad, dimpled smile that his daughter had inherited. He was gone in the following picture, Diana's mother vanished in the one after that, until the last photograph showed only Maritza's mother, Diana herself, and little Salome.

"Some time after we cleared out Maritza's apartment, I went to Escobar's grave. If I was looking for some kind of satisfaction, I didn't find it there." She closed the album with a sharp snap. "The whole drive back, last night, I was sure I was about to end up fish fodder, and I just thought... with how my aunt's health is failing, will Salome be all alone in the world before she's even five?"

Javier swallowed hard, choking on the words that had sprung up onto the tip of his tongue. That he wouldn't let that happen (but it could have happened not twenty-four hours prior and there would have been nothing he could have done about it). That he would make sure the little girl was taken care of (How? He wasn't kin and Diana's aunt didn't know him. And he wasn't exactly prime fatherhood material, so what exactly did he think he could do?). And in the back of his head, he still heard the desperate shallow little breaths she'd heaved during her panic attack. So different words jumped onto his tongue instead, tumbling out before he could ever think through the implications.

"Do you want out? You don't even have to go meet Mrs Jurado tomorrow, I can organize to have you pulled out within the week. And your family too. You'd be safe." 'I am never doing this again', she'd said. Well, he wouldn't make her. And considering what he knew now, that his whole investigation was just a front? What was the damn point of it anyway?

Diana smiled, just a slight quirk of the corner of her lip, but the first in what felt like hours now. "Now? No. I don't want anyone else having to go through what my family and I went through, here or anywhere. This kind of...lust for power - it's grasping. It never stops, it is never satisfied. And it doesn't care what stands in its way."

"You sure?" He ought to tell her, he really ...but even though the betrayal isn't his, just his to hand on, he hesitates again.

"I am. Starting with meeting Christina Jurado tomorrow. Besides, you'll be with me all the way through."

"Yeah," his voice creaks like a rusty hinge, "Yeah, of course I'll be. Just a stone's throw away." --- "Goodness, does she ever shut up?" Javier shut the door behind himself, hanging up the spare key on the hook by the door. They'd just returned from Diana and Mrs Jurado's coffee and lunch date - separately for safety purposes - and Javier's head was still swimming. Diana might be reasonably called talkative, but at least she had things to say. Christina Jurado, it turned out, could talk a mile a minute without saying much of substance at all. Diana had been all but steam-rollered by the barrage of conversation and Javier, who had listened closely to all two and a half hours of it, was starting to feel the beginnings of a pressure headache building.

"Without being condescending, Agent Peña, there is so much that men don't understand about the way women talk with each other." Diana peeked out into the hallway with a raised eyebrow. "Besides, she may well have been... uuh-"

"May have been what?" After discarding his shoes, he walked into the apartment fully. Diana frowned, then touched a fingertip to the side of her nose with a meaningful look. When he didn't light up with sudden understanding, she gave a good-natured yet long-suffering sigh. And Javier really thinks he should probably have slept more than four hours, but his back was now paying the price for his stint on that marshmallow fluff that passed for Katie's mattress, and also his mind liked to give him trouble when it ought to quiet down.

"She may have been what, Miss Rivas?"

"Mrs Jurado, I have good reason to believe, likes to uhh... sample the product." The penny rolled around Javier's exhausted mind a moment longer before dropping.

"...You mean to tell me she was high on cocaine the whole time?"

"Yes. Why are you whispering?" Why indeed. Javier cleared his throat and wondered why this revelation left him so scandalized. "She did use on Friday night, too, which is a frequency I honestly find alarming. I hope it's more of a weekend thing- Franklin knows, but I don't think he has any idea what to do about it. I'd reckon it's something they're both keen to keep under wraps, though for different reasons. I don't imagine the gentlemen would be overly thrilled, especially the brothers. They like to keep a pretty tight hold on everything even remotely to do with the business."

"Huh... what the hell are you do-" While he had been musing on this new development in his sluggish mind, she'd stuck one hand down her blouse from the top and the other up it from the bottom, fumbling around for a moment before pulling the wiretap she'd been wearing for the meeting out and handing it to him non-chalantly.

"When's your flight?"

"Uh, late. Later. Ten-ish." He'd be back in Bogotá before midnight, but there was the drive back to Buenaventura to consider. Even so, it was only mid-afternoon now. Javier rubbed his hand over his burning eyes. His brain was no longer in a state to be doing that kind of math and he sighed, the coffee he'd just had clearly not doing anything.

"You have at least an hour to get some sleep. Come lie down." She was out from in front of him and across the room before he could blink tiredly, already pushing back the coffee table and bending to pull out the couch. Javier meant to protest, he really did. But. Sleep beckoned. And so, with heavy feet dragging across the laminate floor, he acquiesced.

"Thanks." He mumbled, gratefully receiving a pillow.

"I'll wake you in an hour, hour and a half tops." She already sounded further away than she should be, considering she was by the sofa-bed's - and his - head still. Javier hummed a reply, more affirmative sound than any proper words. As he drifted off, he thought he felt gentle fingers brushing the hair back from his forehead. But surely that was just wishful thinking, for what else could it be? ---

So, six more months of looking busy and doing nothing while the Calí godfathers revved up operations to squeeze as much money as they could out. He'd had to send his agents home after they'd been splashed all over the front page of the Espectador, so not only did the DEA not currently have any presence on the ground in Calí, it also left Diana without even the faintest layer of protection. And with the massive stink the Colombians, fronted by General Vargas, had kicked up about it, he couldn't send in any replacements, no matter how eager or indeed fastidious Agent Feistl was. And now the incident in Yumbo. The youngest of the dead had only been six years old. Javier glowered at the TV report where the safety inspector was giving his final report. Natural gas leak... yeah, sure. This thing reeked; he felt it in his bones that the cartel was responsible somehow. And he couldn't go after them. The desire to go find Stechner and smash his stupid smug face through the screen became near unbearable. He turned the TV off before the urge manifested into action.

He sat down behind his desk, taking a moment to look around the largely dark and empty office space around him before opening that particular drawer on the top right and taking out the arrest warrants. Their money and power and the influence both bought meant that the Calí bosses could move comparatively freely, but they still hid away. Carefully so, with the kind of tight-knit security that most heads of state could only dream of. Even if he did find a way to get at them, his hands were now unofficially bound. Well over a year's work, two good agents sent home, his informant risking her life every single day, more innocent dead who would never get justice, and what for? He hated it. He still hadn't told her. He thought about quitting.

The phone rang. He knew it was her. She didn't even try his home landline first now, knowing he spent his evenings at the office more often than not. Javier let it ring once more while mustering up the courage to come clean.

"Miss Rivas, good evening."

"Decidedly not. Did you watch the news?"

Javier scrubbed a hand over his face, squeezed his eyes shut so as to not have to look at the warrants spread out on his desk. There was only so much mockery a man could take. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

"It was them. David specifically, that self-absorbed buffoon. They chewed him out for over half an hour over it, which is far less than he deserves."

"I figured." His throat felt tight; undoing another shirt button did precisely nothing.

"Gilberto worries it will give the government leverage to go back on the deal. I hope it does."

So did Javier, but knowing the special interests being at play here he didn't hold out much hope.

"And you have been made to recall your agents from Calí."

Javier gulped. "Yes."

"But they'll be replaced, right?"

Well, here goes nothing then. "...No."

Silence. She's not one to raise her voice even when upset and right now she must be livid. But perhaps she's shocked before anything else. Shocked into silence, into disbelief. He hates this, too. He wishes she would scream at him. Instead all he gets is a brittle quiet little '...What?'

And it's so unfair, all of it. Stechner doesn't have to face her with this, the bastard. None of the politicians who are oh so invested in this little vanity project do either, the consequences aren't real to them. They get to collect the empty symbol of a supposedly bloodless surrender, some good publicity, and don't have to do or face any of the ugly truths on the ground. He thinks about quitting again. Pats his pocket for the reporter's business card. If he's leaving, he thinks, he'd do it with a bang. Burn all bridges with a mighty barrage of his personal J'accuse. But for now that's all idle thinking.

"The surrender deal is going ahead as planned, because the powers that be will it so." He explained, truly understanding the sentiment of shooting the messenger at this very moment. "My hands are bound, there's nothing I can do."

"Bullshit!" Yeah, agreed. He tries saying more, justifications that turn to dust on his tongue before the words even leave his mouth. His heart's not in it, and it only serves to stoke her wrath, fearsome even over the distance of the phone line.

"What else will they get away with? If you're rich enough you can buy impunity? A blank cheque for murder? How many more people must die? Every day I go in and make myself complicit in it all on the promise that it will take them down!"

The worst part of this, perhaps, is that he knows she's right. If any of those senators in their cushy Washington offices had even a bit of her bravery, her steadfastness, her moral clarity–

"I'm sorry." His mouth is so dry. At last he opens his eyes again, glaring down at the warrants. Gilberto Rodríguez Orejuela. Miguel Rodríguez Orejuela.

"You're sorry?" Even now her voice is still level. Full of venomous disbelief and cold with rage, yes, but it has not risen even a single decibel.

"Miss Rivas, I-"

The line went dead with a click. She'd hung up.

--- --- ---

author’s notes:

*me, an idiot* this chapter will cover episodes 1 through to 4. this is a thing that is feasible and realistic

*me, 7000 words in and still at the party* ah. oh no.

in other words: remember last chapter when I cut things off because I wanted to keep it below 10k? yeah, that won’t be happening anymore. It takes as long as it takes. *shrug emoji* stay hydrated.

DIAN (Dirección de Impuestos y Aduanas Nacionales) is the Colombian government agency that is responsible for collecting taxes

Fernando Botero is a Colombian artist and sculptor, famous for these really chunky bronze statues, though the one I reference here is a complete fabrication and does not actually exist

according to the Art and Making of Narcos book Navegante’s actual name is Jorge Velasquez

‘chompa’ according to the dictionary I used, is a term for jacket used in Colombia and some other places

yes I looked up average temperatures in all these cities. I have concluded that it gets hot af in Laredo

La Javeriana (Pontificia Universidad Javeriana) is one of the oldest and most prestigious universities in Colombia. Presidential candidate Carlos Luis Galan did indeed attend there, as did president Ernesto Samper, who is president during the season in the show. He also did indeed teach there for a while in the early 80s, which fortunately matches up with my timeline. It was indeed founded before Harvard. Thirteen years before to be exact (1623 vs 1636)

here’s the drawing Diana made of Pallomari (contador=accountant):

tag list: @keeper0fthestars @opheliaelysia @fromthedeskoftheraven @dindjarindiaries @shikin83 @cinewhore @maddoggrahaml @javier-djarin @huliabitch @heatherbel @shestillwrites1

didn’t ask to be tagged but reblogged all previous parts and therefore I assume you enjoyed it regardless of that you reading my story made me very happy list: @asoftcollection (thank you for indulging me and brainstorming the Jurados with me it helped a lot) @holographic-carmen @dermandalorianer @oldstuffnewstuff (sry it won’t let me tag ur sideblog hope this is okay)

Next Chapter

#narcos (tv)#narcos #narcos fanfic #javier pena x ofc #series #I cling to your lips like gloss (series)#like gloss tag #multipart #javier peña #javier peña fanfic #my writing #part 4

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iamnotoriginalphil · 4 years

Text

Family Matters (Zelda Spellman x Reader) - Part 29

Synopsis: You have not been having a fun time with Bella

Words: 1282

Warnings: torture I guess, biting, blood drinking, a little gore

AN: I finally have my laptop back and I can’t tell you how relieved I am. Boy it’s nice to not be using a really old, incredibly slow, dodgy internet connection family computer that everyone in the family hates. Anyway, let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters!

Lying on the bed should have been a luxury for you. It had been so long since you were given the opportunity to do nothing but lounge in bed all day. You were dressed in a beautiful gown that cost more than your entire wardrobe put together. It should have been perfect.

Except there was a cuff on your ankle chaining you to the bed.

The skin underneath the metal band was red raw, the wound still seeping. It was a constant stinging, keeping you awake long into the night. You couldn’t move further than five feet away from the end of the bed. You been trapped there for the last week but unable to do anything. Your raw, bruised flesh was testament to your attempts to pull free from the shackle.

Every day Bella would come in, changing you, bathing you, treating you like the pet she saw you as. She’d murmur to you, continually asking you to reassure her about her ability to take care of you. Every night she’d come in, feeding from you, leaving you weak in the middle of the bed, blood still wet on your skin. Any fear that had once existed in you had seeped away as the hours had ticked by.

You were certain Zelda wasn’t coming for you, that this was your life from now on. Zelda might think that you had agreed to go with Bella, that this is what you’d wanted and had been lying to her ever since you’d been released from the pit. The thought sent an ache through your heart, a constant reminder of the the way your decisions had led to your own heartbreak.

Bella had not mentioned your family once. She didn’t have to anymore, not with you chained up in her clutches. There was no possibility of you doing anything to go against her. She was completely safe with you now, keeping you weak and docile.

And in her defence, other than the blood drinking and the shackle, she was keeping you well looked after. But even a gilded cage was still a cage.

You turned your head, listening to a noise outside the door. You assumed it was Bella, coming for her nightly feed. You pushed yourself up on shaky arms, wondering if she would stay long enough to tell you about her day. She’d done that a couple of times, complaining about the noises from the neighbouring house. Not that it was close enough for you to hear.

You curled up, wrapping your arms around your knees. You sat in the middle of the bed, your head turned towards the door, waiting for the vampire you’d once loved so desperately to enter the room. You were finding it hard to keep your eyes open.

A loud bang startled you, your eyes snapping open. You crawled to the edge of the bed, straining your ears for some other sound. Another bang and a screech sounded from bellow. You looked down at the floorboards, imagining you could see through to the floor below. In all your time in the house you had never heard a single sound as loud as what was now filtering up towards you.

The house fell silent. You waited a few moments, wondering if something more would come. When nothing did you climbed back on the bed, lying down to stare up at the ceiling. Your eyes slipped closed, tiredness taking over your body. The lethargy that had overtaken you since arriving at the house was too much for you to fight at this time.

The bedroom door slammed open. You turned your head on your pillow, blinking your eyes open. Bella must have taken too much blood last time she fed as you must have been hallucinating. A fallen angel was standing in the doorway, staring down at you with fire in her eyes and in her hands.

“Oh Luna.”

You smiled to yourself. The flames flickered out and a warm hand gently cupped your cheek, turning your face to look up into the blue eyes of the woman standing over you. Her thumb stroked over your cheekbone.

“What has she done to you?”

Her voice was soft but the pain was dripping from each word. You scrunched up your face. That wasn’t right. Your angel wasn’t meant to in pain. She was meant to be happy and safe and not in that room with you.

“Zelda?”

“I’m here my sweet girl.”

She disappeared from your sight, her hand slipping from your face. You sat up, trying to follow her movements. Everything felt fuzzy, the way it did in a dream. You couldn’t get your thoughts in order. Only one thing made sense.

“Bella,” you breathed.

“She is currently being kept occupied by my sister and troublesome niece,” she said, “do not worry. She will never lay a hand on you again.”

She tugged on the chain keeping you tied to the bed. You groaned, the rub of the metal cuff on your skin sending sharp pain up your leg. You grabbed her wrist, stilling her movements. She looked at you, the line between her eyes appearing. You reached up with one hand, your thumb smoothing it.

“Hurts,” you mumbled.

“I know,” she said, “but we have to get you free.”

Loud footsteps sounded on the stairs. You jerked away, looking at the doorway. She turned too, stilling, focusing on the sounds from below. A familiar figure appeared in the doorway.

“Ambrose, get these chains off her,” she snapped.

Ambrose approached, wary and limping. He grabbed the chain, tugging your foot towards him for a better look. You whimpered, feeling tears spring to your eyes. He murmured to himself as he bent over your ankle. Zelda took your chin in hand, pulling your head up to look at her.

“I need you to keep being brave for me, Luna. Just a few more minutes.”

You felt the metal fall away from your ankle. You let out a long breath, a single tear falling down your cheek. You shuffled to the edge of the bed, placing your feet on the floor. Zelda looped her arm around your waist.

“Can you walk?”

You nodded. You took a step forward, your ankle collapsing under you. You cried out, falling forward. Zelda caught you before you could face plant. Her grip tightened on you.

“Ambrose, help me here.”

Another arm wrapped around your waist. You got your feet underneath you again. The pain was rocketing up your leg from the wound on your ankle. You whimpered but took a hesitant step forward anyway. With both Spellmans supporting you you managed to stay on your feet.

“Auntie, this is going to take too long,” Ambrose said.

“You’re right. We need to get out of here now,” she said.

You felt yourself hoisted up into a pair of strong arms. You wrapped your arms around Ambrose’s neck, letting him carry you out of the room. The hallway was dark and you were surprised either of the Spellmans could see where they were going.

An animal howl sounded from downstairs. You buried your face in Ambrose’s shoulder, breathing in the comforting scent of old books and ink. His arms tightened around you.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured.

You kept your eyes squeezed shut as he rushed down the stairs. The cold fresh air that hit you told you that he’d left the house. You looked up, finding yourself surrounded by trees. Ambrose kept walking, not stopping for a moment, even as you noticed no other Spellman join him in the empty garden.

“Let’s get you home,” he said.

You didn’t have the strength to fight any longer.

Tags: @theenglishwizard @eyesofanangeltongueofadevil @hallospaceboyy @alexusonfire @justkeepbreathingnow @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @r0sethehat @praisezeldaspellman @escapetodreamworld @panicnymph @anxiousgoldengirl @theprassebox @witchessticktogether @vintageolives @plooffairy @whostoknow @spicyrice20 @fallenangelmuse @step-intoyour-power @basicwitchtm @lovelyleafylesbian @saucy-sapphic @zeldasnackman

#Zelda Spellman #zelda spellman imagine #zelda spellman x reader #caos #caos imagine #family matters

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zoryany · 4 years

Text

@kaitodetective1412 sent me 45 -- You may technically be an adult, but you’re still my child.

(an anon did as well and I do plan to answer both in different ways and I will tag kaito in the anon answer as well bc I feel like this isn’t what either of you wanted but it’s what you’re gonna get, for now)

Imperial Royal Skywalker Family AU Pt 1 || Pt 2

send me ficlet prompts – optionally include characters

Dessert passed in relative silence, the atmosphere in the dining room having grown decidedly tense. Luke had really been hoping he could have delayed Han meeting his father until after he’d spoken to his parents, but the Force seemed to be set on toying with him. At least Mother had been able to placate Father before he’d done anything rash, but Luke wasn’t sure that had been entirely preferable, either.

When they’d all finished, Luke moved to usher Han back to his suite, but his mother raised her hand before he had the chance to even rise from his chair. “Leia? Sweetheart, can you please escort Captain Solo to his rooms while your father and I talk to Luke?”

“Yes, Mother.” Leia looked as though she would rather swallow a bantha whole, but she knew better than to argue with their mother, especially when she was already in a dangerous enough mood. She was also probably hoping she’d get to be in on the whole conversation that was to come, which added to her disappointment. Not that it mattered, anyways, because one way or another, she would know exactly what was said, but her expression and presence in the Force soured significantly as she turned her gaze to Han. “Let’s go, Captain. I don’t have all night.”

Han threw a final, withering look over his shoulder as Leia led him from the room, leaving Luke alone with his mother at last. With a severe expression, she turned to face him, and Luke felt his stomach drop out from under him. Out of the eyes of company, it was entirely clear just how upset she really was. All of the guilt that had been eating at him for the past weeks rose back up in him all at once.

“Come, dear,” said his mother as she stood. “Let’s not keep your father waiting.”

Hanging his head, Luke followed his mother with heavy steps to his father’s study. Unlike the rooms of the Palace occupied largely by the Empress, Darth Vader’s spaces, both planetside and on his flagship, tended to be dim and spartan, possessing little in the way of embellishments. He claimed it as practicality -- and, on most occasions, Luke would agree with that -- but right about now, he was convinced that it was meant to make facing him all that more intimidating.

Luke had never been afraid of his father. He understood why people were, and why they should be, and he was all too aware of what someone as powerful as Darth Vader was capable of, but he’d never feared him. His father would never hurt him or Leia, especially not with Mother around to rein in his temper, but there was always a certain anxiety that overtook him whenever his father was angry. He hated the feeling, the sudden urge to cower in submission before a man he’d idolized all his life and who loved him deeply. Leia had always been better than Luke at standing strong in the face of his emotions, perhaps because she had never felt the same level of hero-worship towards him, but Luke was finding himself longing for some of her strength right about now.

His father had been pacing the length of the room when they’d arrived, but the moment they crossed the threshold, he stopped in his tracks and whirled around. The movement was so abrupt that most would assume that kind of speed impossible from a man as large as Vader, but he moved quick enough to send his cape billowing behind him. “Sit,” he commanded, pointing to a chair in the centre of the room.

As he complied, his mother walked to stand to the right of her husband, both parents folding their arms across their chests. His cheeks burned in shame as he avoided looking directly at them. How was it that they could so easily make him feel like he was five years old again?

“You know why you are here, son.” The modulated voice carried a tranquil rage, one that affected him far more than being shouted at ever would. “Explain.”

‘You can do this, Luke,’ he thought silently, sucking in a shuddering breath in an attempt to steady himself. ‘You’ve been practicing this speech in your head since you left.’

"I -- I can’t apologize enough for leaving without warning like that. I know I put you through needless worry, and I’m sure that nothing I can do will make up for that. I just... needed to get away.” Stars, it sounded even lamer saying it out loud than it did in his head. Neither parent looked pleased. He pressed on. “You know I’ve never really liked -- never really been comfortable with any of... well, our status.” Once again, he was jealous of Leia. She wouldn’t be stumbling over her words like this. “I’ve never liked being the Prince, never really liked making public appearances. Never been good at them, either. Leia’s always been better suited for it. And after twenty years of it, I was feeling... claustrophobic. I needed some freedom.”

“Freedom?” It had always been a touchy subject for his father, Luke knew, but he had to hope he could use that to his advantage. “As the Imperial Prince, you have been granted every want, every desire you could hope for. Your mother and I fought tirelessly, made endless sacrifices to create this life for you and your sister. There has never been more freedom in the galaxy, and you stand at the head of it all.”

Was his father being serious? “You... actually expect me to believe that being rich and powerful is the same as being free?” But then, of course his father did. “Maybe you just don’t realize this gilded cage you’ve put me in, Father. I can’t go anywhere beyond our private quarters without an excessive number of guards accompanying me. You and mother have to be aware of my location at every given moment. I’m not allowed to fly or talk to people or do anything without express permission! It’s suffocating! It’s -- ”

“For your safety,” his father growled, hands falling from his chest to form clenched fists at his sides. Next to him, his mother tensed slightly, pursing her lips, but she did nothing more than focus on watching him just a bit more closely. “Everything I have ever done has been to keep you and your mother and your sister safe. The life we live has come at a great cost, and I will not see you throw it all away out of some foolish rebellion. If something would have happened to you -- ”

“But it didn’t!” Luke cried, his voice pitching upward. Any fear or anxiety he’d been feeling had evaporated, and he was prepared to staunchly defend himself. He was not an idiot. He knew exactly how his parents would feel and how they would react to his departure. The decision he made was conscious and purposeful, and he had every intention of justifying it. “I can take care of myself, you know. All that training hasn’t been for nothing. I was careful. I took every precaution. And I’m twenty years old, now, I’m not a little kid anymore.”

While his mother’s face had relaxed a bit, his father did not appear to be convinced. “You may technically be an adult,” he said, slowly, “but you are still my child -- our child. I have torn down the galaxy once to protect you, and I would do it a thousand times over if it keeps you from harm.”

Letting out a noise of frustration, Luke leapt up from his seat. “But that’s just it! I know you have and I know that you were trying to do it again! Don’t think I didn’t notice the swath of destruction you left in your wake when you tried to track me down this time. It’s too much! I love you both so much, but I don’t want the galaxy to grind to a halt just because I ask for some time alone. I can’t stand all the attention, the pomp and circumstance that surrounds everything I do, the formality I’m forced to endure just to attend dinner! I just -- ” His voice broke, and he was embarrassed to find his eyes stinging as he looked imploringly at his parents. “All I wanted was a little bit of normalcy.”

Slumping back in his chair, Luke realized he may not have processed all of this quite as successfully as he’d initially thought. Running away, it turned out, had only served as a distraction from genuinely confronting what was really bothering him.

“Normalcy?” The vocoder’s tone was dull and flat, and his father seemed to have relaxed his stance, somewhat, almost in disbelief. “You wish to be ordinary? Like every other being in this galaxy?” Disbelief was evident, now. His father’s fists had uncurled, his shoulders slackened, and though he could not see his face, Luke got the impression of wide eyes and raised brows. “That... is unacceptable. You are the furthest thing from ordinary, son. You are above those lesser beings, and I would not see you receive anything less than you deserve. ”

"No,” Luke said, quietly but firmly, “I am not above them.” He’d spent countless hours in the Coruscant underground, on treks both known and unknown to his parents, and he’d spent several weeks touring the galaxy. He had interacted with their citizens on a regular basis, and he knew who they really were. They were people, beings with dreams and aspirations and ideals, and they were magnificent. “My abilities and my status don’t make me any better than anyone else. Aren’t we supposed to be ruling the galaxy for them?”

A stubborn set worked its way through his father’s frame, unyielding as ever. “We do. The galaxy has never fared better.” And he could not be certain if that was a truth or a lie, but his father certainly believed it. “But I cannot allow you to stoop to the level of those below your status. The future of our benevolent Empire rests upon you and your sister. You must maintain a particular image if you wish for your control over them to endure.”

“Are you not listening to me?” But Luke already knew the answer to that. Of course his father wasn’t listening to him. Anything that contradicted his very specific view of the universe rarely made it through. “I don’t want that power to rest on me! I’m not interested in having people grovel at my feet or flinch away from me in fear. I don’t want people to worship me or treat me like... like -- ”

“Royalty?” His father’s arms were folded across his chest again. “That is what you are.”

Luke was prepared to cut in, and his father looked like he had more to say, but before either of them could speak up again, his mother stepped up and placed a gentle hand on his father’s shoulder.

“Ani, wait.” Even after twenty years, Luke could still not believe just how quickly his father seemed to settle when his mother intervened. “I think I know what this is about.” His mother’s expression grew tender as she stepped towards him, crouching down before his chair and cupping his face in her hands. “Dearest,” she said with unparalleled tenderness, “was this because of your birthday?”

Reading the sympathy and understanding in his mother’s deep brown eyes, Luke found himself leaning into her touch. She was radiating compassion, searching for understanding, and Luke knew that this was the reason he’d always intended to return home when he’d left. His parents loved him. They cared for him. They wanted what was best for him, even if they didn’t know how to go about it. All he’d wanted was to do something on his own terms.

“Yes...”

Because his birthday had not been on his terms. It hadn’t been on Leia’s, either, but she could adapt to it much easier than her brother. He’d been overwhelmed, surrounded by sycophants who only wanted to know him because he was an heir, and his status meant that he could not enjoy even the smallest of pleasantries at a party that was meant to be for him and his twin. And then the scene during the speeches...

He’d never wanted to leave his family. Luke loved his mother, father and sister with his entire being. But their status had always weighed on him, and that night had been a breaking point.

“Oh, sweetheart...” His mother shifted her grip and pulled him close. Luke squeezed his eyes shut. Tears had been threatening to spring forth since he’d sat back down, and they ran freely down his cheeks when his mother’s arms enveloped him. “Why didn’t you say anything? We could have talked this out. You didn’t need to run away.”

At this point, his father had taken a single step forward, appearing somewhat hesitant but still refusing to relent. Luke chose to focus on his mother, and he found himself sinking in on himself even more. It felt nearly impossible to convey how he felt and what he wanted without hurting their feelings. His mother’s sympathetic gaze coupled with his father’s unyielding stance only served to elevate his guilt.

But there was this sneaking feeling within him that the conversation his mother suggested wouldn’t have gone well regardless.

“I didn’t think you would listen to me,” he said quietly. “You’re still not really listening to me. I had to do something drastic. It felt like the only option, at the time, and I still feel like it’s not enough. Han makes me happy in a way that all that spectacle just - doesn’t. So I just - I need you to understand why - and I mean actually understand. Because I didn’t want to run. And I don’t want to do it again. But I can’t keep going like this...”

For a long moment, his mother looked at him with large, sad eyes before finally withdrawing her hands and stepping away. “Alright,” she said, a quiet resignation working its way into her voice. “I... don’t think we’ll get much further tonight. Why don’t you go wash up for bed, and your father and I will discuss what you’ve told us.” She pressed her lips together and gave him a long, steady look. “We want what’s best for you, Luke. Please know this.”

And he did. The trouble was, their idea of what was best for him didn’t always match up to his own.

“Luke.” His father seemed uncharacteristically hesitant. “Please do not resort to this again.”

There was more his father wanted to say - more they all wanted to say - but Luke felt satisfied that they had, at the very least, made some manner of progress tonight.

“I won’t, Father. I promise.”

#imperial royal skywalker family au #luke skywalker #darth vader #padme naberrie #padme amidala #my writing #star wars fic #i THINK i'm happy with this #hope you folks enjoy!#any feedback is obviously appreciated #so let me know what you think!#and if you want more of this AU #either a continuation #or like other things that go down in it

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yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy · 3 years

Text

Why So Jaded? Chapter 6

Let’s get complicated.

Chapter 6

Buddy sent the message to not spring the gilded cage for any reason. Not yet anyway. He needed to secure the second bird first which is what he referred to Violet as and insisted that she was not a threat. And that meant that he had to get all the medical data for Violet’s medication because at this point he had developed a preventative medicine for Violet to take daily to keep the headaches from occurring in the first place. Like heartburn medication but for her brain. One of the downsides to the new meds was even though she took it daily and could still use her powers, she could only use them so much before she felt the headaches come back. But the more she took it and the less she used her powers, the better, like getting ahead of the curve instead of always chasing behind it. Buddy wanted to make sure that Phillip could never, ever hold this over her or use this against her to keep her with him. The other downside was the new meds were slightly toxic, but in small doses, she was ok and would build up a tolerance, but it meant she couldn’t overdose or speed up her own progression of the medicine. She had to stick to the regimen precisely. But it gave Buddy and the medical team time to come up with an alternative. But it would, in theory, cure her, however it would take years and Buddy feared what those toxins would do for her long term but it had been the best solution he could come up with so far.

He hoped and prayed that while they were in Vegas nothing would happen. Because if anything did, it would screw him over from ever breathing the outside air ever again for the next three years.

“Good morning Mr. Pine.” Violet greeted at 9:50 am when she came in to gather him and his things.

“Good morning Ms. Parr.” Buddy answered, damning himself for sweating like a stuck pig.

“Are you ok?” Violet asked.

“I’m just really nervous, I want everything to go well and I don’t want anything to go wrong because I want to be able to breathe outside air between now and three years from now.” Buddy confessed as he used a handkerchief to wipe his brow from the sweat that had accumulated there since the last time he wiped it only a few moments before.

“Alright, we got about two minutes before the others come, come with me.” Violet insisted as she put her tablet and her phone on the counter and took his hand and quickly led him into the apartment side of the space and into the bathroom before pulling him into the shower before putting up another forcefield around them to give them privacy since the shower doors were frosted for privacy.

“Buddy, you are worrying me with your worry. Do you have any reason to believe that anything would happen? That anyone, including yourself is in danger?” Violet pressed as she looked into his eyes both pleadingly yet determined.

“No, I have no reason to believe there’s sabotage or imposter-ing or an attack or anything like that. I’m just...I’m just scared. Cause if anything happens, I get put on lock down and I don’t want to lose the precious few freedoms I have, I don’t want to betray your trust.” Buddy professed as he stared right back into those magnificent violet eyes she had before her look softened and she dropped the forcefield and just hugged him which surprised him at first before he returned it just as tightly. Oh this was heaven. Just hugging her and holding her. She smelled amazing and the hug was so grounding and comforting to him. It’s exactly what he needed.

“It’s going to be ok Buddy. I’m nervous too. I don’t want anything to happen either. And if you say you don’t have a reason to suspect anything then I believe you and I trust you to tell me the truth. If you’ll be honest with me, I’ll be honest with you. Deal?” Violet murmured into the crux of his neck and shoulder.

“Deal.” Buddy answered as he realized that even though he was getting massages and not getting touch starved per say, he was starting to starve for her and now he really hoped that nothing bad would happen. He had her trust. That’s all that mattered. He had it and he needed to keep it. But all too soon she was pulling away from him and straightening up.

“We’ll be ok, you’ll see.” Violet sweetly assured him as she reached out and squeezed his hands with her own.

“Are you ready to leave Mr. Pine?” Violet asked, slipping back into her liaison voice once again.

“Yes.” He confirmed.

“Good, you look great by the way, the cream suit and baby blue shirt suits you very well, so handsome.” Violet praised as she then led them out of the bathroom with his hand still in hers as he looked from her to the mirror to see for himself, giving his reflection a smile because, she said he looked great, handsome even. But once they left the apartment side of the lab and the door opened, Violet quickly let go of Buddy’s hand and hastened her pace to quickly gather her tablet and her phone again before she also opened the watch box and put the watch on his wrist, using her thumb print to lock it into place before taking the pin and putting it on his lapel and then straightening up his other handkerchief that matched his tie that was in the breast pocket and straightened up his tie bar, tie and collar.

“There, picture perfect.” Violet smiled happily once she was done as the security detail gathered Buddy’s luggage and brought it down to the vehicle before another woman came into the room, dressed similarly to Violet. She was perhaps a little taller and more robust than Violet but very professional looking and had the same commanding presence that Violet had.

“Ms. Parr? Is the asset ready?” She asked.

“Yes he is. Mr. Pine, meet your handler. This is Veronica Andrews. Miss Andrews, this is Mr. Pine.” Violet introduced.

“Hello, pleasure to meet you.” She cordially greeted as she shook hands before Violet touched her phone with hers and had her touch the lock on Buddy’s wrist with her thumb print.

“You two are now tethered. Mr. Pine, the distance of your tethering will be adjusted according to Ms. Andrews’ preferences and specifications. Also Nelson, Leland, Soche and Pike will be your security detail. They all know your safety protocol. Ms. Andrews. If you would please state for the record what your safety protocol password is?” Violet urged.

“Pumpernickel.” Veronica answered with an amused grin.

“Mr. Pine?” Violet prompted.

“Shmoke.” Buddy said.

“Excellent, these passcodes will be used until we have a breach in security in which case- the passcodes will be changed. Ms. Andrews, do you relieve me?” Violet formally asked.

“I am relieving you Ms. Parr from Mr. Pine as an asset and am taking control of the asset.” Veronica confirmed.

“I am relieved. See you soon.” Violet bid them before Buddy was taken down to the street to get loaded into a car along with his luggage as Mr. Leland and Mr. Nelson took the drivers and passenger sides of the car, opening the doors for Buddy and Veronica while Violet took the helicopter to the airport to get Phillip squared away herself.

“How was he?” Phillip asked.

“He’s understandably nervous because he has realized that if any tiny little thing goes wrong, it’s his head that’s gonna roll. Who wouldn’t be at least a little anxious? Remember how I was the first time I was in charge of taking you anywhere?” Violet asked.

“Yeah you had six different escape routes for every street and stop light we would either go through or stop at, you had it in your head it was gonna be a 16 blocks kind of mission and you had every conceivable attack figured out and countermeasures taken. Half of my security team threatened to quit if they had to deal with you ever again.” Phillip huffed a laugh before taking another sip of his drink.

“Well he’s equally anxious as I was. I would think he’s gonna get an ulcer by the end of the weekend. Thankfully the only thing he’s responsible for is himself.” Violet mused.

“I still think we should test him.” Phillip said.

“And that’s not fair, to anyone.” Violet insisted.

“When is life fair?” Phillip returned and Violet had a feeling he was going to whether she agreed or not. But she knew full well that Phillip was determined and if he was going to do this. She was at least going to make it worth it.

“You want to make it a proper test and a proper bet?” Violet asked determinedly.

“Yes. If he fails the test. Another year will be added to his servitude.” Phillip began as Violet suddenly liked the sound of that term.

“A year is a fair term. Fine. If he passes. A year off. Breaking and entering for a white male is three to six months usually in the system- with no priors- or a year with. And you’re tripling the timeframe. So I say, when and if he passes. He will only be in your contracted servitude for two years instead of three.” Violet specified before she offered her phone and let her finger hover over the record button. “Do we have a deal?” Violet asked as she offered her hand for him to shake.

“Deal.” Phillip agreed and shook her hand before they repeated the terms and agreed to them on the recording just as Buddy’s car pulled into the lot and he was unloaded from the SUV and put on the plane with them as everyone’s luggage was loaded into the plane as Veronica directed where Buddy should sit, since she spent the entire way there dictating her own rules for her asset which were much stricter than Violet’s ever were but Buddy understood he would have to walk the line. But once he came aboard the jet, he didn’t like the smug grin Phillip had when Phillip looked at him- the way a wolf would look at a lamb but one look at Violet and her simple reassuring smile was enough for him as Phillip immediately set off getting the perfect trap for Buddy.

“Miss Andrews, a word.” Phillip urged her as he got up and straightened up as Veronica practically bounced out of her seat to go with him to the back of the plane as Buddy frowned in confusion after them but another reassuring smile from Violet helped his nerves from fraying completely but he did shoot her a text.

‘What’s going on?’ Buddy asked with a questioning glance to Violet.

‘Nothing you need to be worried about. You told me that I had no reason to be worried and if you are a man of your word, then I believe you and I trust you and I’ll take that leap of faith. So if I’m not worried, you don’t need to be either.’ Violet replied before Phil came back with the smuggest grin on his face as Veronica looked a little blushed herself with a giddy smile but sporting a new pair of very high tech glasses, the same kind of glasses Violet used when she needed to see what the naked eye never could which got Violet to humph as she decided to put on her own before both Veronica and Violet returned to a schooled stoic look before Phillip sat down next to Violet before Violet simply adjusted the angle of her phone in her hand so he could read the text before Phillip huffed a laugh and curled his lip derisively.

“You’re gonna fall on your face.” Phillip sneered lowly.

“We’ll see.” Violet maintained.

“But if she’s on high alert, I am too. Besides, since you’re so sure that he’s gonna run, I have to be ready to apprehend him and take him down don’t I?” Violet pointed out in a low murmur so no one else would hear the conversation which got Phillip to frown and grump himself and look sullenly out of his window as Violet gave Buddy a quick wink and another smile because she knew Phillip played dirty and tried to think of all the ways Phillip was going to sabotage Buddy and what countermeasures she was going to make to even the odds.

After the relatively short and uneventful flight to Vegas, Buddy happily checked into the nice suite that had been arranged for him which was coincidentally right across the hallway from the suite Violet and Phillip had gotten before Veronica put special sensors with hidden cameras all around the suite so that she would know exactly where he was within the room at all times but only told Buddy that it was sensors as Buddy’s gut was telling him that that’s not all they were as he warily stared at them but one of the rules was not to mess with the sensors so he simply unpacked and settled in as he crashed on the bed. He knew something was up. He just had to think of what it was and be ready for whatever it would be then his phone dinged as he picked it up to look at it and noticed it was a text from Violet, inviting him down to the pool and suddenly he felt like swimming as he messaged Veronica, asking if they could go down to the pool and to his delight- she confirmed and Buddy got dressed in his swim trunks and flip flops and waited until Veronica got him and was surprised she was also wearing a bathing suit and a bathrobe and just as they were about to leave Mr. Leland was opening the door for Violet who was just inside the room in her super suit before she hit a button on it and the suit itself vanished, leaving her bathing suit underneath it- the only thing visible on her body and it was Buddy’s turn to be blown away and awestruck and his mouth was suddenly dry before Violet lifted the bathrobe around her shoulders just as Phillip came out, wearing his own swim trunks and suddenly Buddy felt like a big fat hog next to a Greek god. Because Phillip was jacked. How was he supposed to compete with that? Why would Violet ever look at him with lust or desire when she had that at her fingertips? And just like that, his ego was hit and starting to deflate.

And once at the pool, it didn’t let up because once at the pool, Violet shrugged off her bathrobe and revealed she had the most kickass tattoo on the back of her left shoulder and the way that bikini hugged her body was a work of art and the way her amazing, curtain of ebony locks fell down her back before she brushed them to the side to braid her glorious mane under the cabana with Phillip. No wonder most people thought they were an item. He would have assumed as much. And to see Phillip and Violet put sunscreen on each other while he struggled just to get enough on his own fair self before he burned to a crisp was tantamount to torture. He knew Phillip was flaunting her and his closeness with her in his face and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Need some help?” Veronica finally asked.

“Yes please. Thank you.” Buddy confirmed as he handed her the sunscreen as she dutifully applied it to him just as a seemingly drunk and tipsy girl came and sat down nearby who was happily sucking down her literal bucket of a cocktail.

“Oh my god you guys are such a cute couple!” She gushed in her very thick Long Island accent as she seemed to notice them.

“Oh, no, we’re not together.” Buddy quickly corrected her.

“Then why is she applying sunscreen? Is she your sister?” She asked as Buddy looked at her like she was crazy since Veronica was very clearly black as Veronica snorted a laugh.

“No…” Buddy slowly answered.

“Oh well what is she to you then? Is she a friend with benefits?” She continued to guess.

“No.” Buddy shook his head adamantly.

“I’m his head of security.” Veronica finally stepped in which got the inebriated girl to gasp in delight.

“You are such a great guy to not only get a woman but a woman of color protect you! Affirmative action for the win!” She cheered.

“Why does she need to protect you? Are you like, super important that people want to hurt you? Are you Jeff Bezos?” She asked.

“No!” Buddy exclaimed as Veronica straight up laughed.

“He wishes. I think you’re going to be ok Mr. Pine, I’m gonna get a drink.” Veronica decided and Buddy actually whimpered.

“No, no don’t leave me with the drunk girl.” Buddy pleaded but Veronica just laughed as she walked away as the drunk girl came and sat down facing him in the next sunchair.

“Mr. Pine, ooh so important, is it after pine like the tree? Do you own a lumberyard?” She asked.

“No, I don’t own a lumberyard, but yes pine like the pine tree.” Buddy answered as he stared after Veronica and even looked to see Nelson and Leland at a distance chatting with Veronica at the bar since Soche and Pike were in their rooms getting some sleep since they would be taking the night shift.

“Are you hungry? Do you want some nachos? Or do you want a drink? Oh do you want to try some of mine it’s so good!” She gushed as she offered it to him.

“No thanks, I don’t drink and swim.” Buddy tried to politely refuse, even though right at this moment, there was nothing he wanted more but Veronica had a very strict- you will only drink water- policy while she was his handler. Because water was best at showing whether or not your drink was tempered with. But if he absolutely insisted. He could have one social drink a day so Buddy was saving it for later in the evening.

“Are you here with someone? Like a bachelorette party or something?” Buddy tried to get rid of her.

“I like your watch, it’s so fancy.” She said as she grabbed his wrist and pulled it closer to her face so she could see it better.

“Hey, hey, hands off.” Buddy tried to shake her but she had an iron grip and she pulled him with surprising strength until he was leaned all the way over as she used her bucket drink to hide their faces.

“I’m a friend of Violet's, she asked me to keep an extra eye on you. Stay vigilant. That’s all I can say and don’t let anyone else get this close to you other than those who you explicitly trust and stare at any other girl other than her because her current asset is a piece of work and he’s not above punishing her for your offending gaze and vice versa.” She said quickly and in all seriousness, dropping the drunk act in a flash and fixing him with a look that cut him to the core before she slipped right back into the act and got up and pretended to stagger away.

“Well see you around Mr. Lumberyard!” She waived drunkenly just as Violet dove into the pool which got Buddy to turn his attention back to her just as Veronica returned with a drink and a bottle of water for Buddy.

“I thought Miss Drunk Girl stood a chance.” Veronica noticed as she sat in the sunchair and adjusted the umbrella to shade both of them.

“Drunk girls are never my type.” Buddy informed her.

“Good.” Veronica said simply.

“Mr. Sebastian has given the order that if you so wish- you can enjoy the company of a companion of the gender of your choice for a short while, if you’re interested, that’s why he pulled me aside on the plane.” Veronica offered. “They even have call girls whose specialty is to impersonate Super’s and they take requests.” Veronica tempted.

“No thanks.” Buddy firmly refused.

“Well that’s your call. It’s either going to be this weekend, or from what I understand, could be a long time before you get a chance to get laid again.” Veronica mused.

“We’re kind of out in public, could we not talk about such things in such a public setting?” Buddy requested.

“Well if you change your mind, do so sooner than later, because the process of me doing background checks and vetting those companions is a long process and your cut off is 10pm, doors locked, no one in or out which means I have to know by no later than 6pm.”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna change my mind.” Buddy firmly told her because Drunk Girl’s warning was chilling his bones still. If Violet sent her, that meant that Violet knew something was up but couldn’t say anything and the drunk girl did good getting him alone to deliver that message.

She said ‘don’t let anyone you don’t trust get close’. She also told him that Phillip would punish Violet if his ‘gaze was offensive’. Which meant that Buddy couldn’t look at her much or often. All Buddy could do is sit back and fold his arms over his chest and think about this.

But hearing Violet squeal as Phillip played with her in the pool was too tempting of a sight. He was just picking her up and throwing her into the pool before jumping in nearby and chasing her under the water as she tried to get away as she was laughing hysterically from being chased, weaving around the little kids in the shallow end before he noticed paparazzi holding their cameras up and clicking pictures from over the fence.

Every picture they took of Violet could be a threat to her and her identity. Wasn’t she scrutinized enough? But for all he knew, Phillip had placed his own spy right next to him in Veronica and just as Buddy decided to come into the water, Phillip pulled himself and Violet out of the pool and back into the cabana and after a few laps around the pool and feeling his skin practically sizzle, Buddy decided he had enough torture and figured he’d be at least safe in his room, at least he could watch TV or something.

Violet was both relieved yet disappointed Buddy left the pool as she had to come to the realization why she was attracted to him. He was soft. And that wasn’t to say that was a bad thing or a weakness. He had been so comfortable and comforting to hug. While Phillip was sculpted beautifully, cuddling with him was like cuddling with a side of hanging beef. While she was sure Buddy was stronger, he was more function than aesthetic and had a nice ‘dad bod’ but without reminding her too much of her own dad. But who he was as a person, was more attractive than Phillip. Because he was kind, considerate and genuine. It wasn’t a head game all the time.

The next day was the first day of the Expo and Buddy had to keep his distance but thankfully could meet with his work associates and see his old friends and Veronica kept a respectful distance and still acted like his bodyguard and let him bend the rules of allowing to have a cocktail or two with his own friends and associates which she allowed.

“So tell me again, what kind of bet would you make that you would get into such a deal that you would have to live at SEB and work for Sebastian of all people?” Keith pressed since that was the “official story” was that Buddy and Phillip had had a big bet between them. If Buddy had won, Phillip would be working for him for three years, if Phillip won, Buddy would work for him for three years. And Buddy lost.

“High stakes poker. Very stupid bet.” Buddy answered.

“Well, you were never that good at cards.” Greg noted.

“But are you treated well at least?” Keith asked.

“Oh yeah, like an honored guest, I get a whole floor of the building to myself, most of which is a whole lab with equipment I used to dream of using and then the rest is my own personal apartment, fully furnished. It even has its own gym and laundry facility and full kitchen. Which that in itself is worth millions, especially in the city, and especially in Metroville. And the views are amazing And it’s not like I’m completely cut off from the outside world, I’m here aren’t I? And I have my own security.” Buddy honestly appraised before Phillip arrived with Violet and every guy within sight seemed to become acutely aware that a goddess such as her was in their presence and the way Phillip held her close, like he would a girlfriend was almost challenging. But Violet was still in the glasses, scanning everyone in the room and finding any potential threats to herself, Phillip and Buddy even though Veronica was doing the same but she still smiled fondly as did he when their gazes locked before she forced herself to look away as Phillip took them to the bar and got them drinks.

“It’s like I forget Phillip has that knockout of an assistant every time I see him and then she appears next to him and reminds us of our own mortality.” Keith murmured as he gave Violet his own appreciative glance.

“She’d be an even bigger knockout without those glasses though.” Peter, a friend of Buddy’s appraised.

“I like them. They make her look even more sophisticated.” Buddy shrugged, careful with his words because he had a feeling everything was still being recorded and would be reported.

“Yeah but I hear he keeps her on a super short leash and she works 24/7. She never gets a day off. Is that what you're finding?” Greg asked Buddy.

“No, she's my liaison to Sebastian directly but I only see her Monday through Friday- 9-5. She gets weekends off and vacations like anyone else.” Buddy shrugged.

“But at least you get to see her that much. The rest of us only see her at the expos. What’s she like?” Keith pressed.

“Perfectly professional.” Buddy answered simply, figuring the less he said about her, the safer he would be.

“So she’s all business, well, looking like that, I would think she would have to be.” Greg mused.

“So enough about her, I haven’t seen you guys in what feels like forever, what’s going on? I want to hear what’s going on with you guys.” Buddy suggested before they continued and even got dinner and got to hit the casino a little before Violet and Phillip appeared in the same casino and once again, the attention turned to them as they went to the roulette table.

“Come on, let’s play some roulette.” Keith urged them before they all agreed and Buddy simply hung his head in defeat and followed his friends over to the table and stood on the other side of the table across from Violet and waited to see what Phillip and Violet would do as Violet looked at the game and everyone else around the table and Buddy could tell she was sizing everyone and everything up before she put a chip on the red two, the black three and the red four as Buddy followed and put his chips on hers in equal amounts while Phillip put his own chips on his own lucky numbers.

“Place your bets, place your bets.” The dealer offered as others did the same before he spun the wheel and Buddy wondered why Violet would choose these numbers.

Meanwhile Violet simply prayed to the universe to show her a sign of how long she would have to be in Phillip’s servitude.

“Two!” the dealer called as he gave Violet and Buddy their payouts as Violet blew out a breath of relief before she did the same thing again, only covering it up to five, hoping that the universe would tell her how long Buddy would be in servitude and Buddy was still matching her bets with his own as Phillip continued to do his own thing.

“Two again!” The dealer called out once the ball hit the 2 box and Violet seemed to be especially pleased and relieved before she took a leap of faith and put two chips on both the 25 slot and the 31 and that’s when Buddy realized the pattern. 2- how long she had the contract to work for Phillip, the second two was maybe a confirmation. But he knew Phillip was 25 and he was 31. She was asking who to bet on.

“Thirty one!” The dealer called out and Violet didn’t want to push her luck anymore and quit betting but Buddy simply put his own chips on 24 for the next round as he gave her a meaningful look as Violet was all too eager to see where the ball landed and even he could see Violet breathe heavier as the ball bounced around on the wheel as they shared a meaningful look.

“Twenty four.” The dealer called out and her smile was more precious than any bet’s payout. And after that, Buddy himself stopped playing, taking her own cue before Phillip tried once more, putting his own lucky numbers down but once again- it landed on any number than what Phillip chose before he finally gave up and went around to the other games, losing more and more money while every time Violet was near Buddy, he would do nothing but win as they all found themselves at a high stakes black jack table, only this time they were also joined by Xavier Fissured who was also Phillip’s and Buddy’s second fiercest rival and Violet had her own history with him, specifically his wife who was Ziva, who’s Super name was Razuva since she could control metal but could also conjure blades from the shadow realm and she had a penchant for making things razor sharp daggers and then throwing them at people. But while Violet had been on the Superhero side, Ziva had been a neutral Super and never signed on with The Agency and instead had been hired as Xavier’s personal assistant and bodyguard and his one woman army. In fact it was because of Xavier’s relationship with Ziva that Phillip felt he needed to imitate it since Xavier had only been following in Buddy’s footsteps with Mirage or Natalia as he knew her. Only Xavier made his relationship with Ziva work flawlessly and it was because of Xavier’s success with Ziva by his side that Phillip was following Xavier’s example of getting his very own personal Super in Violet.

“Bartholomew, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you without Natalia. Although I must say it’s been several years since I’ve seen either of you, where have you been hiding out lately?” Xavier asked as Ziva and Violet exchanged a meaningful look.

“Oh I’ve been around. But Natalia, she, she left me, she got married to Bill Willhouse about seven years ago.” Buddy answered.

“Yeah I did remember seeing that in the paper, don’t you remember me showing you that Dearest?” Ziva noted sweetly to Xavier.

“Oh yes, she has had two children since then right?” Xavier asked.

“Yes, little Billy, and Luca. Thankfully they take after Natalia more than Bill.” Ziva answered with a fond smile as Buddy was torn between feeling sorry for himself, feeling happy for Natalia yet wondering what Violet would be like as a mom while Phillip was looking at Violet and wondering the same thing.

“How are your own children doing Ziva? Are they here with you?” Violet asked, shifting the focus of the conversation for Buddy’s sake.

“They’re doing just fine, thank you for asking Violet, they're at home with the sitters, so it's a couple's retreat of a business trip for us this time. How’s your family doing? Being safe? I understand your littlest brother was almost kidnapped as an infant.” Ziva dug with a smug smirk with a side eye at Buddy as Buddy’s cheeks flushed as did Violet’s.

“Oh how awful. Who would dare steal an infant?” Keith asked.

“Oh I heard it was a Supervillain, Syndrome wasn’t it? But he died shortly after correct?” Xavier asked Violet.

“He did, his cape got caught in the air suction of a jet turbine. That’s why most Supers these days don’t wear capes anymore. Sure they look cool but functionally a hindrance. Of if they do wear capes it’s for press and public appearances only.” Violet answered. “But to answer your question, Jack is doing fine, he’s in the fifth grade now, he’s staying with Aunt Edna during spring break. Helping her design her winter line because Jack loves fashion, my parents think he’ll be the next Ralph Lauren.” Violet answered.

“Aww, that’s so nice and such a safe occupation. I love it when young ones find their calling early and really throw themselves into it, it shows drive and determination.” Xavier praised.

“Yeah, the problem is every time I get to visit home, he wants to dress me up constantly because I’m his only sister and the only one with enough patience to let him use me as a fashion doll. He actually made me the dress I’m wearing tonight.” Violet revealed as she looked down at it. “Wow, he’s very talented, because I was about to ask you where you got it because it’s beautiful, and it hugged you like it was custom made for you, I was about to ask if Edna had made it for you.” Ziva praised.

“And you have one other brother correct? The Olympian? Dash Parr, he’s always the fastest in all of his races, set some world records.” Xavier asked thoughtfully.

“Yep. He runs circles around everyone, that and he practically lives on a steady diet of White Lightning Energy drinks because his idol White Lightning himself, his walls are covered in posters of him.” Violet revealed and Buddy thought hard before realization dawned on him but one look of warning from Phillip and Violet had him keeping his revelation to himself before they were dealt again and Violet got twenty so she stayed where she was. While Phillip was at 17 while Buddy sat at 16 while Xavier was also at 20 while Ziva was at 19 herself. Phillip tapped on the table and got a six of clubs and was out. Buddy decided to go for broke and tapped the table, gesturing that he wanted another card.

“And it’s a five of spades. Black Jack.” The Dealer announced.

“Congratulations Mr. Pine.” Violet offered and even though she lost, she was content that at least Buddy won that hand.

But the very next hand Violet got 21 which made her happy to finally win one before the drunk girl returned. Thankfully less ‘inebriated’ than she was before and gasped when she recognized Buddy. But in reality had been shadowing all of them all night, but just outside of Buddy’s notice. “Mr. Lumberyard!” She exclaimed, her loud, thick Long Island accent cutting through the chatter like a bull horn which got Buddy to drop his shoulders in defeat and groan as Violet, Phillip, Xavier and Ziva all started snickering their laughter which soon infected the rest of the table.

“So what are we playing? Are we playing black jack?” She asked and Buddy had to reach out on both sides of himself to his friends and hold his friends in their seats to keep her from getting too close but she still pressed herself up to his back and Buddy sat as straight as he could to get away from her.

“Miss, could you please give me some personal space?” Buddy requested, trying to remain polite.

“Oh, sorry, otherwise your bodyguard over here will body slam me huh?” She said as she backed up just a smidge.

“No but you are still encroaching on Mr. Pine’s personal space, please back away Ma’am.” Veronica urged her as she moved her back even more.

“Ma’am is so formal, I’m Cindy! Oh is this seat open?” She offered her hand for Veronica to shake before Cindy got the last available seat.

“Oh my goodness so much energy at this table, it’s so magnetically charged. You Sir- I’ve never seen a truer neutral energy. You let good things come to you, work for what you truly want and let go what doesn’t work yet you find contentment easy, it’s why you’re so happy and the biggest reason for that is the lovely lady next to you. Is this your wife? She’s stunning. You compliment her so well. You know I can tell she has a razor sharp wit and just a sharp personality, you two, you two got it right, you’re gonna live happily ever after.” She appraised as she sat at the table and waived her hands gesturing to them as Xavier and Ziva smiled happily at each other.

“Cindy was it?” Ziva returned, trying to peg which Super she was because even if the accent was fake, Ziva felt like she knew her and Ziva simply closed her eyes before she saw three shadow figures behind Cindy and that’s when Ziva figured out ‘Cindy’ was Fates. Fates was also a neutral Super but completely independent and only popped up at seemingly random times before she disappeared again.

“Yes, Cindy is short for Cinderella, cause my mother is a big fan of Disney.” Cindy began.

“And what brings you to Vegas Cindy?” Ziva questioned.

“I’m here to see the Amazing Jonathan, he’s doing a special show this weekend.” Cindy answered.

“So are you like a psychic?” Phillip huffed a laugh.

“I am!” She confirmed as Violet just grinned more smugly as Ziva could only do the same.

“Now I can tell that there are three poles at this table, you sir, are the neutral, you sir are the positive one.” Cindy insisted as she gestured from Xavier to Buddy.

“Really?” Buddy asked. Not feeling that way at all.

“But you sir. Uh, so much dark negative energy, because you miss- you have slightly positive but still pretty neutral energy which means you’ll only compliment whoever you’re with, but not him, he is just sucking every scrap of positivity in your life. Is this your girlfriend? Not a wife, I’m not getting wife vibes. I sense so much unhappiness here. You guys are unevenly matched. It’s never gonna work. Honey, cut your losses, maybe get with Mr. Positivity over here, I get a feeling you’d fare better. In fact yes, my spirit guide Mama Momo, she’s telling me that you two have less than five years left in your relationship.” She insisted as she gestured between Phillip and Violet as Violet simply blinked in surprise but bit her lips to keep her smile from cracking her face in half and to keep herself from laughing in utter delight.

“I’m not his girlfriend, I’m his assistant.” Violet answered.

“Oh, thank God, because a romantic relationship between you is doomed. And you sir, the best advice I can give you is you better be changing your energy to more positive energy because once she’s gone, you’re going to have a hard time replacing her. You have been blessed to have her in your life. It took a lot of searching for you to find her and it’s taken so much to keep her but the more you try to lock her in and keep her with you, the more you lose her and drive her away. She is an emerald, a priceless gem with no compare. But you know the thing about emeralds? You drop a diamond, it bounces, but if you drop an emerald, they shatter, they’re more precious and rarer than diamonds, and they look so strong but they’re surprisingly so delicate and fragile and you are asking too much from her. When I look at you Ma’am, all I see is an emerald in a setting that’s too small and too tight. Not the setting for you Doll.” Cindy appraised.

“Hmm, interesting. So you said he was positive? What do you see when you look at him?” Violet asked as she nodded over to Buddy who looked a little alarmed at the prospect.

“Oh, Mister Positivity. He’s like one of those big strong giant trees, like a cedar or pine, he’s grown despite very difficult circumstances and he has turned so much beauty and wonder from his own pain, he’s growing in the mouth of a now dormant volcano, but it won’t erupt ever again, he’ll be safe, he’s hardy and has been pushed and battered by the weather and survived forest fires in the past and after every trial, the world sees him growing stronger because of the trial and learning to bend instead of breaking. And his roots are deep. He’s very nurturing, he’s creative and loves to see the things around him grow and why everything he seems to touch thrives and turns out so well. That’s why his friends find so much refuge with him. look at them, flocking to his sides and supporting him through thick and thin because they find shade and relief near him and sustenance and the birds of paradise find their roosts in his boughs. He’s not the prettiest tree in the forest but he’s the pillar of it, one of the original trailblazers. But I get the sense that something is trying to plant a fence around you to keep you from growing too big while you’ve been dormant for a few seasons. Which is ok, every tree has a dormant season and yours was just longer than you were used to, it scared you and pushed you to extremes, maybe a bad decision or two. But now that you’ve come out of your dormant stage and you’re growing again, you’ll break free of the fence faster than you think you will and you’ll consume the fence and turn it into something beautiful. Miss Emerald, you’d be better off with the tree than the sponge next to you.” She appraised.

“Too bad I’ve signed a noncompete then.” Violet answered with a knowing grin and a playful snap of her fingers in mock disappointment.

“I’m sorry I’m a what?” Phillip asked Cindy.

“You’re a sponge, you know, like one of those ones you use to scrub your dishes. You’re a nice sponge but your rough side is rougher than the gravel of my driveway, but all you do is consume, it’s never enough for you. You don’t know how to give back or give as good as you get. All you do is consume resources and destroy anything you deem a mess. You’re useful. But you lack substance and you can’t hold the resources you acquire for nothing, like an oversaturated sponge, you poke it and it gushes before it soaks it up again. That’s why you keep consuming all you can. Even now, you can’t be happy for anyone else’s success but your own.” She answered before she went around the table appraising everyone else which was entertaining in itself as they continued to play black jack and the more Phillip played, the more he lost while Buddy and Violet kept winning, Xavier and Ziva simply sat and played a few rounds but were content being observers often trading off and once Phillip was out of chips, he just sat and sulked, and despite Violet’s own winning streak, she knew much more of this and Phillip was going to be a nightmare for the rest of the weekend.

“Ok, we better call it a night. Good night guys, see you tomorrow at the expo again.” Violet offered as she took her winnings and left the table with Phillip, getting her chips in higher values so she wouldn’t have to carry heaping handfuls of chips.

“Yeah, I’m gonna call it a night too.” Buddy insisted as he took his own winnings as well, he was then escorted to turn them in as Xavier and Ziva invited Cindy to do a proper reading on them in a more private setting.

“Would you like for me to call Miss Patrice for you this evening?” Violet offered to Phillip, hoping that would at least soothe his bruised ego if he got to play with some strings instead.

“Yes.” Phillip answered sullenly.

“Ok, do you want me to call Miss Julie too?” Violet offered.

“Yes.” Phillip answered, his tone of voice getting less and less sullen and more agreeable.

“Ok, let me turn these in real quick.” She offered before she stepped and turned in all her chips and got a thick wad of t100 dollar bills and put them into her purse before she noticed Buddy and his friends were all behind her, about to do the same, giving Buddy one last appreciative glance and adoring smile over her shoulder before escorting Phillip back to his room.

“Phillip Dear, stop thinking about what the psychic said, there is nothing about you that has ever been “spongy”.” Violet soothed.

“But she wasn’t wrong about you, you are a precious gem and you’re more fragile than you like to admit.” Phillip countered.

“She could have said that about any woman and been right. What woman doesn’t like to think of herself as a precious gem? Beautiful, valuable but delicate. And if she was really a psychic, she would have seen the fiery jet turbine and all the shrapnel that’s still embedded in Mr. Pine’s body when she was “reading” him.” Violet countered but could tell Phillip wasn’t convinced.

“She was playing to Mr. Pine’s ego, trying to get a private reading, which you heard her when she talked to Xavier and Ziva, a private reading with her was a grand, she was working us and everyone else at that table. She gave you bad reading so you’d get a paid one where she would change her tune. She had to paint someone as the low bar. And to paint Mr. Pine as the high bar- where everyone else could strive to reach it was one hell of a ply. What man doesn’t like to hear that he’s a great big tree with deep roots that all his friends like to flock to, that’s weathered storms and forest fires but he’s still standing tall and proud? Besides she was just a half drunk woman in a casino. Don’t let her words live in your head rent free. That space is too precious and valuable to let trash like her stay there.” Violet urged, feeling guilty for contradicting her friend’s words but she needed to keep her head and her job at the moment but she took Cindy’s words to heart while hoping that would snap Phillp out of this ‘petulant toddler’ phase he was in today and that finally seemed to work as Phillip seemed to be more resolved before Violet made that phone call to Miss Julie and Miss Patrice for the evening for Phillip.

However, when they made it up to the room, four ladies of the evening were waiting for them. Two of them, were obviously hardcore dominatrix queens who were draped in special cords for macramé and who were waiting outside Phillip’s room while the other two were dressed up as Supers, Violet stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the cheap- imitation of herself in her old red and black knock off version of her supersuit and she knew a Mirage knock off when she saw it and they were standing outside Buddy’s room before Phillip hooked his arm behind Violet’s back and brought her forward to their room with the smuggest smirk on his face.

“Let me get changed before you ladies get to work.” Violet offered to Patrice and Julie as she quickly got in the room and got changed into street clothes so she could go where she pleased for the evening and just as she was leaving Buddy was arriving before he himself stopped in his tracks as he stared in horrified shock.

“Miss Andrews, please tell me none of those women are for me because I distinctly remember not wanting any “company” for the late evening.” Buddy tried to say to Veronica as he turned to her as Violet paused as she put on her jacket on in her own doorway before she came over to Buddy.

“Is there a problem Miss Andrews?”

“Yeah, uh, none of those girls are for me.” Buddy insisted as he was sure his cheeks were going to be permanently red.

“And I made no such arrangements for them either, are they a threat?” Veronica asked.

“Wait here.” Violet offered before she walked up to the “Supers” but gave Phillip’s direction a glare since he had already gone into the room.

“Hi, Miss Patrice, Miss Juile, Mr. Sebastian will see you now.” She invited as she nodded over to the door before they walked into it, dragging their heavy bags on wheels where they kept the best toys and shut it behind them.

“So, what are your names ladies?” Violet asked the “Supers”. “I’m Invisigirl. And this is Mirage and we’re here to see Mr. Pine.” The first girl said as Violet had never seen a worse- black hair wig in her life.

“Ok, who called and arranged for you to come? Did you get a down payment? What was the credit card used?” Violet asked before the girls got their phones out and gave her the details and Violet did her best to keep her cool and if Phillip wasn’t about to get tied up and whipped, she would be doing so herself.

“Well it seems there is a bit of a mix-up ladies. You see, Mr. Pine has not ordered or authorized your visit and you have not been vetted because Mr. Pine is the kind of client that needs to have an extensive vetting process for everyone around him. Including anyone spending any private time with him. And what’s more is Mr. Pine was not expecting or anticipating your visit and is not willing or accepting of it either, which no offense to you, this was a prank by who requested your presence here tonight. So, there are two options for you. One is, you simply accept the down payment and go to your next client. Or the man who did make the arrangements can enjoy his gift himself and you can receive the other half of your payment for any and all services rendered to him instead.” Violet offered as the girls looked at each other and shrugged.

“Two?” They decided.

“Then right this way.” Violet said as she then opened her room and led the way.

“Oh Phillip Darling.” Violet called out in a sickeningly sweet tone just as Miss Patrice and Miss Julie were already tying up Phillip who was already naked and ready.

“Mr. Pine is politely refusing your gift. So, instead of letting such a gift go to waste- it’s being returned to you. Ladies- Meet Phillip. Here’s the second half of your payment. You ladies have fun and maybe if Miss Julie and Miss Patrice are feeling generous, they’ll teach you a thing about macramé.” Violet offered.

‘Whip him hard ’ Violet mouthed to Julie and Patrice with a look as she also slipped them a few bills of her winnings as they started giggling as they finished slipping the blindfold over Phillip’s eyes.

“You ladies have fun, I’ll be back in an hour and a half.” Violet cooed before she turned and left the room, her shoes hitting the floor extra hard just in time to see Veronica getting Buddy secured for the night.

“Is Mr. Pine in bed yet?” Violet asked.

“Shouldn’t be. Ms. Parr, I had nothing to do with that, should I be looking into it?” Veronica insisted.

“I know. And no need, Phillip did it. He’s testing out weaknesses, as usual. You and your team were fine. I would like a word with Mr. Pine though.” Violet requested before Veronica opened Buddy’s door for her.

“Hey,” Violet greeted, seeing Buddy simply in his room, putting his winnings away into the room’s safe.

“Hey, listen I didn’t…” Buddy began.

“I know Buddy, I know. It’s ok. The way you handled that particular situation was perfect and that was Phillip’s stunt and there was no breach between yourself and your own security. If you are ever faced with a situation that isn’t right you turn to your handler and your security team. So bravo.” Violet reassured him as Buddy blew out a breath of relief.

“You wouldn’t by any chance be tired or sleepy right now would you?” Violet asked.

“Not...particularly, I’m usually a night owl.” Buddy admitted.

“Would you want to go on a walk with me?” Violet asked hopefully.

“Is that allowed? Would Miss Andrews be ok with that?” Buddy asked as he paused.

“Yeah, all that needs to happen is for me to take temporary ownership of a different client while she takes ownership of mine for a while so I don't literally strangle him with macramé cords.” Violet answered through a gritted smile and a laugh that conveyed she was being serious.

“Yeah, let’s do it then.” Buddy insisted.

“Miss Andrews, I’m requesting a trade in assets so I don't endanger my own, just for the next two hours. Because they’re going to be an hour and a half and then if you could call housekeeping to change the linens and other things in the room when they're done, I would be much obliged.” Violet formally requested.

“You got it.” Veronica agreed.

“Oh and you’re going to hear a lot of noises, surely you can discern between BDSM noises and actual distress right?” Violet asked Veronica while Buddy did his best not to react too strongly to that and keep his snickering to a minimum.

“Of course.” Veronica nodded.

“Mr. Pine.” Violet invited as she took his arm but waived off the rest of the security.

“Get some sleep and some rest guys. We’ll be ok, I need the space from Mr. 2 Year Old right now.” Violet urged them before they nodded and stayed put and just as they got to the lobby, they saw the paparazzi hanging out which gave them both pause.

“Uh, isn’t there a hotel bar on the roof?” Buddy suggested.

“There is.” Violet realized before they went up to the roof and got a table in the farthest corner away from as many people as they could get.

“So, what was that down there?” Buddy asked.

“A dirty trick.” Violet answered honestly.

“Pisses me off every time he pulls stunts like that. He was trying to see if one- you would disobey the protocol of having an unvetted person by your side. Your friends were ok because you previously knew them for a long time and trusted them and they posed no threat to you personally. Two- he was testing whether or not you still had feelings or leanings for either Mirage or if you had developed anything for myself which was an especially low blow, even for him. Third, he was out to just plain embarrass you because he has no shame. Fourth, he was giving you a catch 22 because on one hand, he “gifted” those girls and their services. So if you take the gift- he can prove you have “weaknesses” which he himself is guilty of, or if you refused- you’re being rude for not accepting a gift. And all I can do is say- I’m sorry. I’m sorry my boss has the maturity of a 2 year old and if I was not contractually obligated to him- I would have quit tonight and probably asked you for a job if my heart wasn’t so set on retirement and the noncompete wasn’t as long or as extensive as it is. Or better yet, I would have taken the largest horse cock dildo Julie always brings and shoved it up his ass without lube.” Violet spat with a snarl of her own as Buddy eagerly listened to her rant.

“Yeah but then you run the risk of the fucker enjoying it.” Buddy ventured which got Violet to crack a grin as he mirrored her as he was so pleased and relieved that Mr. Greek God had flaws that Violet hated. It gave him hope.

“Although if you would have quit and asked for job, I would have given you one, fuck that noncompete. Honestly I would give you anything you ask for. Problem is I’m kind of under house arrest, only my house is in an office building in the business sector and I’m not allowed out much.” Buddy appraised.

“You have another island compound that’s self sustainable, I could go there and just wait.” Violet shrugged.

“You are more than welcome to and you have my open invitation to do just that. But it’s still under construction. And not quite as big or as nice as the last one. And three years is an awfully long time to wait, especially for me. I’ll be honest, I’m not worth it.” Buddy admitted.

“Don’t sell yourself that short.” Violet returned with a playful grin as their drinks were brought to them as they pulled away to accept the drinks but soon had gravitated back together.

“What would it take for you to break your contract with him?” Buddy asked curiously before Violet held up three fingers while she took a good long pull from her very strong drink.

“Pregnancy which is neigh impossible for reasons, my death, or his death, but if I fail to protect him from his untimely death within the parameters of the contract, then I don’t get my final payment but if I die in the line of duty, my family gets the final payment, no strings attached.” Violet answered.

“What’s your final payment? Or am I not allowed to even ask that?” Buddy asked as Violet debated whether or not to tell him before she went with her gut and gestured for him to get closer before they each leaned as far over as they could and thankfully because of the small table, they were practically nose to nose before Violet went to his ear and whispered it into his ear.

“A hundred million.” Violet breathed as Buddy guffawed like he had gotten sucker punched in the gut.

“Ok, now I gotta know, what’s the noncompete?” Buddy asked as they both leaned their elbows up on the table and held their chins in their hands, only a few mere inches between them and well within kissing distance.

“The noncompete is I can not be what I am for Phillip for anyone else, I can’t be a handler, an assistant, or part of a security detail for anyone in the same fields Phillip is in- which those are almost too numerous to number- for the next ten years.” Violet revealed, still keeping up their closeness and dropping her voice to a low murmur so that only Buddy could hear her.

“But you could be an advisor, or CEO or something like that.” Buddy tried to point out.

“Yeah... I’ll be perfectly honest with you Bud- after this job, the only way you’ll get me in an office is a bank- to cash a check. I never want to wear heels or pencil skirts and business jackets again unless I absolutely want to." Violet answered.

"Why do I get the feeling you're more of a barefoot, toes in the sand kind of person?" Buddy felt compelled to say.

"I don't know why your feeling is absolutely right." Violet confirmed with a bright smile before she giggled as Buddy laughed at the way she worded that.

"Oh my GAWD It's like you're psychic." Violet teased in her best Long Island accent and laughed so hard when Buddy let his head fall off his chin as he slumped onto the table with a whining, whimpering groan as Violet reached out and held his hand with hers which got him to sit up and once again mirror her body language and was happy when she didn't take her hand away, instead she started to trace the scars on his hand and Buddy simply let her do as she pleased because at this point any touch was welcome, if not sorely wanted.

"I tried so hard not to laugh when she read Phillip as a wet sponge. I mean she was absolutely right and on point for all of it but jeeze. That was brutal." Buddy admitted.

"Oh I know right? God, do you have any idea how much I had to coddle him after that? She was a little too good and he pouts more than any toddler I know." Violet admitted with a scoff.

“But she did read you well, and me, and everyone else at the table. And she is very good at what she does. Almost like she is totally a real psychic.” Violet said, even though her tone was light and teasing, she was still being serious.

“So what are your plans for when your contract is up? Or can you not tell me or would you prefer not to answer at this time?” Violet asked, remembering that his watch still had a listening device and grateful he wasn’t wearing the pin at the moment because Veronica had taken it off back in the room and never put it back on as she gave the watch itself a meaningful glance.

“No it’s ok, honestly, just...business as usual. But definitely without any criminal elements or activity.” Buddy answered which got Violet to smile happily.

“Good, get on the straight and narrow and never get off of it.” Violet admonished.

“Will do.” Buddy confirmed as they took a moment to finish their drinks and order another one.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Violet prodded.

“Ask away.” Buddy invited as he felt the alcohol completely relax himself and loosen his lips, he was liable to tell her anything and everything.

“Do you think that you’ll ever be able to move on romantically or was Natalia it for you or have you already moved on?” Violet asked in a low murmur.

“Well, until Xavier asked about her, I hadn’t thought about her in a while.” Buddy said before he figured now was a good moment in time to “slip” as he held up his hands to air quote and gave Violet a meaningful look and mouthed ‘for Phillip’ Buddy pointed to the watch.

“Although it’s eerie how similar you are to her and you remind me of her a lot. It’s like you are to Phillip, what she was to me.” Buddy said as Violet could only mouth 'thank you' to him.

“Where there’s a lot of truth in that actually and it’s because of your relationship with Natalia that inspired Xavier to get with Ziva because Ziva has special “gifts” similar to the gifts and talents that Natalia had and they ended up working out and clicking and having off the charts chemistry and fell in love or so she’s told me. And then Phillip wanted his own “gifted and talented” person by his side. Preferably female, preferably the best The Agency had to offer.” Violet revealed as she pulled his hands down and gave him a meaningful look to indicate she was being completely serious.

“The only problem was Phillip went through every other agent that The Agency had available and none of them could stand the gilded cage and quit in rapid succession and every time they tried to find a replacement, they just kept upping the price, trying to make the gilded cage more and more appealing. And the thing was is I had already walked away from The Agency at the time and I had gone into the wind and off the grid, like I only talked to my family through burn phones, because I was healing…” Violet began before emotion choked her voice.

“I was healing from all the horrible things I suffered previously and it was the only way I knew how to survive to keep myself from going supervillain myself. And it gave me perspective and it forced me to be a human being rather than just a Super.” Violet confessed in a very low, small voice that Buddy had to listen up for but it broke his heart all the same.

“And then Phillip gave The Agency an ultimatum, if he couldn’t have his own "Natalia" or “Ziva” rather, he wasn’t going to give them tech or do any business with them and he’d be looking for his own, on his own for a Super who wasn’t with The Agency and they couldn’t chance a villain getting to him and him ‘turning to the dark side’. And that’s when they searched high and low for me, they spent over a million dollars just to find me because I was the last resort and I was the last basket to put all the eggs in. And by that point I had healed just enough to be more or less- kinda, sorta, stable. But I had only healed to the ‘numb’ stage and the ‘I don’t give a fuck anymore’ stage and they both made me offers I couldn’t refuse. The Agency put up 25 million up front, as a "sign on bonus" and this first year I’ve collected an additional ten million, next year- I’ll collect 20 million, and the last year I’ll collect thirty million, just from The Agency, which they are a trillion dollar company, so it’s not like they didn’t have the money and my final payment with them once this contract is fulfilled is 75 million. And then Phillip, matched it and then some. Phillip gave me 50 million to sign on because I was “the best of the best of the best” which The Agency assured and insured that I was and of course he’s matching the increased pay gradient and then of course I got put into bodyguard boot camp for three months in addition to 'how to be an executive assistant and leadership’ courses. And that’s when Mirage got called and pulled back in and she and Ziva themselves trained me in this job. Which was difficult for Ziva because she was pregnant with her son at the time and Mirage had just had Luca. So that’s why I probably remind you of her, because I’m her protégé. I have been her protégé from the age of 16 till now. The last time we talked was a just a week ago when you became an asset and she had some really incredible insights on you, of course her information was a decade old but so far she’s been right on most of it.” Violet revealed.

“That...that explains everything.” Buddy had to realize. “So what has she been wrong about?” Buddy asked curiously.

“Your ego. It’s not nearly as massive and all encompassing as it was a decade ago. And instead of trying to make the world fit you and your vision, you’re the one doing what you can to accept and work with your current circumstances and your willingness to work with everyone else, and be a team player, especially with the medical personnel who actually really like you and I heard a rumor that once you’re done with SEB, if you’re going to stay in medicine, they’ll be sending you resumes because they haven't signed noncompetes. You’re also way less entitled than she said you were. Also the video that got me to see you for you, and to realize that things have changed, I had her watch it when we last spoke. She cried. Like she was sobbing. She was and is so proud of you for all the personal growth you’ve done and she made me promise to help you as much as I could. And I’ve been happy to do just that and then once she watched it, she had all kinds of insights and ideas. Like this outing- going to Vegas and seeing your friends, this was her idea and because it was her idea and because she vouched for you and me to Phillip that Phillip was ok with it. And it’s this aspect of my job that I, surprisingly, enjoy the most. Because with Phillip, I’m clearly babysitting. But with you, I’m just hanging out with a friend and it’s easy and such a welcome break because I feel like...I feel like I can just be Violet with you and I don’t constantly have to be Ms. Parr. If you catch my drift. And that’s only because you’re always just you. Both Natalia and Ziva showed me the importance of being a good mirror. So since you’re just you and you’re being genuine and honest and sincere with me. It’s easy and practically effortless for me to be the same. You’re my favorite part of the job and I’m really going to miss you when it’s all over. And it’s because of that that I am dreading so much the possibility of you breaking your own contract and trying to fly the coop earlier than you should because I don’t want to destroy one of the very few very good things in my life.” Violet professed as she wiped a stray tear from her eyes despite her faltering smile and Buddy both wanted to cry and hug her and kiss her and promise and swear his undying love and loyalty to her and only her for the rest of his life but he couldn't quite get the words past his own mouth.

“I don’t want you to destroy me either. And you are the single, greatest most amazing thing in my life too, at the moment, and you make all of this bearable and worth it. And it will be because of you and only you that I promise that I’ll never try to break free either. At least until your contract is up. Because that’s what friends should do. Help each other.” Buddy offered, damning his own cowardice for not confessing to more which got Violet to smile appreciatively.

“Deal.” Violet offered before she got a call on her phone.

“Yeah?” She answered.

“We have a problem.” Veronica offered.

“Oh for fuck’s sake what did Phillip do now?” Violet groaned in a whimpering whine.

“Cocaine.” Veronica answered in all seriousness before Violet’s eyes snapped wide open.

“Fuck, I’ll be right there.” Violet said.

“Ok, I’m extending the tether by a thousand feet, that should be more than enough to get you back to your room, settle us up, I’ll pay you back for mine, I gotta go, Phillip’s high as a kite.” Violet quickly offered as she hopped off her high bar stool and left as Violet started jogging down to the elevator.

“Ok, what am I walking into?” Violet asked into the phone.

“He did about two and a half lines of coke off of Invisigirl’s ass.” Veronica answered.

“And?” Violet pressed.

“He thinks he can fly and was trying to leap off the balcony, but Julie and Patrice have him tied to the bed and currently the guards are restraining Mirage and Invisigirl to keep them from untying him because for some reason it’s like they’re brainwashed.” Veronica said.

“Ok, I’m in the elevator, Mr. Pine and myself were thankfully only at the hotel bar on the roof just getting a drink, so at least I didn’t go too far and he’s up there settling us up so I can come down and I extended the tether so he can come later. Fuck. I can’t leave Phillip alone for five minutes. We weren’t gone but what...27 minutes. Not even half an hour. I knew I should have gone through those protocols with them before I left. God fucking damnit!” Violet cursed herself angrily.

“Veronica, this isn’t on you, this on me, this was my lapse in judgement. I knew it was gonna bite me in the ass. At least we have the situation under control and stable right?” Violet furthered.

“We do, for now.” Veronica assured her.

“Good, I’ll get there as soon as the elevator gets me there.” Violet urged before she hung up.

Violet got to the floor and booked it to the room and quickly threw her stuff in a chair as she came over to Phillip who was writhing and trying to hump the air.

“What happened?” Violet put to Patrice.

“Invisigirl brought the MDMA, Mirage brought the coke- He did both in the bathroom when they were “cleaning up” for the second act, he took the MDMA first before we could stop him and when we heard them shushing each other, we knew something was up and we walked in on him snorting coke off Invisigirl’s ass, they had five lines, he did the first two lines and was halfway through the third. That’s when we got the others. I’m so sorry Ms. Parr, I thought they were…” Patrice tried to explain apologetically

“No, I didn’t clear them, I should have, I was too pissed at him and wanted him to suffer more than the usual, so this is on me. Thank you guys for interfering. You did the right thing. Veronica, please tell me you have Narcan.” Violet urged.

“It’s already administered.” Veronica offered.

“Thank God,” Violet murmured.

“Hey, Mirage- what happened?” Violet asked as she came over to her to try to get her side.

“We were just having a good time but Philly needs to fly, we have to untangle him, he needs to fly free!” The girl professed as she continued to struggle against the holds that Phillip’s other body guards had on her and Violet could only look sadly at her because MDMA and cocaine both intensified Phillip's powers and he was using his powers on them to get them to do what he wanted, the weaker the mind, the stronger the effect.

“Invisigirl? What happened.” Violet asked, hoping her mind was stronger.

“Philly paid for Mr. Pine to have the Hollywood treatment and if Mr. Pine didn’t want it, do it once he passed out. But since we couldn’t do it for Mr. Pine, Philly said he’d take it himself.” She answered and if Violet had been pissed before, she was livid now as her eyes once again burned a luminescent ultraviolet.

“How long ago did Philly order this?” Violet pressed.

“This morning.” Invisigirl answered before she noticed Violet’s eyes.

“Woah, are you a Super?” Invisigirl asked before Violet got up and stomped over to a bag she had in the closet.

“I need to secure the Supers in the chairs.” Violet ordered as she got the machine out of her bag and got it set up as the girls tried to fight the bodyguards who forced them into the chairs as Patrice and Julie helped tie them in the chairs before Violet used her device and erased the last 24 hours of their memories and knocked them out.

“Veronica, go down to the front desk, get a room for these two to stay the night in.” Violet urged before the now passed out girls were untied and put on the bed with Phillip who was starting to come down from his high.

“What about us?” Patrice asked as she gestured to Julie and herself as Violet got to her purse and pulled out a few more thousand dollars and handed it to each of them.

“As always, this never happened. Thank you so much for doing everything you did tonight and making sure this didn’t blow up in my face anymore than it did. I owe you ladies. Thank you so much for your services, they’re appreciated.” Violet thanked them before giving them each a hug.

“No problem, anything for you and Mr. Sebastian.” They mirrored as they finished getting redressed and packed their things up and left before Violet went over to Phillip who had finally fallen asleep before she went through untying him. Grateful she knew all these different knots and how to untie them before Veronica came back and was directing the body guards to pick up the other two girls and take them and their things to another room in the hotel just as Buddy was getting back and got to see the two girls being carried out as Phillip was moved to the couch just as housekeeping was coming to the clean and scrub the room of all the evidence as Violet put her device back and gathering the chord they used to tie them all up and threw it away with gloves as she paused when she saw Buddy looking into the room curiously as she came over to him.

“What happened in here?” Buddy murmured quietly.

“Both nothing yet, way too much, I’ll tell you when we get back to SEB, get to bed before anyone sees you snooping.” Violet urged him and once housekeeping was done, she uncloaked her super suit from under her clothes and pulled off a special device that looked like a small spider and put it on Phillip’s chest and pressed to turn it on.

“Scrub Phillip.” She ordered before it seemed to multiply as the nano technology began to clean Phillip from any contamination on the molecular level other than his own biome which had already been programed into it as they all roamed his body as Violet just shook her head as she got ready for bed herself and once it had finished, it chirped at her as it reorganized itself into it’s previous spider shape as she came and got it and put it back into her suit before Phillip’s body guards picked Phillip up and put him into bed before Violet tucked him in and bid everyone a good night before she put another special sensor on Phillip to make sure he didn’t die in the night before she retreated to the second bedroom in the room and went to bed.

Violet found herself on a beach, in a cabana, it felt Mediterranean to her before Buddy came into the cabana wearing just a pair of swim trunks carrying two drinks and passed one to her.

“Aw, thank you Mr. Pine.” Violet found herself saying as she eagerly took it from him.

“You’re welcome Mrs. Pine.” Buddy grinned before he kissed her sweetly and then settled in next to her on the daybed on the other side.

“What I miss?” Buddy asked.

“Nothing much, did you see the news?” Violet asked as she showed him her phone before Buddy whistled lowly.

“Yikes, wouldn’t want to be that guy.” Buddy appraised before he handed it back to her as Violet refocused on her phone to see a picture of Phillip and some blonde girl. It was a paparazzi picture of the two of them trying to get to their sports car as it was reported about a scandal and possible rumors of a divorce.

“Just think Honey, that could have been you.” Buddy teased her.

“Could have. Grateful it isn’t. Much happier right where I am and who I’m with.” Violet cooed as she cuddled into his side, happy to use his arm as her pillow before Buddy used the condensation from his drink to boop her nose, getting the tip of her nose wet which got them to giggle as Violet wiped it off on his chest before they settled back in as Buddy simply stroked her arm with his fingertips, savoring the silky softness of her bare skin as they simply laid there and relaxed.

Then the dream morphed and they were in bed and wrapped up in blankets and each other.

“Easy, easy, sunburn babe.” Buddy reminded her.

“Sorry.” Violet answered as she let up from clawing his back with her fingertips as he was already seated as far into her as he could get before he started up again and while Violet had had sex more times than she could count, this sex felt so much more sacred because it was heartfelt and created out of love instead of lust or boredom or anything like that. Just two in love people making love. And that’s all either of them could ask for.

#Why So Jaded?#Why So Jaded Chapter 6 #Synlet #Buddy Pine #Bartholomew Pine #Violet Parr #Modern AU #Corporate espionage AU #Look I am a sucker for cliche's ok?#Prophetic dreams being a big one.#Pry it from my cold dead hands

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tenyatrash · 5 years

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Day 2: A House on Fire

This is my entry for Day 2 of the BNHA Noir Week 2019. Tumblr hates my ao3 links so let’s try this instead. @bnha-noir-week Heist, Fatale, Detective

In which Fuyumi and Touya take back control of the narrative. This one didn't exactly meet the prompt as much as I would like, but it's as close as I could get and I like it too much to orphan it, so here's some noir-lite. Come for the twins pulling off a heist, stay for the fatale/detective pair up.

Ships: BG Fuyumi Todoroki/Ryuko Tatsuma

Characters: Fuyumi, Touya, and Enji Todoroki + Ryuko Tatsuma

Rating: Teen (Some lang, references to past abuse)

Word Count: 2925

It was a hot one, a scorcher of a day that’s left a memory of fire radiating off the pavement even now, hours after the sun disappeared. Slithering heat and muggy night air swirl into a heavy fog that tries to paint the city white and pure, but it fails. Nothing can hide these sins.

This world vibrates with a sickness that skitters just below the surface, coating everything in bitter bile, destroying everyone, one way or another. Some are destroyed by simple violence, quick knives in the dark. They’re the lucky ones, if anyone can be called lucky here. Everyone else? They sit and stew as the corruption eats away at them like rust.

There’s a pair of prowlers on the town tonight, eyes and hearts hardened to cut out a spreading cancer. It’s a night of reckoning for a family name that shoulda been put down long ago.

Pine needles crunch underfoot, sap oozing into the dirt path that marks the road to so many memories, all of them as dark as the oppressive and moonless night. Fuyumi pushes back her bangs and picks her way across the garden that she was never allowed to enjoy, to the house of the Father she was never allowed to escape. She’d smile in bitter triumph, if she remembered how.

There’s a hand at her back now, burning too hot, fingers tapping a steady beat against her spine.

“Pick up the pace, will ya? Pops ain’t gonna be away forever, and yous the one who said no violence.”

Fuyumi looks over to her twin. He’s a scary looking one, alright. The kinda mug folks on the up-and-up cross the street to avoid, the kinda heel soft chippies would gossip ‘bout, bed, and then hide like some kinda dirty secret. Meanwhile, the same skirts are always falling over themselves after the sonofabitch that did it. Just more proof that this world is rotten.

They’ve all got scars of Enji’s ambition, his are just on the outside, is all. Enji got smarter after that, or maybe Touya was just the bravest of them. Either way, dear ol’ Dad learned to keep his abuse strictly need-to-know after that. Learned to hurt, to control, to destroy, all without leaving a mark. Not that anyone would bother to investigate anyway.

Not when every two-bit political wannabe and too-blind copper saw him as some kinda hero.

Fuyumi slides the door open. Just like Pops to not check after his own home security. To assume no one would challenge him, least o’ all here in his pretty little estate. It’s the same arrogance that bred them, after all. Lord, they’re going to enjoy watching the place light up, all pretty blue flames and falling ash.

Touya is eager to start, fingers already caressing awards and photos, skin shivering as they smoke and char. It’s all a lie and God does it feel good to let it burn. A happy family, a heroic life-- filthy deceit that mocks them with every pose and word of commendation. He’s a hero, huh? That what you think, Mr. Mayor, Sir? Then why don’t you try living with him.

Try being a child under that roof.

The two twins slide through the house like shadows, feet still remembering all the steps, remembering which boards creak and which doors groan. They had to learn early, how to hide. How to be silent and unseen. All that training, all that pain, and for what?

To make them big goddamn heroes?

Nah. Turns out, he’d been training them for this heist their whole lives. He mighta been able to catch ‘em, to stop ‘em, to contain ‘em...if he’d cared enough to notice, that is. As it is though, he’s just going to have to say goodbye to all this shiny scratch and all the dreams he had for this name.

Touya’s got his predisposition for fire, and Fuyumi’s got matches, accelerant, and a dream.

First stop is the study. It’s all mahogany slabs and stiff stools, designed so everyone but the kingpin himself can experience stress and smallness and pain. What kinda way is that to do business, much less raise kids? What kinda notes do you give your interior designer when building a room like that? ‘See pal, I wanna room that screams gangster, but you know, classy and legit and all. Wanna keep everyone on their toes.”

Sheesh. They could make a fortune on the book rights alone, if this was any kinda just world. As it is though, Fuyumi knows they’d get buried by law hounds and dirty money the second they so much as pitched the idea. Reputation and respect are the only currency Enji trades in, and if you threaten that, he comes down on you like the fires of hell.

Just ask Touya. Or Ma.

They fiddle with the safe, bad memories making ‘em antsy to get this job done and dusted. Neither knows the code. Not like Enji would trust ‘em with it. After all, they were barely worthy of taking his name, much less accessing his secrets. Lady Luck loves making a fool outta a fella though, and it’s not long before the too-weak twins have their hands on secrets Pops would have done anything to hide.

Fool set the combination as the date his poor “masterpiece” Shouto started manifesting his gifts to the world. It was the third set of numbers they tried. Once this place was ash and his legacy was crushed, Fuyumi hoped she’d have the chance to lean in, real close, and let him know just how his empire came crumbling down.

Let him know that it all came down to his own damn failing. His played-out narcissism and twisted family pride.

They sort through documents and trinkets. It’s all here. Sheathes of paper on the special training they all had to endure, notes from doctors that expressed concern, before blood money overwhelmed their morals, even a dowry arrangement that looks damn sure like a bill of sale.

Touya is more than a little amazed. It’s like Christmas, but happy for once. “What kind of no-good scoundrel does shit like this, then keeps records?”

Fuyumi frowns down at the papers in her hands. She should be pleased. It’s what they’ve been after this whole time, right? But all these names...she wasn’t prepared for that. She might be playing at being a hood tonight, but she’s lived her life more or less on the right side of the law, more or less with faith in people.

And now there’s this. A whole damned mountain of names, of people who knew something sick and twisted was brewing in this house, and who did absolutely nothing to stop it. Hell, even Ma’s parents were in on it, selling her off like a broodmare. Something twists in her gut and all the sudden, she thinks she understands why Touya comes home sometimes, smelling like gunpowder and copper blood.

He sees red, but she feels ice. Ice creeping up her veins and into her heart, that small and abused thing that beats with love, that never seems to learn better. Never protects itself. They all knew. They all knew and they did nothing. Long as the image stayed shiny like the coins that passed hands, they were happy to send them all to the slaughter.

At some point, Touya starts rubbing circles across her palms, gently prying away the documents from her death grip. He helps bring her back to reality, to the job they’ve got to do. She’s not a helpless little girl anymore, and he’s not a throwaway kid. Damn but it’s chilly in here.

There’s no way to heal a festering wound like this one, but at least they can get even. Can show the whole world exactly what they’ve been complicit in. And Fuyumi’s not just interested in taking down Enji. No, she wants them all. Every single patsy and punk who let themselves be bought.

It all clicks in place. That’s why he kept the evidence. Insurance. Pops was never going to go down alone. No, if he got caught, he’d take the whole damn place with him. Fuyumi has no problem making that last request come true.

She wants them to burn too.

They move on, mirror images splitting in two to check the rest of the house. It’s just as impersonal as they remember, with more shadows than furniture and more blood than memories. When he squints into the cloaking night, Touya can swear he can still see the scorch marks from his last training session out in the yard.

Fuyumi touches his arm. They start the fire in two places. Touya begins in the dojo, letting steam and tears lift off his body like all those unanswered prayers, body convulsing as he watches the sparring mats and training dummies that engulfed his childhood be engulfed by flames. Fuyumi begins in Enji’s bedroom, getting drunk on the smell of gasoline as she douses the bed and lets the barren room be swallowed up.

She does it for Mother, who laid on that bed until her body and mind were broken by a man she never loved. She does it for Touya, who destroyed his body and fractured his mind trying to meet standards that he could never reach. She does it for Natsuo, who was called worthless from the start. She does it for Shouto, the masterpiece who never asked for any of this, who spent so long in a gilded cage that he forgot how to feel. And most of all, she does it for herself.

For the girl who did the best she could, who was never enough. Who wasted years trying to tiptoe around a dragon, who blamed herself every time the world descended into flames. For the woman she is, and the woman she could have been.

She spends an eternity looking into the licking flames before Touya, who has more experience in these kinds of things, pulls her out of the room and out of the shuttered home. They leave the lot, no glance spared back until they reach a high hill a few blocks away, at a distance Touya declares safe.

They don’t sit. They stand and they stare and they watch the harsh beauty of orange and blue flames dancing across the collapsing roof and black smoke rising above the murky white fog that still blanketed the lower-lying parts of the city.

They don’t feel the release they had hoped for, but they feel a type of validation, and that’s enough. At least for tonight, their once-home is just as ugly as hellish outside as inside. A four-alarm fire that can’t be ignored. No one gets to turn away. Not tonight.

---

It’s morning, when Ryuko finally makes it home from the clubhouse, just long enough to grab a shower and a bite to eat. Her shift had been held over last night. Whole damn city was losing its mind over that fire especially when some loose-lipped recruit let it slip that the whole thing was cut-and-dry arson.

Ryuko shakes her head and steps into the shower, rivulets of water washing her skin clean but doing nothing to unlock the dark swirls of smoke that clung to her hair and pores. She shudders at the memory of Old Man Todoroki himself, all claws and fire and vitriol as he pushed through the wreckage of his ancestral home. Man damn near started a whole new inferno when he opened the scorched safe and found it empty.

Detective Tatsuma had been sent over, boot-licking superiors and ashen-faced patrol boys offering her as a sacrifice to his anger.

“Come on, you’re shackled to his baby girl. Makes sense you’d be the one to interview him-”

Ryuko had resisted the urge to fill them in on just how much Enji and Fuyumi would hate that characterization, but had trooped forward anyway, too tired to fight for rationality. It’s a losing battle anyway, and it ends up not mattering, at all.

Enji claims the safe was always empty. Nothing is missing. He’s lying like a cheap suit. It doesn’t matter. His word is law, after all.

Ryuko closes her notebook, nods her head, and feigns deference as the hero stomps off, no doubt eager to take out his rage on whatever poor chump is planning on breaking the law today. Once her towering Father-in-Law leaves, she peeks into the safe herself.

It’s bare, that true, but not totally empty. Sitting in the middle of safe like some kinda proposal is a single metal staple. Looks surgical. Ryuko takes note of it before slamming the door shut.

If Enji doesn’t care about who robbed and ravaged him, why should she? Sure, she’ll go through the motions, maybe even catch the doers. But she’s not going to kill herself. Not on a case like this, a one without a real victim.

The shower ends. The house still reeks like smoke and something squirms against the back of her mind as she steps into their bedroom and leans down to press a kiss into Fuyumi’s tousled hair.

Lord love her, but she looks like death warmed over. Ryuko feels a stab of regret. That was Fuyumi’s home, and Ryuko hadn’t been there to deal with whatever emotions hearing about it burn must have elicited. Fuyumi’s never been that forthcoming about her family, and Ryuko has never pressed. Didn’t want to seem like a fame groupie. But surely, there’d been memories there, tokens that Fuyumi might have wanted to take with her. And now some nameless, faceless thug had ripped that away from her.

She’ll make it up to her. She’ll find the arsonist, maybe even find answers. It’s the least she can do.

---

Out in the boonies, Touya’s got one last bit of trash to take out, one last crusade before he can maybe put all this filth behind him. He knew Endeavour would take the bait. Had to, with all he had to lose. He wouldn’t drag Fuyumi into this darkness. Sure, she was mad. And she has just as much right as he. But he’s already lost, his soul already in tatters. He doesn’t mind adding another mark to his debts.

He hears Pops before he sees him, skin simmering and crackling like a bull under a sweltering sun. His ears got trained a long time ago, to recognize that sound and flee from it, but he’s not a kid anymore. Whatever innocence he had was burned to nothing on the floor of that house, under the heel of his no-good progenitor. He stands tall yet disrespectful, scarred hands jammed into soot-stained jeans, a smirk chasing away the tiredness and fear of his eyes.

“Yo, Endeavor. Long time no see.”

There’s a roar. Charming.

The man who was once Touya laughs darkly as hands close around his throat. Well, this isn’t exactly how he saw this going, but he’s nothing if not adaptable.

“You sure that’s your move, Sir?”

Enji realizes there’s no loot bag. No scraps or scrips. He releases the boy who was once his son.

“What’s your game, boy?”

Dabi smiles all lazy and languid. What is his game? Ha, it’s hard to even remember. Oh, right. He’s at a crossroads now.

He could kill the man. Fuyumi would forgive him, and maybe he’d finally be free. His mind flickers forward, already seeing the State Funeral and hearing the cloying speeches of sycophants and snakes. His jaw tenses, metal scraping and clinking with every roll of his neck. Nah, he don’t wanna see that, not at all. A sight like that, no telling what it would do to a man. Nasty things, probably.

He feels his sanity start to slip, just a bit, like a pickpocket's just rifled through his head. He needs to get clear of this, and as good as it would feel to smother those flames once and for all, he can’t let him die a hero.

There’s some things that are just beyond bearing.

That leaves him with his second option. A more….poetic type thing. An execution of public sentiment, if not of the man himself. He ruffles a hand through sooty hair and smiles and Enji glowers at him.

“My game? Gee, I guess...I just wanna rob the house. Prove it can’t always win.”

“Talk sense, or don’t talk at all.”

Touya flicks a spent cigarette into a grimy barrel, still slick with the oil that powers this city, that keeps all these poor bastards rolling to and fro, as if anything really matters. As if they’re good people. As if they’re in control. He hops up on to a railing and starts to teeter before giving a false salute and dropping down to the street below.

“You’ll see.”

Enji stares at the spot for a long time, not sure if he’s more concerned or calmed by the lack of body. He doesn’t trust Touya, how could he? But a body is a hard thing to explain. It’s one thing to have a son who ran away, maybe to Europe, maybe to love. It’s another thing entirely for the corpse of a known hardened triggerman to fall at your steps. To look so much like you.

Enji’s still staring when the newspaper inquiries start to come.

They want to know about the fire, and the safe, and the strange articles and evidence that are hitting papers and precincts all over the city.

He grinds the phone into dust.

#bnhanoirweek2019 #bnha fanfiction #todoroki fuyumi #todoroki touya #endeavors bad parenting #my writing

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mtraki · 5 years

Text

Prompt: ‘wild rose’

RDR2 one-shot; more of my OC, Miss Catherine-Louise Schofield and Arthur Morgan Requested by: @prowlingthunder

(mention of human anatomy doing human anatomy things in a mildly sexual way... BEWARE!)

“Oh damn,” Miss Catherine swore after opening her parcel. The brown paper contained what looked to Arthur to be two pieces of wood strapped together with leather. It was after releasing the leather straps and pulling apart the wood pieces that she’d uttered the epithet, “ruined.”

Ignoring the looks her outburst received—as they were still standing in the station, not far from the post office window—the young woman sighed, “Now what am I going to do…?”

Arthur stepped near to investigate and discovered the rotted remains of… some kind of plant. A flower, maybe, with dozens and dozens of limp, brown and blackened petals folded in on each other. He tried to imagine what it looked like healthy and couldn’t quite figure it. “… What is it?”

“A rose. Well it’s supposed to be a pressed rose, but it got wet and rotted…”

“… That’s not a rose.” Arthur told her, watching her expression. He didn’t dispute she was far cleverer and more proper educated than he was, and though she often teased him good-naturedly, she never tried to trick or mislead him. He wondered if she somehow… didn’t know what a rose was.

“Well, it doesn’t look like much, no, but it was before it rotted.”

“Excuse me, but I don’ think it was much of a rose even before the rot took it, Miss Schofield…”

“Well!” She huffed, somewhere between honest exasperation and the pantomime of it for effect and amusement, “I didn’t realize you were a connoisseur of decorative horticulture, Mister Morgan! Color me surprised!”

“A ‘coni-what’?”

“A connoisseur. An expert with strict ideas.”

“Nah,” He indicated with one hand she exit the station with him, and used the other to lightly touch her shoulder when she did so, making clear to those giving her long, interested looks that she was in his company and under his protection, “I’m no expert, but I do know a thing or two about wildflowers…”

“Wildflowers…” She echoed, confused, “… Are you making fun of me?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Schofield.”

“You are making fun of me!” Was her accusation out in the afternoon sun, “Roses aren’t wildflowers!”

Furrowing his brow, he faced her. From her expression, he could see she was somewhat truly upset about the situation—more likely the ruined product still in her hands than anything he’d said—and surprised that he would take advantage of her disappointment this way.

“I’m getting’ the notion we’re talkin’ about different things…” He said carefully.

She furrowed her fine brows right back at him, “I’m talking about roses. Flowers. We imported them from Europe and grow them in the garden back in the city…”

He nodded, “That explains it… Come on.”

He led the way back to where Slim was hitched, and she followed, pale eyes still full of questions, “… Where are we going?”

She allowed him to help her mount forward in the saddle, a feat made possible only by the specific combination of his hornless trail saddle and her riding skirts. She claimed to prefer riding forward as opposed to behind, and Arthur hadn’t anticipated trouble on the roads enough to warrant needing her behind him. Climbing up behind her, there were only minimal adjustments needed before they were arranged, his arm secured around her middle and her tucked back against his chest, her backside firmly against the front of his hips, and the smell of wildflowers threatening to drown him in waves from her dark hair while the top of her head brushed against his jawline.

It was not the most comfortable way to ride, but no one would ever hear him complain.

“We’re goin, Miss Schofield, to find you some wild roses.” He murmured into her scalp.

Fortunately, he knew of a place not too far out of town. Long rides seated like this often left him with half-numb legs and an aching-hard erection in his pants, and her sore from the pressure of the pommel digging into the front of her thighs.

It was a fine day for riding, too. The summer heat was always brutal in the high desert, but there was a nice breeze coming off the mountain that brought them some relief. The sky was a cloudless, cornflower blue, and few other riders were out, as it was entering the afternoon hours when folks avoided work—‘siesta’ both Javier and Catherine called it. Slim kept his trot long and easy, sparing his riders the punishment of a jarring ride up into the foothills.

The mostly uphill trip offered lovely vistas as they climbed, but also demanded some coaching on Arthur’s part, as the young lady was still very much a novice rider.

“Gonna hafta lean forward,” Were his words in her ear, “so’s help Slim stay center on the up.”

“Yes, but… I can’t really move further forward… unless you want me to bend?”

“Nah, don’ bend, shift your hips.”

“How? I… I’m a bit pinned here, Arthur…” She laughed lightly, a little self-conscious at her ignorance. He knew she never liked the idea of hurting or even overburdening a horse due to her lack of skill.

Dropping the reins for the quick moment—Arthur trusted the war horse to not spook or misstep in the few seconds he needed both hands—he gripped her hips on either side and rotated her pelvis forward.

It was a mistake.

It was a mistake on three fronts: Firstly, it caused a new, very intense friction between her backside and the front of his trousers, illiciting an immediate response. Secondly, it caused a similar, very intense friction between the front of the saddle where it met the pommel, and her crotch, which also illicited a response in the form of a shudder. Finally, all of these accidental consequences, and the very intentional movement of his hands, and even the intention of manipulating her body to suit his purposes better in the first place were all so much better suited to intimate activities that he could not help but reflect on them.

“Oh…” Catherine said softly while he repositioned his hands, holding the reins secure in one hand and tucking her into his elbow with the other arm. She shivered again when she felt his weight shift against as he also leaned forward for the uphill ride. Likely she could not ignore the way parts of him were pressing insistently into her.

“… Sorry, ‘scuse me.”

She laughed, “… I’d be more offended if it didn’t happen, I think… Seems to be the usual when we ride together like this.”

“Hm…”

“… Do we have much further?” Was her uneasy prompting.

“A bit…” He admitted, “You alright?”

“… I’m fine, but if it’s all… uphill like this… I might need to stop…”

That was a concern, “… Somethin’ wrong?”

“No, Arthur,” she sighed, “just my lady bits rubbing against the saddle leather and you iron-hard in my rump and murmuring all low in my ear while taking me out of town to try and show me wild roses that don’t exist…”

Chuckling, he said, “Oh, if that’s all… it’s just a bit further…”

She found some relief as the incline smoothed and she was able to shift her hips back again to sit more naturally. Arthur found no such respite, but when she settled more relaxed against him again and brought up a hand to trace the back of his roughened knuckles with her fingertips, he could find no reason to complain.

“So what are you gettin’ roses in the mail for anyway?” He wanted to know.

“More the press than the rose.” She told him, “Mary-Beth’s book was talking about a hoity-toity miss who pressed flowers with a field press, and she didn’t know what that was. I told her I had one… being a hoity-toity Victorian miss and all. I said I would send for it. I think she’d like pressing flowers, and I understand why she doesn’t want to use her books.”

“So someone put that rotted flower in by mistake?”

“Or forgot it was in there before sending it, or wanted to send me something that reminded me of home in the hopes I’d miss my fancy gilded cage.”

“… Gotta say, that’s quite the reminder…” He mused.

“Yes,” He could hear the smile in her voice, “quite fitting.”

He heard what she didn’t say, and it made his heart race to know she wasn’t tempted to leave any time soon.

“Here.” Was his announcement, nudging the horse off the narrow trail. “Found this place huntin’ awhile ago.”

He helped her down before dismounting behind her, moving slow to adjust and favor his… predicament.

“… I don’t see any roses.” Was her dubious observation after a few long looks over the patches of prairie grasses.

Wordlessly he took her hand and drew her further from the trail and then crouched down, tugging her after him. With a finger, he indicated the scatterings of coin-sized white and pink blooms. “There’s yer wild roses, Miss Catherine.”

“Those are wild roses?” She asked.

“Yes’m. Prairie roses.”

Turning from the blooms, she looked him in the face, clearly searching for some indication of further jest at her expense. When she found none, doubt slipped away from her beautiful face and was replaced by wonder, “You really brought me out here for wild roses!”

“’Course I did, what else would I be—”

She cut him off by dropping her hand to his thigh, as if to balance herself while she leaned forward to more closely inspect the blooms he’d pointed out. The casual touch caused the muscles in his leg to jump and he stiffened while his pants became even less forgiving. She was also giving him an eyeful of her elegantly curving spine and the round of her backside as she bent.

“Oh.” He finished, unsure whether he was offended she suspected him of bringing her out here for such a thing, or embarrassed that she might be encouraging such an act.

#my mic #17th #March #2019 #March 17th 2019 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #one-shot #by request #prowlingthunder #this was supposed to be short #revolver fic

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awfully-sadistic · 5 years

Text

He didn’t need to speak, he often didn’t have to but it was uncanny that he could convey a lot with just one look.

You really thought I would just forget about you? It’s not that easy.

He didn’t have to say those exact words and Dot didn’t need to glean the thoughts from his mind in order to understand. It wasn’t that she absolutely believed any part of that, either. With how everyone openly revered her as the Matriarch of their Haushold, perhaps it was a vain thought that anyone in it would have a hard time forgetting her. Yet how could she think otherwise with beloved Big Brothers and Sisters and even those falling in-between telling her constantly how much she was loved, needed? Not just wanted, but needed. It was very important that Dot understood that she was needed. Like how one needs oxygen, like how one needs water and food. Dot was their substance, Dot was their lifeblood. It would have been very foolish to believe otherwise, to question any of their devotion that crossed the line from a healthy dose of obsession and turn that notch up to 10 then break away the knob. There was no question that anyone in the Haushold would forget about Dot but the same couldn’t quite be said about her.

Consider she “forgot” about him. It wasn’t quite the same as him forgetting about Dot, right? However, one might argue that the two worked interchangeably especially if neither party had been involved with each other for a long time. Or could she claim, Instead, that she had actively pushed him aside?

No. That could have been worse to say, honestly. Absolutely worse. For someone who was already driven to a ten, who knows what that might do.

But that was exactly what Dot kept claiming.

“I hadn’t just thought about him like that in a while.”

“I don’t feel the same any more.”

“I haven’t thought of him as “mine” in a very long time.”

Perhaps Dot wasn’t aware that it didn’t quite work like that. In a Haus where the lines were blurred from the very beginning anyway, boundaries were non-existent. If Dot didn’t feel one way about a particular person, that just meant they had to work harder. But she wasn’t off limits. Perhaps she was forgetting that she put herself willingly in this spot, and for that, she shouldn’t complain.

The first few days were, understandably, rough. She didn’t understand why he was doing this. You can’t just make anyone love you, even if you locked them up in a room for a while and forced them to spend time with you. But what other option did he have for someone who was so coveted, in so much demand, that it was otherwise impossible to spend time with Dot on the fly without booking an appointment first. One might think that was an over exaggeration but there was a backlog of names that reserved the right to stay on client for a couple of weeks just to spend time with her in a virtual reality.

Eventually, screens weren’t good enough to watch her through. He wanted something substantial, he wanted to be able to reach out and touch her any time he wanted. And that was precisely what he could do right now.

Of course, she may be giving him that look of confusion, of slight contempt, right now but in time, she’ll come around.

But it’s been exactly ten days and she still hasn’t said it right.

“You can’t keep me in this place forever, Sergei.” Dot’s voice cut through the silence like a knife; she couldn’t help but have a little barb in her tone. It’s been ten days since she woke up in what was practically a gilded cage. She wasn’t kept like some heathen in it; there was a bed, a small enclosed bathroom, and even a little kitchen area. And plenty to do regarding entertainment such as watch television or pick out a movie he had set aside for her to enjoy. All of her favorites. There were plenty of books too, again, all of her favorites and even some board games. However, it was sometimes hard to play with just two people when a game required at least four. She wasn’t allowed her laptop, though. Or her phone.

Her cage was still a cage.

She could tell she was in the basement below the Haus property, its cavernous space able to hold large machinery she had been seeing through the glass that surrounded her.

“You can’t keep me here like... like...” Dot floundered, a little too weak to keep up the argument. She didn’t like confrontation and she didn’t like arguing. It was beginning to wear her down. “like some sort of prisoner of war.” she finally finished.

She heaved a sigh when he said nothing (as usual) and rested back against the bed. She would have stopped eating days ago as some sort of protest but Sergei nipped that right in the bud by force-feeding her himself. He had already proved she would also get the sleep she needed by any means necessary, too. Withholding by not taking care of herself was not working, at all. And it wasn’t like she could do anything to him.

“You’re going to be in so much trouble.” she mumbled, placing an arm over her eyes. Granted, she assumed punishment from anyone else having discovered that she had been missing. She could name a couple of her Big Brothers off the top of her head that were probably turning the Haushold upside down right now.

“It’s hard to see how he would be in trouble when he’s earned the right to win you over fair and square.” Albert Wesker spoke from the other side of the observation tank. You know, the type they use for experimentation. Who would have thought they would have turned it into a makeshift prison for her? She certainly didn’t see that coming.

Dot cringed only slightly. Not from hearing the new voice but from the realization that... in this Family, anything seemed to go. Unless she could get to an Enforcer before this finished, he was probably going to get away with this by the time he decided to release her.

Of course, when she gave him what he wanted.

Again, that was another frustration for her. No matter how many times she pleaded and promised, Sergei wouldn’t accept that she meant what she said--that she was willing to give them another try.

“It’s in your tone,” Wesker said, almost absently. His head was bowed and there was something he had been writing in. From Dot’s spot on her bed, she had no clue as to what that was and as curious as a kitten, walked to the huge observation window to find out. At least it gave her something to do and if she could make progress on getting out of her, the better.

Dot made a face to see that there were plenty of equations she did not understand reflected on a worksheet he was completing. She had no idea what they did down here but perhaps it was time to start regulating that. Instead of math, she focused her attention back to Wesker’s statement.

“What’s in my tone?” she asked. Then she looked over at Sergei. Ever since she got up, he had been watching her every movement. He mainly sat in the tank with her except when he went to get her something to eat.

“That you’re just saying anything to appease him.”

“Isn’t that... the point?” Dot asked, slowly taking her gaze away from Sergei and onto Wesker again. She almost took a step backwards when she realized he was staring back.

“Partly. But you have to mean it, dearest, and not just bargain for your freedom.”

That made sense but she wasn’t going to admit it. But it made her wonder, too. Was she saying things to bargain for her freedom? Or had she thought she was being truthful? She turned around, unnerved by the way the two were staring at her now.

“I can see where you’re getting that from.” she finally said. “I guess I wasn’t being completely honest. I figured it’d be easier to say what Sergei wanted to hear and then he’d let me go but...”

“That’s not quite working out for you, is it?” Wesker smirked with a tiny prick of teeth showing between his lips and if Dot would have seen it, she probably would have thrown something at the glass. But she could feel it at her back and she straightened her spine, sniffing delicately. Did he always have to be so smug? Or right for that matter?

“So... what can I do to prove that I want to try?” Dot asked, turning back around. Wesker observed Dot for a while before gesturing over at Sergei.

“Well, that is not up to me, dear heart. You are asking the wrong man.” then he added, “Because if it were up to me, you would never leave.”

Dot laughed nervously at that because there was no lie in his statement. Wesker was telling the absolute truth and there was no smile there to betray it. Finding it much easier to face Sergei right now, she met his gaze with a little hesitation.

“Will you be willing to um, help me...remember what it was like?” Dot asked with uncertainty, hesitation. She didn’t know how to better phrase it so she had hoped what she said was acceptable.

Finally.

Sergei was ever-silent as he mulled over Dot’s words.

Finally, there was some truth to them.

The door hissed open and Dot, startled, almost jumped at the sound. Was he letting her go? Wesker looked disappointed but nobody was paying attention to that. He nodded his dark head and gestured with it that she was, indeed, free to go. She stood, stunned, wondering if it had been that easy all along.

One look at Wesker as she slowly and unsurely made her way out and she figured that it was... for the Russian.

“Shame,” Wesker told her in passing. “but maybe you’ll find yourself in there once again, who knows.”

Dot couldn’t even mock laughing because that was a frightening prospect and there was no doubt she might.

Yeah. They would definitely need to be regulated down here.

#{{ original drabbles: dot's feb prompts

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96thdayofrage · 3 years

Link

Below are the Top 10 executive orders Joe Biden could sign, benefiting all Americans… even without help from the intellectually impoverished crocodiles.

The American Prospect has published numerous articles on these possible executive actions. I’m not going to focus on whether Biden will do these things (he won’t), but let’s give him the benefit of the doubt (he won’t do them) since he hasn’t even settled into the office yet (he totally won’t do any of this) and no one can know for sure what he’ll choose to do (not a chance). Maybe he’ll be awesome! (Nope.)

1. Joe Biden could start by protecting all immigrants.

Immigrants are some of the people struggling the most during this pandemic. There’s a provision in our laws called Temporary Protected Status, which allows an immigrant to stay here without fear of deportation, and considering how they’ve been treated over the past four years, I think they could use a break. Can we please give them a second to catch their breath before the next round of good ol’ American xenophobic bigoted hatred towards people who are even slightly different? (Hell, if you just have a different haircut we might put you in a cage and give your kids away to a group of Guatemalan paramilitary drug runners.)

As Marcia Brown writes “[Temporary Protected Status] is a blanket protection offered to a country’s nationals who have experienced a natural disaster such as hurricane or earthquake, civil war, or other extraordinary circumstances.”

Hmmm, a natural disaster you say? Oh, they mean like a fucking pandemic. Between the pandemic, U.S. bombing overseas, U.S. economic sanctions, climate change, and auto-tune —pretty much every country in the world right now is experiencing some kind of disaster. …Except Finland. (But they weren’t immigrating here anyway. You don’t hear a lot of Finnish people saying, “Is there a place I can move to where I could pay tens of thousands of dollars for healthcare, pay way more for education, and if I have a baby, be forced to strap it to my chest while I continue to load Chicken McNugget goo into the meat squirter because there’s no maternity leave? There IS such a magical land?!”)

Point is – Joe Biden could give Temporary Protected Status to every immigrant in the country immediately without congressional approval.

2. Next up, Biden could end the War on Terror.

That’s right. Congress gave up its war powers long ago. So Biden, all by himself, could end the War on Terror. Afterall, this “war” (against an emotion) made no sense from the beginning, and it has killed millions, made America less secure by making us despised worldwide, and has always been unconstitutional.

So, the most law-abiding, sweet, kindly, heroic thing Mr. Biden could do is end this evil, villainous, dastardly, dark, depraved, morally repulsive, vulgar, nefarious, malignant, malicious, poisonous, and poopy ENDLESS WAR! …Not that I have an opinion either way. Just an idea.

3. Next – the new president could give us tuition-free college without Congress.

As the American Prospect covered, “Michael Dannenberg, a former senior aide to the late Senator Ted Kennedy, asserts that Biden can use existing statutory authority to forgive loans equal to average public-college tuition on a rolling basis for two- and four-year public colleges, effectively making college free.”

And guess what — having more educated citizens without debt means a better society in general. If your neighborhood isn’t educated, the people often can’t make a good living, and then the neighborhood goes into disrepair — which is when the crooks and the head-bangers and the con-men and the witch whisperers show up. And before you know it your little girl has lost her mind virginity to a charlatan ridin’ around in a crank mobile! (We’ve all seen it happen.)

But rather than attacking student debt, it seems Biden and his allies are slowly decreasing the amount of student debt they say they plan to erase. First they said everything under $50,000, then $25,000, and now it’s $10,000 and under. Pretty soon Biden will proudly unveil his plan to erase $13 of student debt for every American and send us each a free coupon for Hamburger Helper.

So with just three executive orders, Biden could end war, save all the immigrants, and end student debt — not bad for before breakfast. On the other hand, my executive orders usually just stipulate that my cat can’t eat my sandwiches anymore, and they hold very little power.

Let’s move on to ending poverty. Poverty is of course raging out of the control right now, with millions facing eviction and Americans waiting hours at food banks. So, what could Joe Biden do without Congress to get more people the assistance they need?

Change the definition of poverty.

I’m not kidding. People who are below the poverty line qualify for a lot of benefits like food stamps, health care, and affordable housing. Trump was trying to alter the poverty measure so fewer people would be considered truly poor and he could then announce, “Look, I got rid of poverty!” It would be like a hospital saying they got rid of broken legs, and then we find out they simply re-designated broken legs as “surprise moments of bone realignment.”

4. So if Joe Biden wanted to, he could do the reverse and give millions of poor people the benefits they need.

“The Official Poverty Measure (OPM), based on an outdated calculation designed 60 years ago, is absurdly low. …Today, the federal poverty threshold for a family of three is $20,578. …on day one, the incoming Biden administration can drop the OPM entirely and alter poverty measurement so that it better reflects need…” This would make loads of benefits (and perhaps even shit loads) available for people who are struggling.

Anyway, in the interest of avoiding making this column as long as the stimulus bill, here are several more actions Biden could take without Congress.

5. He could stop massive corporations from using tax loopholes to avoid paying taxes.

6. He could close Guantanamo Bay. (Remember that?!)

7. He could give a $15 minimum wage to all federal contract employees.

8. He could end federal prosecutions for marijuana.

9. He could make us all much safer from nuclear weapons.

And finally, here’s the icing on the cake. The recent fight to force a vote on Medicare For All has captured the interest and energy of many progressives.

10. Well, it turns out Joe Biden could himself give everyone Medicare For All right now.

According to David Dayen, he could do it using “…Section 1881A of the Social Security Act. The language of the statute refers to any individuals subject to an ‘environmental exposure,’…” and it says that the Department of Health and Human Services can stipulate that such people get a single-payer Medicare For All type system.

Has this ever happened in the U.S.? Has a whole area simply been given Medicare For All by proclamation from the gilded towers of our federal government? I’m glad you asked! Libby, Montana: Population 2,628 has already — wait, sorry, just refreshed the page — Population 2,627. (A kid ate a Matchbox car.)

Libby, Montana, has Medicare For All because the entire community has been exposed to airborne asbestos thanks to mining in the area. Therefore, Health and Human Services secured them Medicare For All. Shall we now take a moment to ponder whether there are other Americans who have been exposed to hazardous chemicals or diseases recently?

Allow me to think for a moment — wait for it — Oh, that’s right, everyone!

We’re in a fucking pandemic — we’ve all been exposed. Biden could give everyone healthcare, allowing us to join the rest of the developed world. And even without the pandemic, Biden could still give most Americans healthcare for other exposures — Los Angeles’ smog, the cancerous Roundup herbicide sprayed all over New York City (which lawmakers recently voted to ban), cities near fracking wells or coal mines or oil spills or how about the 2,000 cities across the U.S. that have excessive lead levels, or everybody exposed to auto-tune. Biden could give all of us healthcare right now — No excuses, no dickin’ around, no tomfoolery, no malarkey, and no funny stuff.

Give – Every – American – Free – Healthcare – Now.

So those are the Top 10 actions Biden could take without getting anywhere near the dumb-dumb crocodile swamp known as Congress. …But he won’t.

Unless he fears that the people will stand up and fight back.

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daggersandsparks · 6 years

Text

if it gets me free

{{ Continuation of the previous AU drabble based off of headcanons with @ratherxintense } }

Mairwen had gotten comfortable in her gilded cage. She was largely left alone and given some measure of freedom. She was rarely harassed by the Legionaries due to her husband's status and reputation. But a cage was still a cage, and it rankled her when she was reminded.

One of the traders had brought her honey. They'd told her that there was more, pre-war form the looks of it, and it wasn't far, either.

She had packed a small bag with her things and set out to find this stash of honey without a second thought. And she was stopped. She'd been literally dragged home. No amount of explaining convinced them. No amount of pleading.

"You are the wife of the head of the Frumentarii, Vulpes Inculta." She was scolded, to which she only scowled. "You cannot leave. It is for your own safety."

She pouted about it for three full days in which she didn't leave her home. It wasn't until one of the house women came with more honey from the trader, who'd heard about what she'd tried to do. She visited him later, and he'd apparently laughed so hard her at her that he'd given himself a stich in his side.

But most of her days were spent in relative boredom. She'd cultivated a certain schedule. She would wake in the morning, tend to the garden that he'd apparently planted, then she walked as far on as she could before returning home.

She'd often collect what plants she could on the way, and spend some time making them into something useful. She usually used those things to exchange with the caravan traders instead of using the "allowance" she received for her husband being out at war. She didn't want to feel indebted to him. But she usually had to. Her herbs didn’t sell for much.

Then she'd bath and read and stay inside for the rest of the day. She'd tried socializing early on. The isolation, after all, was the worst for her. But it didn't take. The legionaries, while usually not being outright rude, were not friendly. The other slaves, those who were laborers, generally didn't like her, even when she tried to help.

And the other wives were the worst of them. They knew better than anyone how her husband's reputation was. And they'd bring it up. They'd take jabs at her regarding it. Gossip. They'd been nice at first, of course. But then she'd seen how they treated the labourers and got mad at them. Repeatedly. She’d argued with them over it. Ever since they'd given her a hard time as well.

So she stuck to a relatively predictable schedule, allowing herself occasional flights of fancy, because it made people comfortable. It made her comfortable. She'd found the places, and times, when various areas had lax monitoring. She found the quickest paths out of there. She paid attention to who took note of her and who made a point to ignore her.

A routine made them all more likely to ignore her. And the occasional flights of fancy kept it from being too unbelievable. There were still a few others from her old raider group there, and they wouldn't trust the sudden change. But they would trust the idea of her becoming comfortable. Lazy.

To an extent, it was true, however. She enjoyed the relative luxury she hadn't enjoyed since she'd left the Vault. She could have left a few months ago, but she stayed. Instead, she excused it as cementing her plans: checking and double checking every detail.

So she wasn't expecting it when it happened. She was reclined in bed, enraptured by the book. It was a new one. She'd made a deal with one of the traders to bring in books especially for her. Some people knew her husband liked to read, so no one questioned it. She was being a 'good wife', after all, tending to his house while he was gone, getting him gifts for when he returned.

But the door slammed open, startling her out of her reverie. Her eyes were wide and she wondered for a moment what was going on. And then she saw him. Her husband. Vulpes. And he didn't look great. In fact, he looked terrible. She stared. He stared back at her. He looked at her as if he had forgotten she'd even be there.

She didn't know what to do. Whether she should scramble out of bed and help him, or just leave him alone. Or just ignore him. He looked like he needed help. The nice part of her won out, and she stood to help him. He was still staring at her and it clicked suddenly why he was looking so shocked. In addition to all the books she'd gotten, she'd also bartered for a relatively nice sheer robe to lounge in. [For her husband's sake, of course.]

And she'd taken to wearing it around the house. It was only ever her and the house women. And they saw her naked often enough anyway. But he hadn't. She flushed with embarrassment, once again caught between her choices. He didn't, however. He blinked at her for a moment longer, and then crawled into the bed, his movements stiff and tortuously slow.

She stared at him. He didn't even say anything to her before he fell asleep and she wasn't even sure how to take that. Having him here was so strange. She'd spent nearly a year living here without him. She'd almost forgotten that it wasn't her home.

She quickly changed her clothes and fled the room, fixing herself a cup of tea. Some days she had tried to pretend she had chosen this. That she truly cared about the husband that wasn't there. She let herself live within that fantasy sometimes. It never soothed her for very long. Reality would come back sharply into focus and would make the truth hurt all the more.

Moments like this.

She spent that night crying at the table, fell asleep there. Only to be moved to the bed when one of the house-women came to check on her. She'd been shaken awake and told to get back into bed.

Vulpes was still in there. Still in bed. This time he was awake. She felt his gaze on her as she walked in. She didn't look at him. She just curled up into the blankets and fell asleep as best she could.

She didn't expect him to be there when she woke up, but he was.

She tried to go about her day as normally as she could. She avoided him as much as she could. And he let her. He let her bathe in peace, he let her sleep in peace.

It wasn't until a couple days later that she put the pieces together of why he was being so willing to stay away from her. She'd left the book she wanted to read in the bedroom and found him in there.

She didn't know how she hadn't noticed just how many bandages he had wrapped around him under she saw the blood leaking through as he sat there removing them.

His hands shook, and she watched him as he began trying to wrap new ones on. He dropped the roll of them and his movements were stiff when he reached for it again. He was struggling with it and she frowned. Without much thought, she ducked out of the room and grabbed a bottle of purified water and a clean rag and slipped onto the bed behind him.

Gently, she pushed his hands away, taking a hold of the bandages. He stiffened at her touch, and looked back at her in surprise. But she ignored him, wetting the rag.

She swiped it over the wounds he pulled open across his back. Some of them looked like lashings. She knew what that meant and it tugged at her, ate away at her. She winced the first time when he did, but didn't bring attention to it otherwise. He should've done this himself. They'd get infected.

She stopped there and remembered that she'd managed to make something that would help. She went to the other room and came back. He had once again picked up the bandages and had begun to try to wrap himself.

An once again, she pushed away his hands.

"This might sting." She warned him before she started to apply the poultice. She spread it over the wounds she could find before she took the bandages and wrapped them around him. Tight enough that she knew that they'd stay put.

She was grateful that he didn't speak during it. Didn't look at her. He didn't ask her why she was helping him. She wasn't entirely sure herself. She sat there for a moment after having wrapped his bandages, frowning at his back.

He looked worse than she had earlier thought. So completely covered in injuries that she understood exactly why he'd been leaving her alone. Her hand lingered on his shoulder. For a moment she leaned forward, intent on leaving a kiss on his shoulder, but changed her mind at the last moment, leaning her forehead against him there instead.

It was probably not a great idea, but the urge to comfort him had swelled up in her. She pulled back, moving off the bed, and went to fetch her book. Instead of going back out, she moved to the other side of the bed and reclined, opening the book to read there instead.

There were a few days like that. She mostly went about her day fairly normally, but she was spending more time at home, she was focusing on getting things he'd need as well. She'd come back and take care of him, tending to the wounds he'd gotten as best as she could. She wasn't any kind of doctor or healer, but she'd learned enough to keep herself from dying. She hoped it would help.

She kept scolding herself for it, though. The nagging reminder that he essentially owned her kept cropping up in the back of her mind. She'd pull away then. Hold back.

That bothered her as well. She'd spent so long there. She was constantly worried about even being too friendly talking to people, much less touching them. One legionary who'd been too friendly with her had been flogged. And the house women said he'd gotten off easy since her husband wasn't there.

She could touch Vulpes though, and she wanted to. She just wanted to be able to touch someone. And she tried to hold back with him, but his wounded state made it hard. She knew those lash marks were Legion. Anger welled up in her when she thought about it, but she'd have to shove it down, hard, each time.

She shouldn't care.

But she did.

It was a week into him being home when it happened, though. She was asleep next to him when the memories came flooding into her mind. She remembered when she was first captured by slavers. The cage she woke up in. The man who took her, clamped the bomb collar around her neck, dragged her away--

She woke up with a shout, crying out. She didn't remember the words, but she was crying, shaking. And in the bed of the man who owned her.

"Be quiet, cupita. I'm trying to sleep." He muttered, annoyed, and she stared at him for a moment.

"Fuck you." She hissed, crawling out of the bed and muttered another before she left the room. "Fuck you."

She couldn't stop herself from crying, curling up on the couch and staying there until the house-women checked on her. They pushed her back to the bed she shared with him and she couldn't do it. They shut the bedroom door behind her and she went to the chair she'd dragged in there on the far side, pulling her knees to her chest and watching him. She remembered why she didn't want this.

She stayed away that day. Once she had stopped crying. She tended the garden, and walked as far as she could, finding a nice patch to sit and watch the day go by. She was tired and dirty and hungry by the time she came back. And she couldn't look at him. She wasn't even sure if he understood what had happened.

The house woman scolded her and she glared. "Fuck you. Fuck all of this. Fuck your god damn 'should' and 'should not's!"

She turned her gaze to Vulpes, he was eating at the table, and her outburst had drawn his attention.

"The collar isn't any lighter now, is it, husband?" She hissed, not waiting for his reaction before turning and disappearing into the bedroom.

She changed and curled up back on the chair again, knees tucked under her chin and simply stared at the wall. She winced visibly when he came in. She didn't look at him until he stood in front of her. Then, she stared at him. His expression was unreadable, but he didn't seem angry.

"You should eat, cupita." He told her, and only noticed then that he was holding something out for her. Carefully she took it. He didn't say anything else, just turned and went to change. She stared at the fruit instead of him.

Banana yucca fruit. Likely from one of them that'd he'd planted in the garden that she'd been tending to while he was gone. Her eyes welled up with tears. This whole thing was fucked up. She didn't want to be here.

But she ate, bathed, braided her hair and went to bed with him. This time, she curled around him, needing to touch him, to touch anyone, to anchor herself in the present. She wasn't sure how he'd take it. Whether the touch would make him think she wanted to fuck or not, but she did it nonetheless.

She needed to. It left such a bitter taste in her mouth.

She still cried that night. But she did it quietly, careful not to wake him.

The rest of the time with him there was strange. She continued her careful balance of affection. Trying to keep distance from him. Trying to make sure that he didn't decide that he wanted more. She flinched away from him at first, but he seemed uninterested in pushing.

It always seemed like it was painful for him to move. So she let herself relax. She went back to tending to him. She'd run her hands along his arms, she'd lean her head on his shoulder. She'd touch the top of his head sometimes when he was seated and she walked by.

He didn't try to touch her too often. She still flinched most of the time, but there were times when she'd let him. When she'd even lean into it. They were always small things. Emulating the gesture she had given just before.

It wasn't about him. She knew that. She didn't think he did, but he never said anything, so she didn't correct him. And he kept calling her 'cupita'. Every time he did, she'd stop, and stare at him in disbelief. She knew what it meant. Well, she knew what it translated to.

She didn't know why he was calling her that.

She was afraid to ask.

They hadn't fallen into some facsimile of domestic bliss either. His presence rankled her, reminded her of where she was. What she was. And he stayed distant. Whether it was because he was healing or because it was because of who he was, or because he didn't actually care for her. She didn’t know. Didn’t know if it really mattered.

She hated that he was so hard to read. She was usually much better at it. With other people, at least.

It was when she found herself one morning curled around him, her face against his back, when she realized she needed to get out of there after he left.

Without thinking, she'd pressed her lips to his back. Gently. Careful not to hurt him.

And she realized she hadn't even actually kissed him before. They hadn't had sex, they hadn't kissed. There was no real intimacy between them. She was only touching him, looking to him for comfort because he was there and she was allowed to.

She needed to leave. She was locking the chains around herself this time. She knew what it was called if this continued. Whether he'd wanted this or not, whether he was terrible or not, she wasn't going to fall like that. She had to leave before it got to that point.

She spent that morning in the garden again, trying not to cry. She'd stayed too long, gotten too comfortable. As soon as he left, she would too. She had to. A gilded cage was still a cage.

She reminded herself of that every day. She couldn't stop herself from being affectionate at that point, she'd already grown comfortable with it in that short time. But she couldn't let it get any further. She couldn't let herself actually care about him.

So it was a relief when he told her he would be returning to New Vegas. She'd muted herself long enough. She couldn't stay there and cling to the man who owned her for the sake of not feeling so lonely.

She set about her plan. She'd give it a month. Make sure everything was still working the same, that they still viewed her as the same easily passed over presence, and she'd leave.

She knew the time she'd need to leave. She knew the path. She knew which things she'd take with her. She’d chosen only things she could carry in a pack she could hid. She had to accept that she wouldn't be getting back her things.

She could ask Vulpes if he knew where her locket was. The one with her family's picture locked inside. But she was afraid she'd find out it had been sold off when she'd first been made into a slave here.

It would come back to her someday. She forced herself to believe that.

When the morning came that he would leave, she didn't want to leave the bed at first. She kept her arms wrapped around him. She pressed her head into his chest for a time, thinking over how much things would change. Wondering if he would even care. Beyond that he'd lost a wife. His property. She sighed at that thought, and gently shook him.

"You need to get up, Vulpes." She told him, sitting up in the bed. She wasn't actually sure when he needed to leave by, but she assumed it was earlier in the day like it had been last time.

"Let me sleep cupita." Her muttered, annoyance in his voice. She frowned and the word dropped a stone in her stomach. If he did actually care at all, this might hurt him. Pushing that thought aside, she shook him again.

"Vulpes." Her tone was more scolding this time. He opened his eyes to glare at her blearily. Her sigh was overly dramatic and she rolled out of the bed. "Fine. You're the one who knows when you should be headed out."

He was still slow to get out of bed. She managed to dress in the meantime. She felt his eyes on her at times. She'd gotten comfortable changing in front of him, but just then she felt self-conscious all over again. Worried about how he'd view her in those moments. She scolded herself for those thoughts.

She dressed nicely though. She sat with him for breakfast and watched him carefully. Studying his face. He caught her, meeting her gaze and she flushed. She looked away, unable to keep that eye contact with him. She said nothing for awhile, finishing her own food and waiting until he finished his before she spoke.

"You don't know how long you'll be gone this time, do you?" Her voice was quiet, but she managed to look back over at him. He stared at her for a moment before he answered.

"Not until after we take New Vegas." Was his answer.

She nodded, chewing on her lower lip as she considered it. There were so many things she could say to him. She could let him know, somehow, that she wasn't going to be there whenever that was. She considered each of them. He seemed to read something else in her expression because he spoke again instead.

"Don't worry, we will defeat the NCR." He told her, and the words surprised her. He was... Trying to comfort her? The idea was strange to her. He stood while he spoke. "I won't fail again."

She didn't know what to say to that. She wasn't even sure how to take his confidence. She didn't know if it were true or not. She wasn't even sure if the second half had been meant for her. Instead, she just nodded.

"Of course." She stood and watched him as he gathered his things and slipped on his armour, running her hands over her arms, anxiety chasing her thoughts.

Last time he had left, she had said nothing to him. She'd just let him leave on his own. Hadn't even acknowledged it. This time she wasn't doing that. He'd only been home to heal up, and while he'd been distant, he hadn't been the terror that the whispered rumours had made him out to be.

She wondered where his reputation came from. And if she'd have to worry about that if she left. She couldn't think about that right then either. She followed him to the door this time, grabbing onto his arm. He turned to face her, that familiar unreadable expression he'd sometimes give her. She knew it meant something.

She just didn't know what it was.

"Yes, cupita?" He asked. She brushed her thumb across his skin for a moment before meeting his gaze.

She hummed slightly as she made her decision. Leaning in, she kissed him. She poured the affection she'd been feeling into it. Her confusion and the lingering doubt. It took him a moment before he kissed back, his hand going to her waist to pull her closer, and when she began to pull away, his teeth caught on her bottom lip.

The action sent a shot straight through her and she moaned slightly, pressing back into the kiss, into him. He did not stop biting at her lips. Her free hand went to his chest, fingers splayed, and it began to move across his chest plate, trying to figure out how to get it off of him.

She wanted him.

And the moment that thought crossed her mind, she pulled back. She had no idea if that was because of the creeping Stockholm or not.

But she let him tug on her lip as she went, drawing a needy noise from her. There was a small smirk on his face and she knew that she was flushed. She hummed, clearing her throat, but leaving his hand where it was.

"I... Stay safe, Vulpes." She muttered. He nodded and stepped away from her, finally turning towards the door. She paused before she spoke again, this time speaking in words she knew he wouldn't understand. "अलविदा, मेरा कल्पना."

#;drabble #;fallout drabble #♤ alt fallout verse #☢ alt fallout verse : ♤ ♡ married into the legion #♤ ♡ give me a flag i won’t wave it #;ratherxintense #ratherxintense #❥ my death or my forever [vulpes]#{ mairwen's love of honey strikes again }#{ also google translate will translate that a bit wrong }#{ but it's a hindi term of endearment }

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redorblue · 7 years

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Book 21/2017 - The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood

Unfortunately it’s already been 3 weeks since I finished this book, so my memory is starting to get fuzzy, but... Oh my God. I definitely do remember staring at the pages wide-eyed, a big neon glittering WTF all over my face because men are so despicable. The ones in the book anyway, but... let’s stop that thought here. Anyway, I loved it, and I can’t wait to watch the show, which is probably a bad sign because I obviously have high expectations and that’s never good going into a movie adaptation, but oh well. Too late, I crave more.

I think at some point I’ll have to read this book again because there’s so much to take in. I love worldbuilding and fictional history, so while reading I was constantly trying to figure out how the society of this future country called Gilead (ex-US) works and how it got that way, and therefore got distracted a lot. Which is a shame because the inner monologue and the backflashes of the protagonist that pretty much make up the book are fascinating and insightful and philosophical and honest and so, so sad. If I ever get back to my growing To Be Read Again pile, this one is among the top 3 easily.

So, for future reference, here’s the Gilead 101: At some point in the future the US president gets shot, and after that everything goes to hell (Just in the US, as far as I could figure out, Canada still exists, and more importantly stays decent). Before that, society has already destabilised somewhat because of widespread infertility and an uprise of genetic defects due to damage to the environment, and after the political system falls apart, some sort of-Christian religious fanatics take over and turn the whole thing into a theocracy. And while life doesn’t change that much for men, it sure does for women because of this old curse of ours that we’re the ones to produce the babies. Women get sorted into into five categories (this is where it gets fuzzy, so mistakes may be made) according to marital/social status and ability to produce healthy children: There’s the econowives, those who were legally/religiously married before the fanatics took over, but are not particularly rich and/or important. They are poor, work hard and have no standing in society or in family whatsoever, and no chance of ever improving their situation, even if they’re fertile. There’s the Unwomen who are shipped off to the toxic waste piles to clean up society’s mess and conveniently die soon. They’re called that because they can’t have healthy children, so of course they’re not real women because a working womb is the one and only thing that defines women, the only thing that matters, and there it is, I’m getting all worked up again. There’s another category of women who can’t have children called Marthas who serve as maids to high-ranking households. I think the main difference between them is that Unwomen offended the regime in some way, either by illegal actions committed after the regime took over or by their unsuitable lifestyle before, and Marthas didn’t, so they “get to” clean and wash and cook. They’re also mostly women of colour, so yay, double discrimination. Then there’s the wives who are married to the new elite because they did something of merit before, or their husbands did. They live in a gilded, very little cage with nothing to do and are mostly infertile, so their households are assigned handmaids to produce babies for them. Their sole task is to get pregnant by the male head of the household they are assigned to and generally act as an outsourced womb for the wives. Because of their important role, they’re very closely guarded and receive a lot of training/indoctrination before an assignment. Every category of women’s lives in this universe is a different kind of hell (except maybe the Aunts, the few women who are tasked with indoctrinating the handmaids because their belief in the new system is ardent enough), but the protagonist is a handmaid, so that’s the one we get to know about most.

Handmaids have/are allowed very little to do, so the protagonist and POV Offred (named that because her Commander is called Fred) spends a lot of time lost in thought and reliving or unsuccessfully trying to ignore memories. There’s not much action in the book because Offred rarely goes anywhere or does anything, and there’s even less direct dialogue. Mostly conversations are rendered in indirect speech and without quotation marks, the only exception being those rare, meaningful conversations she has with people who talk to the real her and not this ethereal, uniform creature behind the veil that has a position instead of a personality. This distinction between the two types of conversation, and the rarity of action or dialogue in general, show how lonely and isolated a “life” Offred leads, all interaction with other people who could act as a mirror for her to see herself in stripped away, in order to leave no trace of individuality whatsoever that could distract her or make her unsuitable for her sole purpose in life and in society. Superficially, at least. Because despite the rigorous indoctrination and the continuous state of utter despair she lives in, combined with the threat of being declared an Unwoman if she ever oversteps, there’s a whole world inside her head, sustained purely by memory and longing, and it’s fascinating.

And there’s more. There’s the little gestures of rebellion she affords herself, like when she “accidentally” shows a guard her ankle during a check and feels a little bit of satisfaction for probably having given him wet dreams, or when she forms the beginning of a friendship with her shopping partner Ofglen who is supposed to be controlling her. There’s how she uses all the means available to her (her body, basically) to improve her position - indulging her commander’s wish for some meaningful human contact in order to get her hands on something to read, which is forbidden for all women, and making him care about her, or using the wive’s permission for a one night stand with some other guy (to get her pregnant) to start an affair and finally feel something again. She says of herself that she made the choice to become a handmaid and now has to live with it (the other choice being to be declared an Unwoman, so... no real choice at all), and it’s clear that she lays her priority on staying alive, almost regardless what it costs her, but I don’t blame her for that. She tried to escape once, in the beginning, and it didn’t work out and it cost her everything dear to her, so she’s had her share of open rebellion and doesn’t want to be a martyr for anything. She’s not a rebel leader, and fairly suspicious towards all signs of resistance, tiny as they may be, not some hero or some Jeanne d’Arc rising up against injustice and oppression and coming out on top, but a human being with a sruvival instinct and conflicting desires, navigating a world she doesn’t know anymore. She’s so very relatable exactly because she’s not a typical hero who picks up a sword when things go bad, but she’s also not a victim because in her mind, she’s still her. A changed version of her for sure, adapted to the conditions she has to live in, but still a person. That’s why she resisted the regime in the one sphere where it mattered most - erasing her personality - and because that takes considerable strength as well as an intact sense of right and wrong and a lot of willpower, she’s a great character, and a rebel in her own way.

The ideology of Gilead is an extreme form of Christianity, and there’s a lot of symbolism and names taken from that direction - the whole wife-handmaid-thing for example is taken from a biblical story about a woman named Rachel, who couldn’t have children, and her servant Leah who acts as a surrogate for Rachel and her husband. There’s a similar thing going on with the Marthas, who are named after another biblical character who is busy doing household chores while Jesus comes to visit, or the blue dresses the wives are assigned to associate them with the Virgin Mary. This whole cult is very interesting because in some ways, while of course being incredibly misogynistic, it does place women at the center of society, or at least claims it does. It’s just that in their minds, women are a womb, boobs, and not much else. Certainly not a human being. So while they do everything to boost child-bearing capacity and make sure that the relevant parts are well taken care of, they neglect at best and actively suppress at worst all the other characteristics, needs, desires etc. that make a person a person. At the same time, it’s obvious that the great majority of characters, even those in power, don’t believe Gilead’s ideology themselves, at least not anymore. Religion in The Handmaid’s Tale has nothing to do with spirituality and a personal relationship with God and everything with a facade you put on to show your loyalty to a regime that happened to pick Christianity as a way to frame its ideology. It’s entirely replaceable - it could be any other religion and would also be easily adaptable to accomodate some kind of personality cult or even an atheist ideology like communism. I suspect that Margaret Atwood might have picked a religion as a framework because of the Islamic revolution and establishment of the Islamic republic of Iran a few years before the book was first published since some passages reminded me a lot of Iran, but I might be wrong. I’m pretty sure though that it’s not meant to specifically criticise one religion in particular, or even religion in general, but any kind of authoritarian ideology that murders, suppresses and constrains people and especially targets women for the sole reason of them being able to have children - or not.

It’s been a while since I was last so relieved to read an epilogue. It takes place 100-150 years (I think) after the main story and consists of a lecture held by a Historian about the authenticity of Offred’s story. While he talks, it becomes clear that at some point there was a regime change and at the time of the epilogue things have improved a lot. This regime change didn’t happen at a time when any of the main characters could still have been alive, so I know it didn’t help them, but it still gives a slightly optimistic last note to this generally very depressing book. It signalizes that everything ends eventually - even the cruelest of regimes goes away at some point, either by reform or by revolution. It might not be much comfort to people living under circumstances such as those, but it’s still something worth remembering. Nothing lasts forever - not even a regime that is trying to turn back time to the darkest of Dark Ages.

#books #2017 #book review #the handmaid's tale #margaret atwood

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idolizerp · 5 years

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LOADING INFORMATION ON IMPERIAL’S MAIN VOCAL KWON JAEYOON...

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: N/A CURRENT AGE: 26 DEBUT AGE: 22 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 16 COMPANY: 99 Ent. ETC: this member is known for their work with lyrics and production

IDOL IMAGE

DAY.

he’s perfect boyfriend material—he’s got the pretty boy looks, the soft flirty smile, a mouth full of sweet promises and romantic lines aimed to woo girls and capture hearts, and a voice crooning love for all eternity.

he’s got it all and 99 ent. thinks they’ve got themselves a bonafide diamond in the rough—what with his family background and status, the innate talent they’ve honed, the rough edges of his youth sanded down and shaved to the wick until all that’s left is something they can mold, command, and make entirely theirs.

it’s almost too easy—to market him as the charismatic hyung responsible for keeping the rest of imperial in line. easy to turn him into a mouthpiece, give him scripted lines to say during variety shows, interviews, promotions, what have you. he’s an almost leader. just without the official title. they tell him to be the responsible one, to lead by example. he’s to keep his members on a leash and ensure they don’t take a step out of line. he plays the part well enough. he doesn’t so much as yank them by the back of their shirts as he does lean over to whisper in his members’ ears when the cameras flash and the fans are watching.

sometimes, he almost fades into the backdrop amidst his more outspoken members—until he steps foot on stage, the spotlight shines, and the music turns on. with a mic in his hand, a slow acting flame ignites and he lights up in front of the eyes of his fans. he’s magnetic, voice electric. 99 calls it quiet charisma—the way he ignites on camera, on stage, but flickers out as soon as the cameras pan away, turn off. he’s got eyes that burn bright and a grin so small, so dangerous, it’s there one second and gone the next.

it makes him a little more sensual, a little more edgy. from boy to man. like some kind of switch inside of him flicks on and off at will. and when the songs end, he’s back to the humble boy bowing and smiling. boyish, charming, and sweet all at once.

it drives his fans wild. the fans love it—the dichotomy. love him.

to the fans, jaeyoon is the member who holds their hand and remembers them by name at fan signs, who smiles and looks them straight in the eyes, giving them his full attention for as long as he can. he’s everything they want him to be—fantasy boyfriend, the almost best friend, the nice boy with no ulterior motives but a whole lot of love to give them, wherever and whenever.

behind closed doors, everyone (past and present trainees who have left 99 ent. and who still remain in the dungeons, waiting for their chance to shine) calls jaeyoon 99’s lapdog. the golden boy. squeaky clean and with the weight of that crown pressed atop his head, you’d think his shoulders would sag under the burden of such a heavy responsibility.

it should. it does.

just not in the way that the public sees. jaeyoon’s much too professional—too careful—for that.

it’s just a job, after all. a mask. a lie.

NIGHT.

all that danger lingering beneath the humble skin he wears simmers in the day and boils over at night.

on camera, he’ll love you a thousand times over in the way he sings about holding your hand and kissing you sweet, loving you broken and being the boy who will put your heart back together. put your heart in my hands, love, he croons, i’ll treat you right.

but once the cameras are nowhere in sight, watch the smile leave his eyes. watch the corners of his lip slip smoothly into something reminiscent of a smirk. wicked and all kinds of dangerous. when the city is poised at half-sleep, jaeyoon comes to life. the chains fall off, the mask slips away.

and all that’s left in his place is a boy who’s restless, reckless. a man who’s bored and has a penchant for adrenaline rushes, booze, and sex. it’s a far cry from the boyish prince who can do no wrong. the jaeyoon after dark is a predator all wrapped up in head-to-toe designer black with a rebellious curl to his lips.

don’t be fooled by his smile (no matter how pretty he looks). don’t be fooled by his lies.

he’ll love you any way you want him to—be whoever you need him to be. you can kiss him sweet, fuck him dirty, love him raw, broken, and hold him close.

but don’t trust him. don’t fall in love with him either.

because a boy like him doesn’t know how to love.

not anyone. not himself. not anything.

IDOL HISTORY

his parents are diehard workaholics, married to their jobs more than they’re married to each other. right around their prime, he comes along—an actual surprise baby. finally, an heir to their legacies. it’s no wonder his parents—his mother, in particular—look at him with practiced smiles and sky high expectations.

sometimes. all the time. when he fails to be perfect:

(a 99 is unacceptable, jaeyoon-ah. your father and i did not raise you to be a disappointment.)

when he gets disciplined for cheating on a test:

(he didn’t. he was framed. but he’s seven and not a genius. not smart enough to be manipulative. not smart enough to know the tricks of the trade. can’t kiss ass worth a shit. so the class president gets everyone’s sympathy—including that of his parents.)

when he runs away for the first time, his nanny panics.

his parents don’t. they don’t even know he was missing for a whole six hours. they weren’t even in the country. unreachable. unavailable. frantic phone calls going straight to voicemail.

typical.

he’s used to it.

the pushed-upon expectation to be independent. to follow the letter of the law (household rules and all that jazz) to the T. they know better than he does that he can’t survive outside the gilded cage his birthright puts him in.

he’s a silver-spooned child, through and through—whether he liked it or not.

ii.

if success is equated to money, his parents could probably roll in it. he could, too. if he actually gave a shit about reputation, legacy, and rubbing elbows with the top 1%.

(he doesn’t.)

success only robs him of normalcy, of a childhood that doesn’t involve an empty villa (the one his parents call a home. the one he calls a cage—a prison). obligations and responsibilities mean he practically eats alone seven days a week and having a blur of faces who go from wiping his ass as a baby to picking his clothes to driving him to and from school and hagwon to making him breakfast, lunch, and dinner to being dismissed permanently at the tender age of ten.

because he’s old enough now—responsible enough—to take care of himself.

(he doesn’t tell his parents he’s been doing it since he was as young as six years old. it’s not like they care, anyway.)

iii.

if childhood is lonely, his prepubescent years are even worse. in the span of ten years, he can count the number of times he sees his parents for longer than 24 hours on both hands—give or take a finger or two—and the number of times the three of them are actually even in the same room (and eating dinner together!) on one hand.

there’s no hope in ever being enough to hold his parents’ attention for longer than five minutes—ten minutes, tops.

getting into a prestigious prep school is a piece of cake. he’s been busting his ass for years, going to hagwon after hagwon after hagwon, and he finally gets in. (maybe he got in through his parents. who knows what kinds of connections they have. because, lord knows he probably didn’t make a good impression at the interview.)

but bringing home straight A's—whether forged or acquired through his blood, sweat, and tears means nothing to them. because on a scale of one to ten on how important he is compared to their career, he will always rank somewhere in the negatives.

it shouldn’t hurt to know this, though. he’s used to it.

it still hurts. it always does.

iv.

at thirteen, puberty hits him—and it hits him hard. the growth spurt is a blessing in disguise. so is the adam’s apple and the voice change (thank god, no more voice cracks). he’s got his parents’ good looks and he finally grows into them.

it turns heads, helps him make friends, brings him attention.

just not the kind he really wants.

his mother is abroad nowadays. paris, hong kong, new york. he’s only resentful that she’s never loved him enough to take him with her. his father, though still in seoul, rarely comes home—he practically lives in his office. he’s not naive enough to think his father would (or is) betraying his mother. infidelity isn’t something he’s even remotely worried about.

neither of his parents hate each other enough to seek pleasure and comfort in someone else. he wondered, once upon a time, why his parents didn’t just file for divorce. until he learns theirs is an arranged marriage and in holy matrimony (for fear of gossip and backlash) only in death will they part.

he doesn’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse.

(it’s neither. but at this point, he doesn’t give a fuck anymore.)

somewhere in between thirteen and sixteen, he discovers a knack for music. rhythm. and the way his body’s able to move—fluid and clean. he finds a niche in bass drops and hard hitting lyrics. more often than not, he finds a pen in his hand in the dead of the night, turning his loneliness (his resentment, his insecurities, his obligations) into metaphors about locks and chains, cages and barbed wire.

he finds it easier to drown himself in music. beyond closed doors, he creates himself a sanctuary—an escape—where it’s just him, the beat of the music, and his body popping and locking. free and unrestrained.

he falls in love. hard and fast and dirty.

and he never stops.

vi.

he’s sixteen when he auditions for 99 entertainment. it’s on a whim and comes on the heels of an epiphany he has in the midst of university applications and talks of getting into either of his parents’ alma mater.

for the first time in sixteen years, he wants something for himself. decides to pick the road of fame as his target. his next conquest.

when he makes it in, he smiles for the first time in a long time.

in response, his parents disown him. not publicly. they’d never do that. but they don’t speak to him again. (when have they ever?) the only reason he knows they know he still exists is the numbers in his bank account increasing at the same monthly rate.

he tells himself he’s fine with that. it’s nothing different, after all. some things will never change, no matter how much he wants them to.

vii.

he takes to trainee life like fish to water. drowns himself in it: dance practice, vocal lessons, body and weight training, academics and a social life. it’s hard and something’s gotta give.

he sacrifices university without a second thought.

his parents retaliate by changing the passcode to the villa and sends him the keys and the deeds to a new accommodation. a place all of his own, far far away from them.

(you are an abomination—a disgrace—kwon jaeyoon.)

(tell me something new.)

at eighteen, he could’ve had the world in the palm of his hands, but he gave it up for a lucrative dream he didn’t even know would actually come true.

viii.

trainee life isn’t as easy as he imagined. victory doesn’t come without some kind of sacrifice.

one year in and he’s pushed into more intensive training and thrust into vocal classes. from dancer to vocalist, it’s no wonder his peers look at him like he’s filth, wondering how a pretty boy who was rumored to have gotten in for his looks (and his money, his family connections, so the rumor grapevines say) could possibly be on the same level as them.

the resentment is palpable; he feels it every time he turns his back on them. feels it in their stares every time he makes some kind of progress, makes ripples big enough to earn praises from his trainers.

the competition only thickens, grows cloying and suffocating when POIZN’s tentative lineup is announced and he finds his name on the bottom of the list. the anger ripples. as does the hatred. the jealousy.

jaeyoon says nothing.

ix.

two years in and he ignites under all the negativity, his temper constantly held at bay. (all those reprimands when he was a child certainly comes in handy. control, his mother hisses in his ears at every single wretched parading of children like some kind of auction show disguised as the latest social gathering amongst the rich.)

he’s no longer a child seeking validation, needing acceptance. he cares for nothing but success. wants to win. wants to debut to prove them all wrong. wants something to call his own.

two years in and jaeyoon’s still there. practically living in the practice rooms, the booming speakers blasting the latest hit POWer song for the nth time, training his body to ride the beat and flow of lyrics and hard hitting beats.

when POIZN debuts without him, he almost quits. he should’ve known. should’ve known he’s not quite there yet—not good enough, not rough, not tough enough. always second best. second choice. backup.

he should’ve been angry. resentful.

(he was. is. hides it under a clenched jaw. hides it under sweat-soaked shirts and worn-ragged sneakers.)

the anger fuels him. makes him train harder.

he dances until the soles of his brand new shoes wear out. (he has ten pairs. it’s fine. he’s fine.)

he sings until his voice goes hoarse. cracks. until he loses it. (he tells himself not to panic. tells himself he sounds good. not pitch perfect, but getting there. tells himself to take it easy. he’s doing fine. just fine.)

six years fly by and finally, he comes out a winner.

(congratulations, kwon jaeyoon. welcome to imperial.)

interludes—some more significant than others, but interludes all the same.

a) life’s a competition. he knows this as soon as his agency pits him against other trainees (brothers, he’s come to call them. friends.) in a reality show about survival. they’re all hopeful talents. none of you are expendable. at least, that’s what he says on camera. in private, all he can think about is darwin’s theory on evolution. survival of the fittest. the last one standing—he wants it to be him.

b) he meets her for the first time in the last practice room down the hall. (this is the one he’s claimed as his own. the only place that’s seen his sweat, his tears, his self-criticism.) beautiful, he thinks when he watches her dance like no one’s watching, her voice stable despite the way her hips sway and her body rolls. beautiful, he thinks even when he sees her stumble; her body seizing momentarily, her legs giving out on her. beautiful, even when he thinks she’s going to break down and call it quits. (she doesn’t.)

beautiful, he smiles as she gets back up. over and over again. until she hits every beat with grace and a smile.

he meets her weeks later at evaluation and learns her name. he calls her yellow, instead. like gold. like sunshine. beautiful. still beautiful.

c) 2014 and imperial’s debut is a whirlwind. success doesn’t come easy—it’s a hard lesson learned. their music isn’t for everyone—they don’t have the bad boy hype or the boy-next-door vibe. they’re a delicate, oddball in-between, riding a peculiar mix of r&b, hip-hop and alternative pop. but their fans—loyal to the core and dedicated—keep them afloat. keep them riding a shallow current upstream towards success.

he doesn’t give up. he doesn’t know how. (imperial is all he has.)

d) 2016 and success comes in the form of an upgraded sound. sentimental breaks the mold. gives them their very first win, their first taste of fame. and jaeyoon, greedy for attention and the sound of the audience raving, gets a little more addicted. a little more corrupt.

e) three years post-debut and they’re on an slow, but steady upward climb to the top of the world. (he’s almost there. almost.) they’re fine. he’s fine. (is he, really?)

f) four years and he hates it.

hates the delusional fans. the sasaengs. hates POIZN and their constant scandals. hates 99 ent. and their shitty clean up methods. hates knowing imperial exists as some fucked up version of a janitor, created to clean shit up and sweep things under the rug. being underestimated and overshadowed by POIZN’s infamy grate on his nerves, ignites that flame always festering beneath his skin.

he hates everything: how he has to watch his mouth, his temper, his goddamn image. the pretty boy with the mouth full of sweet promises and a cheeky grin. he seethes because that’s not him. he’s not nice. far from it. rugged, reckless, and ruined, he’s a bad boy fronting a nice guy image for the sake of popularity and fleeting fame.

this is what he sacrificed his youth for—the flashing cameras, the ninety-degree bows, the plastic smiles, the made up stories designed to capture noona hearts, the soft romantic looks meant to awe, to tame, to capture.

it’s not him at all.

a mask. a lie. a job.

and he hates it all.

g) five years almost and his mask is starting to chip piece by brittle piece.

the nice guy image is getting old and jaeyoon’s getting more and more restless. he’s grown tired of the perceived notion that fame can keep them afloat. grown tired of the routines, the fake smiles. he's bored. and boredom makes a restless man dangerous.

he aches for the want of something more. wants to ruin the illusion of perfection just a little bit. wants to test boundaries, test patience, wants to push buttons. and little by little, jaeyoon starts growing fangs.

and so, his greed and ambition starts making appearances here and there in small snippets of magazine interviews or on the occasional variety show appearances he’s required to make to keep imperial on the radar. drops soundbites on instagram about his desire to keep producing and writing lyrics for bigger names, to sing on a brighter stage and a bigger audience.

like this, the muzzle slowly comes undone.

like this, he creates himself a storm. turns himself into the eye. a hurricane in human skin.

he counts the days when 99 ent. would regret loosening the reins, trusting him to keep himself at bay.

because once a predator, always a predator.

and reality is, jaeyoon has always been dangerous. a wolf in sheepskin.

#id.bio #id.99 #id.poizn #id.nam joohyuk

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rockmusicwrites · 5 years

Text

Cap’s Reinforcements

All things considered, this wasn't going as badly as Clint figured it would. Still a little dizzy from Vision's chokehold, he stumbled over to the edge of the hole Wanda had punched in the kitchen floor.

"Oh." It was a little hard to tell from eight floors up if the android was moving or not, but Clint figured he was definitely gonna need a minute after taking a hit like that. "Come on. Got one more stop to make."

Wanda nodded, and followed Clint out into the hallway. "We don't have much time before F.R.I.D.A.Y. tattles on us," she said as Clint paused to scoop up the duffle bag he'd left just outside the door. "What's the plan?"

"Get out and get gone," he replied. "Head for the jets."

Wanda turned and sprinted down the hall, Clint close behind. He could see the familiar red glow of her chaos magic flare up as they approached the side door that led out to the tarmac. With a grunt of effort, she blasted it off of its hinges.

"Something wrong with the keypad?" he asked.

"I have restricted access. I can't open any of the outside doors," Wanda replied bitterly. Clint headed straight for the team's smaller Quinjet, cursing Tony under his breath. However well-meaning his intentions were, confining her to the compound was a dick move. A gilded cage is still a cage. Especially to someone with Wanda's history.

Clint punched in the override codes Cap had given him to bypass the Quinjet's security protocols. A loud crash had him spinning around, nocking an arrow as he ducked under the wing. No Vision, no friends-turned-hostiles, just another mangled door rocking back and forth on the concrete. Wanda disappeared inside the hanger. There was a second crash, and her go bag came skidding across the ground to rest at Clint's feet.

Clint picked up both of their bags and fired them into the jet. "Get in!" he shouted, sliding the arrow back into his quiver and scrambling aboard. He threw himself into the pilot seat and switched the controls over to manual before firing up the engines. The thud of boots against the steel floor had him looking over his shoulder. Wanda slammed her hand against the door control panel and dropped into the seat in front it.

F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice came over the compound's security system. "I'm afraid you don't have authorization to fly out of here, Agent Barton."

"I'm not an Agent anymore," Clint muttered, easing the jet forward and praying Tony's AI wouldn't figure out how to override his override until after they were airborne. He didn't particularly feel like crashing. "You might want to strap yourself in, kiddo."

The second he heard the restraints click into place, Clint hit the throttle. It certainly wasn't his smoothest takeoff, but he got them clear of the compound without incident.

"Where are we going?" Wanda asked.

"I'll tell you when we get there." Clint glanced back at her, shrugging his shoulders. "Jet's offline, but I wouldn't put it past Tony to have ears on us anyway. He's gonna have to get his intel on Cap somewhere else, 'cause he's not getting anything from me."

"Is Steve okay?"

"He's in one piece," Clint replied. Steve had been all business on the phone, but Clint knew him well enough by now to pick up on the things he wasn't saying. He was exhausted and scared, and Clint couldn't blame him. It had been a hell of a week. "Sam, too."

"Good."

"And speaking of Tony and his nosy tech, there's a jammer in my duffle. Fire it up, then trash you comms. It's in a side pouch," he added, double checking that they were on course for San Diego while Wanda rummaged through his bag. Offline meant no flight plan and no GPS. They were doing this the old fashioned way. "I think we'd both be happier if you didn't touch my underwear."

Wanda made a noise of disgust that turned into a laugh. "I've missed you, Clint."

"Missed you, too, kiddo."

There was a brief flash of red as Wanda crushed the earpiece that had been with her uniform, and a moment later she returned to her seat.

For the next half hour, the jet was completely silent save for the soft hum of the engines. Clint was going over Cap's instructions in his head, running through the timeline over and over again in an attempt to distract himself from what would happen when they reached Germany. He hadn't wanted any part of the Accords. This wasn't his life anymore. And if it was, he would have been a lot less polite to Nat about his thoughts on the matter. Still, he wasn't looking forward to going up against his friends.

Especially since he wasn't sure what he was more pissed about; their willingness to cave to Ross and his bullshit UN panel, or the way they were handling the situation with Cap's buddy. Clint had a hard time believing Tony wouldn't be doing the exact same thing if it was Rhodey who was in trouble.

Granted, Rhodey didn't have a decades-long history of doing the exact sort of thing that Barnes was being accused of. But as someone who had firsthand experience with being brainwashed into murdering on behalf of a psycho with dreams of world domination, Clint couldn't help but give the guy the benefit of the doubt. His gut was telling him Barnes was every bit the victim Cap made him out to be.

And he'd be fucked if he was going to stand by and do nothing.

"Is everything alright?"

Clint nearly jumped out of his skin. He'd almost forgotten he wasn't alone. "Yeah, of course. Why?"

"You seem very tense all of a sudden," Wanda replied. "Are we in trouble? Were we followed?"

"What? No. No, we're fine. We're safe," Clint assured her. "I was just thinking."

"I don't want to fight them, either," she said softly.

"They're not giving us much of a choice," Clint replied.

"I'm sorry you had to get involved."

"I'm not. I'm right where I need to be."

They lapsed back into silence. Clint checked their course again. They were passing over Ohio. Hopefully Sam's guy would be at the rendezvous point on time. This faux-shrink nutcase already had a head start on them, and they couldn't afford any delays.

There was a metallic clank, and the swish of fabric rubbing against fabric, and then Wanda was standing next to him. "I know Steve sent you, but thank you. For coming for me."

Clint looked up at her and smiled. "Anytime."

Her answering smile was small but genuine. Leaning against the side of his seat, she turned her attention to the night sky.

~ ~ ~

"So, where are we?" Wanda asked as they stepped onto the tarmac. It was just barely dawn, the sun a thin line of orange on the horizon.

Bow at the ready just in case, Clint did a quick sweep of the area. There was a silver sedan parked behind the main building as promised, but the driver was nowhere in sight. "Just outside of San Diego. It’s a flight school that belongs to a friend of Sam's from Basic. Said we could use it as a pick up point," Clint explained.

"And what are we picking up?" Wanda raised her hands, energy rippling between her fingers.

"Who, actually," Clint replied. "Ant-Man."

Wanda raised an eyebrow. "Oh. Ah, is… is she your aunt or…?"

"Ant, not Aunt," he clarified, trying not to laugh. "Like the bug."

"And he calls himself that on purpose?" Wanda dropped her voice to a low whisper as they neared the vehicle. Clint shrugged, raising his bow.

"I don't know. This whole thing is all Sam." He motioned for Wanda to hang back and stepped around the front of the car. There was a man sitting on the ground against the driver's side door, a small duffle and a backpack at his side, head dropped forward. Please don't be dead, Clint thought, nudging the man's leg with the toe of his boot.

The man made a startled noise, arms flailing. Clint took a step back but kept his weapon aimed at his chest.

"Man, you scared the shit out of me," he said, rubbing a hand over his face. He blinked up at Clint, then froze. "Uh… I really hope you're an Avenger. Or else this is the weirdest carjacking ever."

Clint rolled his eyes. "You Ant-Man?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, that's me. I'm Ant-Man." Using the hood of the car for leverage, he got to his feet. "And it's Scott, actually," he added, brushing sand off the back of his jeans.

"Clint. And this is Wanda," Clint offered, jerking a thumb in her direction. Wanda waved.

"Good to…" Scott trailed off, yawning. "Sorry. Long drive."

"That your gear?" Clint asked, indicating the bags by Scott's feet.

"Uh, yes."

"Good. Let's get moving."

Scott scooped up the bags and followed them to the Quinjet, nearly tripping himself with the trailing strap of his backpack. Clint and Wanda paused while he reoriented himself, Wanda giving Clint a look that made it clear she was just as concerned about the new recruit as he was. He definitely had a few questions for Sam.

"So, what did they tell you?" Clint asked.

"Just that Cap…" Scott yawned again. "Sorry. Just that Captain America needs my help. This whole thing has been very cloak and dagger."

"Yeah, well, the stakes are pretty high," Clint replied, stopping a few feet from the jet.

"No, I get that. Uh, how, how high are the stakes exactly?"

"I'll fill you in when we land. Jet's kinda stolen, and we don't know if Stark has it bugged or not," Clint told him, waving Wanda on board. "So radio silence for the duration. Alright?"

"Sure. No problem, Arrow Guy," Scott grinned, hoisting the backpack farther up on his shoulder.

Clint waited until Scott was on board too before giving their surroundings one last glance. Coast seemed clear. On the jet, Wanda was securing Scott's luggage, while Scott tried to figure out how his restraints were supposed to work. It reminded Clint of when Lila would try and buckle herself into her car seat.

Wordlessly, Clint untwisted the straps and clicked them into place.

"Thanks, man." If Scott was at all embarrassed, he didn't show it. Then again, Scott didn't strike him as the kind of guy who got embarrassed about anything. Clint took his own seat and got them back in the air.

From here on out, Clint was on his own. He had to figure out how to get the three of them to Leipzig, and then the six of them to Siberia. He had the Siberia part covered, calling in a few markers from his SHIELD days to secure a helicopter for them at the Leipzig airport. But he was going to have to improvise the rest.

The plan was to ditch the Quinjet near Hamburg. Even with the jammer, flying any farther into German airspace was just asking to get shot out of the sky. No way would they get past Tony and Ross. Not when they knew it would be damn near impossible for Cap to have gotten out of the country.

A muffled giggle pulled him out of his thoughts. Scott was fast asleep, head lolling against the seatback. Wanda was watching him with a hand clapped over her mouth, eyes wide with amusement. When she realized Clint was watching her, she lowered her hand and whispered, "Are we sure about him?"

"Apparently he's good in a fight. Guess we'll have to wait and see," Clint whispered back. "And he's got the right idea," he added. "You should get some rest while you still can."

"What about you?"

"I'll be fine."

"We can switch for a little bit if you want," Wanda offered.

"You know how to fly this thing?" Clint asked.

She narrowed her eyes at the surprise in his tone. "Steve has been teaching me. He says I'm better at flying than I am at driving."

"And how's your driving?"

"It's getting better."

"Well that's comforting."

"Fine," she shot back with a mock-glare. "No nap for you."

"Alright. Get up here." Clint instructed her to wake him up in two hours. He didn't need more than that. He had a one year old at home. Functioning on minimal sleep was the norm for him these days.

Wanda let him sleep for four.

~ ~ ~

Clint set the Quinjet down in a small clearing at the edge of the city. On the other side of the tree line was a cluster of warehouses. Tiptoeing to the back of the jet, Clint eased open the zipper on his duffle and pulled out his street clothes. If there were cameras in the lot, he didn't want them catching him in his Hawkeye gear. He changed as quickly and as quietly as he could.

Wanda stirred when he hit the release for the door. She blinked herself awake, gaze moving from Clint to the windscreen and back to Clint, as if just realizing they weren't moving anymore.

"Stay with him," Clint ordered, tugging on a plain black ball cap. "I have a plan."

Slipping out of the woods, Clint jogged across the gravel lot, keeping his head on a swivel. It was a little after five in the morning in Hamburg, and the place seemed deserted. He jimmied open a window on the first building, which opened into an office. There were two dozen white cargo vans parked in the lot, and as many sets of keys hanging on a pegboard beside the desk. Clint helped himself to one of the sets and hopped back out the window.

Matching the number on the key ring to the number taped to the inside of the windshield, Clint unlocked the last van in the second row. He drove to the edge of the lot, pulling as far into the trees as he could.

Wanda was standing in the open doorway of the jet waiting for him when Clint returned. "Got us some wheels," he said. "He conscious yet?"

Wanda smirked, shaking her head.

"Wait, really?" Wanda moved aside to let Clint poke his head around the doorframe. Sure enough, Scott was still slumped against his restraints, snoring softly. Clint strode over to the snoozing hero and kicked his foot. "Alright, pal. Up and at 'em."

Groaning, Scott slowly picked his head up. He winced, hand going to the back of his neck. He squinted blearily up at Clint, who was standing over him with his arms folded. "Hey. Uh, what's going on? Are we here?"

"Almost. We gotta move."

"Sure. Okay," Scott muttered, fumbling with the catch on his restraints. He got to his feet, yawning and stretching his arms over his head.

"Lead the way," Wanda said, handing Clint his duffle. She had Scott's backpack slung over her shoulder, the other two bags clutched in her left hand. Clint took hold of Scott's wrist, propelling him into motion. Once the three of them were outside, Clint punch in the lock code, sealing the Quinjet up tight.

The van was idling a few feet away. Clint swung the side door open. They tossed the luggage inside, and Scott followed right behind, sprawling across the bench on his back and flinging an arm over his face to shield his eyes from the steadily increasing daylight.

"Guess I get shotgun," Wanda quipped, reaching for the door handle.

"Guess we need coffee," Clint replied, rounding the front of the van.

"Oh, yes please," she agreed.

It seemed like they were on a main road, so Clint followed it until they spotted a café. He bought a map at the newsstand across the street, passing it off to Wanda before heading inside to grab coffee and breakfast sandwiches for the three of them.

Setting the cardboard to-go tray on the centre console, Clint asked "Figure out a route yet?"

"I think so," Wanda replied. "If we turn left at the end of the next block, the A7 is just ahead. We should be able to follow the road signs to Leipzig from there."

"Nice work. Here," Clint handed her one of the cups. "Black, two sugars."

"You remembered." Wanda smiled fondly, cradling the cup between her palms.

"'Course I did."

"Oh hey. Is that coffee?" The bench creaked as Scott sat up. Clint fished one of the sandwiches out of the tray and tossed it to him. The paper packet hit him in the chest and landed in his lap.

"Hope you like bacon."

"Duh," he replied, already peeling the wrapper open.

Clint finished his own sandwich in about three bites and pulled back out onto the street, following Wanda's directions. He could see Scott in the rearview mirror, lying back on the bench once again, coffee untouched.

"So, Scott." There was an answering grunt. Still awake, then. "You maybe want to know what you're doing here?"

"That'd be nice."

Clint filled both of them in on everything Cap had told him. Bucky. The 'shrink'. Siberia. Wanda had a lot of questions about Bucky, most of which Clint wasn't able to answer. Cap hadn't said much about him other than he found him, and he'd been framed in order to gain access to the rest of the Winter Soldier program.

This was apparently where they lost Scott, because he was snoring again. Wanda had to shake him awake when they got to the Leipzig-Mette exit and make him chug his now cold coffee. Cap was going to love this. Clint really, really hoped Sam knew what he was doing with this guy.

#fiction tag #mcu #avengers 3.0 series

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yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy · 7 years

Text

For Better or Worse ch 3

In which Pryna and Umbra finally find Luna and deliver a message from Noctis. And in which Nyx had no idea he was traveling with the Oracle and finally puts things together.

Warning- lots of cursing. like, a lot a lot.

AO3

For Better or Worse

Chapter 3

Luna left the tent first to go to the bathroom to find Pryna and Umbra sitting and waiting patiently just outside of the tent. Luna gasped as she fell to the ground as both dogs jumped and whined as they licked her, their tails wagging so hard in excitement that their whole bodies wagged in turn.

Nyx, startled, appeared in the doorway of the tent, his kukris in his hands before Luna stopped him.

“Nyx! It’s ok, these are my dogs,” Luna explained as she got up on her knees to hug and pet them as she cooed at them like they were still babies.

“How did they find us?” Nyx asked as he relaxed and sat on his haunches and watched the interaction in appreciation.

“They’re divine messengers,” Luna informed him before the dogs turned from her to Nyx.

“Nyx, meet Umbra and Pryna,” Luna introduced as they dogs came closer to him, sniffing him curiously before Nyx gently pet them.

“Umbra, Pryna, meet Nyx Ulric, he’s been guarding me and protecting me since I came to Insomnia, he’s a Kingsglaive, the best one they had.” Luna boasted before Umbra turned and showed her the red notebook on his back.

“Have a message from Noctis?” Luna asked as she took it and opened it to find the last message written in it.

Luna’s face fell as her features began to darken. She used the pen from the Journal and wrote a message back to Noctis.

“What is it?” Nyx asked curiously as he sat down and continued to pet both dogs.

“It’s been reported that not only has Insomnia fallen and been mostly destroyed, all members of the Kingsglaive are dead, King Regis has died and that so have I.” Luna answered as she wrote down a response. “I must inform Noctis that I’m alive and well thanks to you and what my current situation is, that we make our way to Altissia. Noctis is on his way by car to Altissia as well, he’ll get there way before I do.” Luna sighed heavily as she quickly wrote down her response, using her thigh as a writing surface as both dogs laid down on either side of her. She would periodically pet them in between writing. She then wrote down something else on a separate sheet of paper and ripped it out of the notebook before folding it up and putting it underneath the green sash of Pryna’s right front paw.

“Pryna, go to Ravus and deliver this message, be a good, brave girl. I’ve tried to reach out to Ravus in dreams but he believes me dead too. This message should allay his fears and not to worry I’ve got the best protector with me.” Luna instructed Pryna before she hugged her beloved dog and kissed Pryna’s head.

“Umbra, return to Noctis and his friends, tell him I’m coming to Altissia and to wait for me there. Ok, be a good boy, don’t worry about me, I’ve got Nyx, the last and best Kingsglaive.” Luna instructed Umbra before both dogs left her, going in two separate directions before disappearing completely behind dunes.

“Wait, you’ve done what now?” Nyx asked, catching key details in her instructions.

“What?” Luna asked, confused as to what Nyx was obviously confused about.

“You’ve reached out to Ravus, in dreams? You can do that?” Nyx asked, not believing his ears.

“Why yes, that’s part of my abilities as the Oracle, I have prophetic dreams and visions, I commune with the Astrals, I’m the Healer, wait did you not know this?” Luna asked, taken by surprise by Nyx’s lack of knowledge about this part of her identity. “I’ve been the Oracle and Healer for the last nine, almost ten years, I am the youngest Oracle and Healer in history. I have healed thousands of people from star-scourge from all over the world. How, how did you not know this? Was it not announced when I came to Insomnia?” Luna asked.

“No, I watched the news, not one word was ever said about any of this, not even my captain told me, you’ve always been referred to as Princess of Tenebrae.” Nyx explained.

“Huh,” Luna replied. Surprised that for once, her reputation as the Oracle and Healer had not preceded her. She began to worry that Nyx would treat her differently once again, now that he knew who and what she was.

Nyx was quiet as he considered this new knowledge before something came to his realization.

“Have you ever healed me?” Nyx asked.

“Yes,” Luna confirmed with a nod.

“Without me knowing?” Nyx prodded as his eyes narrowed just a little.

“Well, you were asleep, yes, that one time you hurt your ankle climbing down that one hill, I asked you about it and you dismissed my concerns and I just thought you wanted to preserve your ‘tough guy’ persona. Wait, you had no idea I healed you? Did you think it was a coincidence that you never sustained any injury, not even a blister this whole time? You never said ‘thank you’ because you honestly didn’t know?” Luna questioned.

“Because you never told me,” Nyx defended.

“Well I’m telling you now,” Luna retorted as she grabbed the small trowel and toilet paper to finally relieve herself. But when she got back she could see that Nyx was still in deep thought.

“What?” Luna asked, wondering what was on his mind.

“You said...that you reached out to your brother in your dreams. Have you ever reached out to me in mine?” Nyx asked as he fixed her with a look that sent a chill up her spine but not in anyway that she found welcoming. She felt her heart rate steadily incline as anxiety seemed to grab hold of her chest.

“Yes,” Luna answered honestly.

“What did you see?” Nyx questioned evenly.

“Um, in the beginning of our journey, I saw...Galahd, and your friends, Crowe and Libertous, you were hanging out in a bar of some kind and then I saw your sister, Selena, when she was a young girl, playing with her doll, it was a cherished little thing, it had this pretty blue floral print dress and brown hair. I saw your mother and father as you ate dinner as a family. It was...really wonderful.” Luna told him as her eyes started to mist at the emotional memory. She looked down to avoid his gaze so she could explain why she had done it. “After Niflheim took Tenebrae, Ravus was never the same and would never have a private dinner with me, just the two of us. Niflheim made it’s presence known, always. It kept us in it’s iron grip. Even before then, all meals were in the formal dining room. A private family meal was not something I was familiar with. A fairy-tale to be read about in books but never to be experienced.” Luna explained as her head dropped and tears blurred her vision. She cleared the thickness in her throat as she tried to keep from crying.

“And...recently...you’ve been fearful, for me and my future.” Luna alluded to, not wanting to admit to all the sex she not only watched but took an active part in. She had never really considered how invasive it all was until she was confessing to it out loud.

“You’ve been kind to me, I wanted to return that kindness the best way I knew how.” Luna shrugged before finally looking up at him. In his eyes she saw this hint of sadness but mostly, of anger. He was angry with her.

“Don’t do it ever again. Waltzing into someone’s dreams without their knowledge or permission is a huge act of disrespect for someone’s boundaries, especially their privacy. And don’t heal me unless I ask for it.” Nyx warned her as he clenched his jaw and his hands at his side.

“Understood,” Luna nodded as she bit her bottom lip. “I’m sorry,” She apologized.

“Not as sorry as I am,” Nyx bit out as he started to take down the tent.

They walked the night in silence before reaching their next stopping point. Nyx used his own cloak to set up his own private tent again. He was avoiding her again and she couldn’t fault him for it. She had been trying all night to put herself in his shoes and concluded that she would be acting and reacting the same way he was.

“To be fair, I have shown you my home growing up, shown you what Ravus was like when he was younger, what my mother was like, when she was alive, even what Pryna and Umbra were like as puppies. And I’ve tried showing you a future you’ve fought so hard for. You may not remember them. But, that didn’t mean they never happened. I healed you and chased your nightmares away because I care about you and you have been my friend. And if I haven’t fucked things up permanently, I hope we can still be friends, when all of this is over.” Luna protested softly before she retreated back into her own tent to sleep the day away, staying her respectful distance. She dreamed she was back home again, in the field of sylleblossoms by her home. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the scent of the blooms.

“So this is Tenebrae?” Nyx asked as he stood behind her.

“Nyx? What are you doing here?” Luna asked as she turned her head to consider him.

“Apparently we’ve shared dreams so much that there’s this door from mine into yours.” Nyx said as he gestured to a door in the middle of the field.

“Sorry,” Luna apologized again. “Hey, I’m not mad anymore, it’s ok, I forgive you.” Nyx assured her as he came closer to her.

Luna looked up into his face to consider him carefully before believing him.

“Would you like a tour?” Luna asked as she gestured around.

“Sure,” Nyx agreed as he held out his hand to help her to her feet. “Is that what you wear at home?” Nyx asked as he looked over her simple white dress with the lace sleeve.

“Yes, most of my outfits are usually white,” Luna explained as she began to walk toward her home.

“So this is your home? This gigantic palace?” Nyx asked.

“Yes, quite the gilded cage isn’t it?” Luna said bitter-sweetly.

“I keep forgetting that, sorry,” Nyx apologized.

“Everyone does,” Luna shrugged as she found the entrance. She took the elevator up to the first floor and began giving Nyx a proper tour of her home.

“And lastly this is my bedroom. The last time I saw this, Ravus had locked me in here before we left for Insomnia.” Luna told him as she approached a vase full of sylleblossoms on one of the tables near by.

“What kind of brother would do that?” Nyx asked as he looked the room over.

“My kind apparently,” Luna answered sadly as she looked over the room again.

“At least there’s lots of windows.” Nyx pointed out as he noticed most of the walls were made up of windows.

“I love natural light.” Luna said as she looked them over fondly.

“There’s no TV,” Nyx noted.

“No, no TV, all that ever was on was either mind numbing cartoons, “news” that only put the Empire in the best possible light, occasionally a nature show and the weather. Books were infinitely better. No phone because who could I call? Better yet, I couldn’t have a cell phone either because it was just something else the Empire could rifle through and use to spy on me. No computers, no internet either. Very...strict.” Luna sighed.

“Harsh,” Nyx grimaced.

“Eh, I guess I’ll never know what I missed.” Luna shrugged.

“That’s quite the bed.” Nyx noted, changing the subject.

“It is, wanna jump on it?” Luna asked as she pulled her heels off. “I was never really allowed to jump on my own bed growing up, but hey, in the dream world, I can do whatever I want.” Luna said as she climbed up and started jumping.

“You’re a dork.” Nyx laughed as he walked over to the bed to at least take his shoes off and jump with her.

“Hey,” Luna protested before she grabbed one of her pillows and threw it at his face.

“Don’t start nothin you can’t finish Princess,” Nyx warned.

Luna stuck her tongue out before picking up two more pillows. It was on.

“Hi-ya!” Luna said as she hit him over the head with a pillow.

“Oof!” Nyx said as she may have hit him harder than he was expecting.

“Sorry! Sorry! Too hard?” Luna said as she tried not to laugh too hard.

“Nope,” Nyx said as he retaliated in kind and swiped at her but she dodged his assault with ease and instead swung her pillow at his legs. But he jumped to evade her attack in turn.

The pillow fight ensued with both of them laughing so hard it was getting hard to breathe. Luna had him in her sights and took another swing before he warped just outside of her reach.

“You cheater!” Luna accused before she got an evil idea herself.

She started to run toward the wall and changed her own gravity so that she was now running up the wall next to him.

“You cheater! How are you doing that?” Nyx demanded.

“How do you do that one thing where you’re one place and then you’re somewhere else?” Luna posed as she stood defiantly out of his reach.

“Warp, it’s called warping,” Nyx informed her.

“Yeah, that thing,” Luna said as she continued to walk around the wall casually.

“It’s a magical art that was given to me by King Regis, I usually throw my kukris and warp wherever it lands.” Nyx surmised.

“Well this is the land of dreams, anything is possible, show me,” Luna invited as she bounced off the wall to float down and stand in front of him.

“Uh, ok, I can try,” Nyx shrugged. “Here, hold onto me,” Nyx invited as he opened his arms out wide.

“Ok,” Luna said as she stepped into his embrace. Nyx took a deep breath and pulled one of his kukris out and threw it to the other side of the room. In a flash they both reappeared on the other side of the room.

Luna couldn’t help but fall to her knees and turned so that she didn’t throw up on his feet. “Fuck that’s intense.” Luna said as she wiped her mouth and found her feet again.

“Yeah, even most guys in the Glaive didn’t love it and only did it when they needed to.” Nyx explained.

“Yeah, I can see why, I saw you do it, so many times. Did you become to immune to the effects of it? Do you have an iron stomach? God, roller coasters must be so dull for you. Not much can compare to that.” Luna speculated.

“I can’t say I’ve had much experience with roller coasters.” Nyx shrugged.

“Puny mortal, such things are beneath you,” Luna teased in an ultra low voice before giving into another fit of laughter.

“Wow, that sounded...creepy as hell.” Nyx laughed.

“Why? Does it not please you that I can sound so manly?” Luna said as she struck a pose, using the same low voice.

“I have never heard a man talk like that.” Nyx informed her.

“Oh come on, yes you have you’ve just never noticed.” Luna dismissed in her own tone of voice as she went to gather the pillows that had been strewn about the room. She put them on the bed before she turned to notice the room start to fade.

“What’s going on?” Nyx asked as he noticed it too.

“The dream is fading, I’m starting to wake up, you should probably go back to your own dream, waking up from someone else’s dream can be jarring.” Luna said as she walked them to her own bedroom door and opened it, finding Nyx’s dream just on the other side.

“This was fun, thank you,” Luna said as Nyx walked through the doorway and back into his own dream.

“I’ll see you in just a moment,” She reassured him as she shut the door.

Only instead of the dream fading into consciousness, it changed again, she was once more in front of the Astrals.

Nyx woke up in his own tent, the deep sense of calm flooding his system as his shared dream with Luna came into the forefront of his mind. He practically jumped out of bed and immediately went to Luna’s tent only to find her in a trance like state.

“Luna?” Nyx asked as he tried to wake her, but she wouldn’t respond. Her face was contorted into one of pain as sweat poured off of her. Every muscle in her body was tense as her breathing began to labor.

“Luna, wake up!” Nyx said as he shook her shoulders but she would not, instead she started shaking and convulsing slightly.

“Shit, shit, shit! What’s wrong Luna?! I don’t know how to help you,” Nyx said as he gathered her in his arms to hold her close.

“Please let her be ok, Please let her be ok,” Nyx breathed in a prayer to whatever god would hear him. He heard a whine outside of the tent. He laid Luna down carefully as he ventured out to find Umbra looking at him curiously.

“Thank god you’re here, come here,” Nyx said as he pulled the dog into the small tent with him.

“What’s wrong with her?” Nyx asked Umbra.

Umbra licked the sweat off of Luna’s brow and began to whine as it lied down next to her, showing Nyx the notebook on it’s back.

“Can I see? Will this have the answer?” Nyx asked as he pointed to the book. Umbra reached and pulled at the book carefully with his mouth and gently put it into Nyx’s hands and used his nose to lift the front cover before licking at the inscription on the inside page.

Nyx read it in earnest before he began to understand what was going on. She was communing with the Astrals. This was part of her duty as Oracle.

He turned the page to find an inscription from Ravus to Noctis, imploring Noctis to tell Luna to not commune with the Astrals too often since it made her so sick for days after. Ravus had given quite the detailed description of what Luna was like in the waking world as she communed with them and Nyx’s stomach sunk. Poor Ravus has had to watch his sister be subjected to this and couldn’t do anything about it either except for discourage her from doing it often. Nyx tried to read more but the writing disappeared and simply turned to dust on the pages.

“Not meant for my eyes huh?” Nyx gathered as he returned the notebook to it’s place on Umbra’s back.

Umbra’s head laid down next to Luna as it’s eyes closed.

“Ok, you stay here and watch over her, I’ll be right back.” Nyx suggested as he left her tent to gather his own and stretch it wide to make the largest tent yet and enclosed Luna’s tent within it. He pulled Luna’s down and made her a pillow out of some of the excess.

“So now we wait?” Nyx shrugged.

He used some of the excess from Luna’s cloak to make himself a seat so he could sit on the other side of her as he ate and drank. He was going no where while she was like this. He even shared his food and water with Umbra and showed Umbra the Journal that had been Luna and his own entertainment on their journey. He even read softly to Umbra before Umbra got up and moved closer to Nyx so Nyx could pet him.

“Yeah I’m worried too.” Nyx remarked as they watched Luna carefully. “At least she had you when she was growing up huh? Have you been her only way to contact the outside world?” Nyx asked Umbra as he continued to pet the dog. They passed most of the night as Nyx illuminated the tent with the fire in his palm.

Nyx had managed to nod off before Umbra whined to wake him up.

“What? Is she awake?” Nyx asked as he illuminated the tent once more.

Luna was indeed no longer in commune with the Astrals but she was sleeping again.

“Is she going to be ok?” Nyx asked Umbra who left Nyx’s side to lay next to Luna once more. Luna, in her sleep, swung her arm over Umbra and held him close and Umbra himself promptly fell asleep with her.

“Ok, I guess I could go for a nap myself.” Nyx remarked as he moved the padding underneath him around to make himself a little bed to sleep on himself.

He awoke when the sun began to rise and got up and left the tent for a moment to relieve himself and when he came back, Umbra left to do the same before returning to Luna’s side so that Luna was never alone. Nyx shared his breakfast with Umbra again as they continued to wait for Luna to wake up.

Thankfully, not long after that, she did.

“Easy,” Nyx soothed as he crawled to her side and helped support her as she sat up.

“How long was I out?” Luna asked groggily. “Water,” She requested before Nyx simply gave her his cup. She took the cup graciously before she drank from it.

“Ow, my head,” Luna complained as she put her free hand to her head.

“Headache?” Nyx guessed.

“Yeah, it’ll pass.” Luna said as she leaned back into him, needing his support before her nose started to bleed.

“Shit,” Nyx cursed as he reached for the edge of the blanket to bring it to her nose to catch the blood.

“Is this normal for you?” Nyx asked as he held her nose with his free hand.

“Yeah,” Luna nodded slightly as she focused her energy on living through this headache.

“Here, hold this to your nose,” Nyx encouraged as Luna’s had traveled up to his own to hold the blanket to her nose so he could take the cup from her other hand.

“Give me some medicine that will heal Luna’s bloody nose, headache and any other side effects from her communing with the Astrals.” Nyx demanded of the cup. “And let it taste ok so she can drink it,” He added.

Luna smirked on only one side of her mouth before she tried to sit up more to drink whatever elixir the cup had just provided.

She pinched her nose shut as she tilted her head back to drink it as Nyx supported her back as she did so.

Within just a moment or two, her bloody nose stopped and her headache fled her, but she still felt incredibly weak.

“How long was I out?” Luna asked again.

“A good 20 hours or so,” Nyx said as he checked his watch again. “Half of it was you communing with the Astrals the other was you sleeping it off apparently, Umbra and I never left your side.” Nyx informed her.

“Feels it, it’s just going to be tough to travel today,” Luna sighed sadly.

“We don’t have to move today at all, you need to rest and recover from that. Umbra let me read a page or two out of that notebook on his back and what I read was a note from your brother to Noctis to try and persuade Noctis to persuade you to keep from doing that too often. A real serious concern for your health.” Nyx explained.

“It’s my duty...” Luna began to argue.

“Yeah, I get that, I heard it the first time, but your health comes first, you can’t perform your ‘duty’ if you’re sick like this. You’re going to rest and get your health fully restored before you even think of doing that again. I mean it,” Nyx strongly suggested. “The Astrals be damned, they can be more concise if they really need to tell you something.”

Luna was too tired to argue so she simply nodded in agreement as she turned toward him in his arms to lay her head on his chest.

“You should try to eat something,” Nyx encouraged softly.

“I’ll be fine,” Luna tried to dismiss as she sat up fully again. Nyx got her her own cup, bowl and utensil so that she could eat and drink.

“Something soft for your stomach ok?” Nyx suggested.

Luna nodded in agreement and ordered her oatmeal with scrambled eggs and fruit along with water with citrus before a calming tea. After she ate she took the notebook and flipped through it to find Noctis’ short response. She put the notebook back and continued to eat slowly.

She finished eating and started to pack up her things in an effort to get back to traveling.

“What are you doing? We’re not going anywhere, you need to rest some more.” Nyx halted her as he put his hands gently over her own to cease her actions.

“But we need to get to Altissia,” She argued.

“Well get there when we get there, safe, not quick remember?” Nyx gently reminded her.

Umbra started to whine before going to the entrance to the tent and wagged his tail.

“See? Umbra thinks we should go,” Luna countered as she continued to pack up her bed and things.

“Fine,” Nyx groaned as he reluctantly went along with it.

They walked after Umbra, who wasn’t necessarily walking toward Altissia but Nyx wasn’t about to argue.

Umbra started to lead them to a road before he led them to an abandoned building.

“What’s in there?” Luna asked Umbra curiously.

“Let me check it out.” Nyx insisted as he walked with Umbra to check out the building to make sure it was safe. But upon inspection, he didn’t find anyone or really much of anything.

“Why are we here?” Nyx asked Umbra as he returned his kukris’ back to their sheathes.

Umbra took him back into a room and pointed to something covered under a dirty sheet. Nyx took a deep breath and while one hand gripped the handle of one of his kukris, the other went to the edge of the sheet and quickly pulled it off to find a motorcycle with two helmets along with two black, matching motorcycle jackets.

“A faster way to get to Altissia?” Nyx guessed. Umbra jumped and tugged a little on his pack.

“What, you want in here?” Nyx guessed as he took it off and opened it up to Umbra. Umbra took the cup from the pack and tilted the cup towards the fuel tank.

“So if we need fuel, we’ll get it from the cups.” Nyx concluded.

Umbra put the cup back into the pack before jumping up to put his forelegs on Nyx’s shoulders and licked his face.

“Yes I like you too,” Nyx laughed as he pet the dog affectionately and scratched Umbra behind the ears. “Who’s a good boy?” Nyx cooed himself. He liked this dog. Umbra reveled in the attention before sniffing around before he found a small funnel. He picked it up and brought it to Nyx so he could put it in the pack too.

“Good thinking,” Nyx smiled.

“Nyx?” Luna called out from outside.

“Yeah, everything’s ok, come on in.” Nyx answered.

Luna tread carefully through the building before finding Nyx and Umbra in the back room next to a motorcycle.

“Umbra,” Nyx said as he gestured to the dog and then to the motorcycle.

“Well that’s fortuitous.” Luna smiled in relief. Thank goodness for no more walking, she knew she didn’t have it in her to travel too much further that day or even for the next days to come.

“We should use our cups to ask for fuel so we don’t have to stop often, not unless you want to.” Nyx remarked.

“Do you know how to drive one?” Luna asked.

“It’s been a while, do you know how to drive one?” Nyx questioned back.

“No,” Luna shook her head. “No, I’ve never even ridden one, although I have ridden horses and chocobos so I should be ok balance wise.” Luna appraised as she walked over to the bike and inspected the full face motorcycle helmets. She put one on and shook her head slightly to see how snug it was.

“Perhaps, this one will fit you better.” Luna said as she took it off and handed it to Nyx before she tried on the other. “Ah, much better.” Luna smiled as she felt how the helmet fit her snugly yet didn’t crush her head. She took it off before she tried on the jacket, the first, hung off of her frame and was defiantly not her size. Although Nyx thought she looked pretty bad-ass wearing it anyway. Luna shrugged it off and handed it to him before taking the other and putting it on. This one fit her much better.

‘Stop checking her out, stop checking her out.’ Nyx told himself as the look of Luna wearing a leather motorcycle jacket filled his imagination with images of her wearing nothing but. ‘She’s the fucking Oracle, you can’t think of her like that.’ He chastised himself.

“How do I look?” Luna asked as she turned and tried to strike a pose.

“Like a biker chick.” Nyx appraised honestly.

“Awesome,” Luna smiled.

Nyx put on his own helmet and jacket before straddling the bike and walked it carefully out of the back room.

Nyx held the bike up with his feet to balance to let her on.

“Um,” Luna hummed.

“What?” Nyx asked as he glanced at her over his shoulder.

“The pack, it’s um,” Luna tried to explain.

“Here,” Nyx said as he took the pack off so she could put it on.

“Better,” Luna said as she leaned forward to rest a little against him.

“Is it ok if I hold you?” Luna asked as she ghosted her arms around him.

“Do whatever you need to do.” Nyx assured her as he put his hand over hers, holding them to himself. He started the bike up and began to drive toward Altissia. Umbra for his part ran ahead of them before disappearing behind the first hill.

#FFXV #Final Fantasy Kingsglaive #Lunyx #lunafreya nox fleuret #nyx ulric #sweet precious galahdian cinnomon roll #lunyx fanfic

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