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#but yeah. it's very obvious to ANYONE LOOKING that Diana?? is that her name??

scraftyisthebest · 1 month

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Thinking about the Explorers and the relationships between different members in the group, and the characters of the individuals ones we've met so far.

There's clearly a dichotomy between them and the Rising Volt Tacklers about how the Rising Volt Tacklers are a close knit and supportive group of people who take good care of each other and that is their strength, while the Explorers...really don't.

The above image is a very basic showcase of what the closest connections seem to be, but to elaborate a bit.

I think there are a select few characters among this group who are probably the most redeemable and present the clearest foils to the kids of the RVT, namely Liko. Those being Amethio, Coral/Sango, and Sidian/Onyx.

Amethio and Coral in particular don't seem to be inherently evil per se, but in different ways they seem to have underlying insecurities and problems that show themselves a lot, especially in contrast to Liko. Especially in the recent episode where Liko and Coral had a baking showdown. Liko won because she had experience, and notably she had her friends Roy, Dot, and Murdock cheering her on. Meanwhile Coral was alone and had no support, and yet it's clear she was genuinely trying and seemed to want to be recognized as someone who can do something. Sidian doesn't seem to be a particularly bad guy either.

Within the groups Amethio is pretty close with his two grunt subordinates Zirc and Onia while Coral and Sidian are close with each other specifically. Those are the closest they have to friends in their own groups.

Hamber and Chalce (Agate) are probably the closest to being adult figures for certain members of the group. Hamber takes very special care of Amethio, while Chalce is specifically close with Sidian and Coral where she's the one giving them orders and now is posing as a teacher and working with them specifically.

That said, for whatever reason that we don't fully understand, it seems Hamber and Chalce aren't particularly good at being the proper parental figures Amethio, Coral, and Sidian seem to need. Liko, Roy, and Dot are with the RVT and have so far been looked after by a very supportive group of adults in Friede alongside his buddies Orla, Mollie, Murdock, and Ludlow, all of who care about each other and have been great parental figures to the kids throughout their time with them. Diana, Liko's grandmother, also has a good relationship with Liko, which is also a contrast since Diana and Hamber were once friends. Meanwhile Hamber and Chalce are also pretty detached from each other as are the members they care for, the Hamber+Amethio+his goons and Chalce+Coral+Sidian sub-groups don't really like each other very much for whatever reason.

Which definitely raises some interesting questions about the dichotomy and contrast that seems to be presenting itself. Hamber and Chalce are admittedly interesting in different ways as they're the closest to being like the RVT adults in that they are serving a guardian role for certain other members but evidently aren't the adult figures Amethio and Coral truly need, or the support network they seem to need.

---

And yeah, Spinel is there on the right all by himself. I think it's quite obvious what his deal is. He does not care about anyone else in the group. He openly dislikes Amethio and admits to using Coral, Sidian, and Chalce for his own self-gain. He only cares about himself, and he's setting up to be the traitor and a big bad himself who's sucking up to Gibeon for the time being, but fully intends to backstab the group and try to overthrow Gibeon once they all stop being useful to him. He's the most straightforward purely evil villain character like Hunter J from DP.

A long ass ramble but some interesting notes I felt were fun to speculate about.

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clarafyer · 19 days

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This is gonna be a long vent post so uh yeah

Cw: Detailed description of a shutdown/meltdown

So a few hours ago during the last period of school I had a big shutdown that turned into a meltdown the second the dean asked "Are you done with your work?" (I do my English mainly in the dean's office since she helps 504 kids and my classmates are horrible in English)

Our last unit of the year is a podcast unit. I finally finished the first recording assignment the other day, one that was like 2 weeks late but only a few days late with my 200% time accommodation, and now I have one thing to do. One thing out of all of my classes at the moment. It's another podcast, and is normally due tomorrow. We've had 2 weeks so far to work on it and I haven't even finished the planning sheet because EVERY TIME I LOOK AT THE FUCKING DOCUMENT I JUST SHUT DOWN AND SIT THERE FOR THE ENTIRE HOUR.

The past few days, it's made me cry silently and unmoving in my seat. The dean didn't notice until today, and the shut down turned into a melt down right when she didn't even ask if I was okay, she asked if I finished my work. I was hyperventilating and trying my best to be as quiet as I could as to not be a burden upon the rest of the front office area. I wanted to punch the chromebook, to scream at the top of my lungs, to tear my hair out. But no, I just sat there hyperventilating and sniffling, hunched over the table, apologizing for no reason.

Well, I was apologizing for being a loud mess and not listening to her on how I could write the introduction because naming Princess Diana's charities in the very introduction would be way too obvious (the podcast is Imagined Life, you go through the life of a celebrity, describing it in the second person and only revealing who it is at the end)

I still have the same straight As that I've had all year, but if I don't finish this fucking unit that I hate so much, then my English grade is gonna drop so low because each podcast project is almost 100 points each and is put into the test category on Skyward (tests are worth 30-something% of the full grade.) I don't want to do this unit, I hate it so much and I can't muster up anything to progress on it.

When she would tell me to type it up, I could barely even do the function, I wasn't able to do any of the tasks I had to do the entire period. All I could do was just reach my hand out to the keyboard and then just pull it right back to my face.

I felt so fucking guilty and ashamed for not doing anything, I know I was rendered useless and had to cope and get away from the problem, but I felt like I couldn't do that, I couldn't do that, otherwise I'd be lazy and stubborn and a cry-baby and just having a big temper tantrum.

I remember it so vividly and I think that was one of the worst I've ever had.

I hate this

I hate being like this

I hate masking

I hate unmasking too

What went wrong this year? I thought I was doing great, only a few late assignments before I got my 504, so few meltdowns compared to the last few years, I finally started figuring out why my brain is how it is

That was where it went wrong. I started advocating for an autism diagnosis and when I got evaluated by the school, they said I missed the communication category and legally didn't qualify for autism-related accommodations. Sure, they said I still was totally likely to be medically diagnosed positive, but all the doubt, all the questioning, all the impostor syndrome, all of EVERYTHING is where this year went wrong.

I don't want to write anymore so if you read all of this, thank you. I don't care if anyone interacts or not, but I really needed to vent and connect with the rest of the autistic community. I can't wait for this school year to be over.

#autism #adhd #audhd #autistic community #actually autistic #autism spectrum disorder #actually autism #adhd rant #adhd problems #actually adhd #audhd problems #actually audhd #meltdown #shutdown #autism vent #vent #vent post

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charming-charlie · 3 years

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The Compliment Game

Title // The Compliment Game

Pairing // Evan Buckley x Reader

Warnings // Light amount of cussing. Some cute fluff and a bit of spice at the end.

Summary // Buck poses as your fake boyfriend at a friend’s birthday party.

Word Count // 3k

You stared at the invitation before you, trying to hold back a laugh. Having just got the mail, you found a pink envelope mixed in with your bills. The envelope had elegant script and for a moment, you thought you were invited to a wedding. Upon opening the envelope and pulling out the card, your suspicions still stood in place. Glitter fell to the floor and the invitation was written in such a beautiful script, except it was not for a wedding at all. It was for a birthday party. Your childhood friend Viola’s birthday party.

The invitation included a dress code, which basically stated prom attire. Yeah, fat chance of that happening. There was also a list on the back of the invitation with appropriate albeit expensive gifts to buy for the birthday girl. Cool, so money it is!

The invite was definitely in line with Viola’s personality. The two of you were supposedly childhood best friends, and as you grew up, you realized that Viola was a bit of an embellisher. She told the most insane stories, some you knew to be completely fake since you were there when certain events happened. It was like she always had this need to one up everyone she met.

The two of you barely talk now since you distanced yourself from her, but honestly, she was still your friend. However, since Viola liked to embellish, who says you couldn’t either? Why not one up the birthday girl at her own birthday? Maybe she needed a healthy dose of her own medicine.

The wheels were turning as you grabbed your phone and scrolled through your contacts before landing on Evan Buckley’s name. He was, in all honestly, the hottest man you knew. While he was only a recent friend, he was the best option for what you had in mind.

You called him, hearing the phone ring a few times.

“What a coincidence,” Buck said when he answered the phone, “I was just talking about you.”

You were surprised that you were on his mind, especially in the middle of the day. You were sure he was at work too, which only seemed to excite the butterflies in your stomach.

“Hey,” you said, unable to hide your growing smile, “I got an invite to a birthday party. Want to go with me as my fake boyfriend?”

“Whoa,” you heard Buck say on the other line and you could just sense the confused expression he had on his face, “wait, what?”

You stared at the invitation, knowing full well that this would be the perfect event to have a little fun and maybe put Viola in her place. However, you took what few precious minutes you had on the phone with Buck to explain everything. You talked about your friendship with your friend, and how she just continued to make up her entire life story in order to appear interesting. It was either that or for attention, you weren’t sure which one.

“Basically, I just want to show off the hottest guy I know, so are you in or what?” you finished. You were out of breath from rambling quickly to share your story. You never knew when the alarm bell was going to go off because of a fire or something.

“And you thought of me? I’m touched. Sure, I’ll do it. But you owe me a beer,” Buck said. You could practically hear him grinning on the other side of the phone. “I’ll pick you up after my shift. Say, eight?”

You agreed and the two of you hung up.

This was perfect. Now the party would be very interesting. Who knew what was going to happen?

The hours ticked by and you were dressed. You texted Buck your address and waited for him to show up. He knocked on the door and you truly felt giddy and nearly pranced to the door in excitement. You weren’t looking forward to the party at first, but spending time with Buck? That was clearly a game changer.

Having relayed the dress code to the firefighter beforehand, you were in awe of his outfit choice. Buck was sporting a casual black suit. It wasn’t the fanciest of outfits but that didn’t matter. He looked like a stunner. It was nice seeing him out of his usual fire uniform or regular t-shirts. You could tell he put effort into his appearance for the night.

You, on the other hand, took a page right out of Princess Diana’s playbook. You wore a black dress, your favorite LBD, with some strappy heels. It was your own revenge dress, and you knew it wouldn’t exactly fit in line with the dress code of the night, but did you really care?

You were only going to support your childhood friend and nothing else. You had a card for her with some cash and that was it. You were going to make nice and leave when the cake was cut. That was called being a good friend, you at least showed up to the events you were invited to.

Viola’s parents owned a ranch and she lived in a house on her parent’s property. The drive was smooth, with you and Buck jamming to 80’s tunes and timing the red lights. He was such a charmer, just like he was the day you met him.

There were a few cars when you arrived, and Buck easily parked along the rocky path. Both of you got out and made your way to the front door. Being polite, you knocked.

The door opened instantly, almost like someone was literally waiting on the other side.

Viola appeared and your eyes almost popped out of your head. Apparently the “elegant prom” theme was still ongoing, since she wore a floor-length white gown. It looked like a cross between a prom dress and a wedding dress. Your eyes caught Buck’s, who was standing next to you. He looked horrified. Perhaps he was just now realizing your over exaggerations were not over exaggerations.

His mouth fell to the floor, not from awe, but from shock. The birthday girl cascaded along the floor. Her hair was done up in an elaborate bun and she wore a crown. Not a cute little tiara, but a full blown one thousand gems kind of crown. The kind of crown that was obviously from a costume store, since you knew Viola wasn’t fabulously wealthy like she pretended to be and there was no way she would be able to afford the same jewels as Queen Elizabeth.

“Oh, who is this?” Viola asked you when she saw Buck. No hello. No how are you. She just immediately noticed the eye candy on your arm with absolutely no regard for you, her supposed best friend.

You had to give the firefighter some credit. He cleaned up very well. He sported a business casual suit, not at all falling in line with whatever prom theme that was happening. Then again, you did not either with your little black dress.

“This is Evan Buckley,” you said, trying to put on the best sincere smile that you could muster, “my boyfriend. Happy birthday, Viola.”

Your best friend (although, let us be honest, that is a bit of a stretch at this point), did not seem convinced nor did she thank you for the nice birthday message. Instead, she turned her sights onto the man next to you, and you felt a small hole in your heart forming. If Viola went after Buck… it would not be pretty.

“Boyfriend, huh? What do you do?” Viola asked as she extended out a hand, and you cringed when you saw the white corsage that sat on her wrist.

Buck, being as polite as ever, shook her hand and kept his smile. “I’m a firefighter with the LAFD.”

“What a coincidence!” Viola said with a smile, “My boyfriend works for the LAPD. Maybe you know each other.”

Buck was catching on and there was a sort of twinkle in his eyes as he looked at the birthday girl. “I have friends in the LAPD. What’s his name? Maybe I know him.”

The fact that Buck was pressing for more information caught Viola off guard. She acted busy, acted like someone was calling her name, but you didn’t hear anyone. “Oh, that’s for me. I’ll talk to you guys later, yeah?” she sauntered off quickly, almost like she was rushing away as fast as she could so that you didn’t have a chance to call her back.

Buck turned to look at you with a quizzical expression as if to say, what the hell was that? You only shrugged your shoulders and whispered that Viola doesn’t have a boyfriend, ending the statement with a blatantly obvious eye roll.

The two of you made your way into the house where the party was in swing. No one else looked like Viola, no one else sported fancy gowns or black tie suits. In fact, a few of the party guests were wearing jeans. That must’ve been a highlight in the tea drinking gossip Viola was probably spewing in the corner with some other friends. Is it time to leave yet?

You led Buck outside to the fenced in backyard. There were a few guests here and there, but it wasn’t a massive turnout. Both of you sat on a wrought iron garden bench, away from most of the crowd. It was kind of nice to be there at the party but not really participating or engaging in small talk with the other guests.

“You know,” Buck broke the silence with a smile, “being your fake boyfriend is a lot of work.”

You rolled your eyes and turned to look at him, returning the smile. “You only agreed once I said you were the hottest person I know.”

“Listen, that’s a compliment I don’t hear often,” Buck sat back along the bench, keeping his eyes on you.

“Should I keep them coming?” you asked, and it surprised you that there was a little bit of a tease to your voice. You never noticed that before.

“How about this? You compliment me, I compliment you. I feel that is only fair,” Buck responded.

It took a moment for you to forget that you were actually at a birthday party for someone else. In this moment, on this bench, everything around you seemed to fade into the background.

“I like your suit.”

“I like your dress.”

Okay, starting out kind of simple here but it did make you smile. You thought you wore the dress to impress Viola. Maybe you wore the dress to impress him? Did your subconscious plan that?

“You are very good at your job,” you responded.

His eyes were alight and there was that twinkle again. You could stare into his eyes forever, they were stunning, just like everything else about him.

“Not exactly a compliment, you haven’t seen what I can do,” Buck said with a smirk. That was when he pulled the move. The fake-stretch put-an-arm-around-you move. What in the fresh hell was that? Because, and this is what shocked you the most, it actually worked on you.

“You’re beautiful,” Buck said.

Fuck, he won the compliment game. Your face flushed, fast and hard, creeping down to your neck and down your spine. You had to look away from him, and you heard him laugh when you did.

You didn’t get to enjoy the moment for long because you heard Viola approaching the two of you, with some minions behind her. You looked at her. Her white dress was absolutely blinding in the fading sunlight and you squinted just to see straight.

Buck stood up to greet her and you did the same, smiling politely at her.

“Sorry about that. Being the birthday girl means never ending attention. Anyway, Y/N didn’t tell me she had a boyfriend. How did you two meet?” Viola said. There was a sudden look in her eyes, and you knew. You knew she was catching on, pulling on loose threads to see what would unravel.

You felt Buck slip his hand in your own and he didn’t miss a beat. “Y/N locked her keys in her car. I just happened to be driving by.”

That was the truth. That was literally how the two of you met. If fate were a thing, you would swear that was how you guys met, through some act of divine fate. But you remained quiet.

“Forgive me, but I’m having a hard time believing this. If you are really Y/N’s boyfriend, then kiss her,” Viola said. She seemed to be smirking, like she trapped you and Buck in a corner, like it was a big reveal that your relationship with Buck was fake.

Buck inhaled deeply, like he needed to calm down a bit. His hand gripped yours tightly, but you could feel that it was tensing up. Thank god for that, because you didn’t know how he would react if you didn’t keep him grounded and firmly planted next to you.

“Y/N,” Buck said, and your head snapped to his attention. He was looking at you. Once your eyes fell into his line of sight, he swooped in. His free hand went to the side of your face, caressing the soft skin of your cheek. His lips landed on yours, moving delicately, gently. You were not in control of your body as you felt yourself pushing into Buck’s muscular physique. When he pulled away, your lips quite literally pulled down into a frown. You didn’t want the kiss to end, and it showed.

Once the environment came back into view and you were aware of your surroundings, you quickly fixed your expression and turned to look at Viola, who looked slumped and defeated in her white gown. Perhaps she truly felt she was going to win the game you and Buck were playing, and she wasn’t prepared for the outcome.

“Is that enough proof or do you need more?” Buck quickly looked at Viola, and he didn’t look very happy. Viola got the hint. She disappeared as fast as she arrived, with her entourage scattering in different directions. Once she and her friends were gone, Buck turned to you and said, “I don’t like that girl.”

You were still in a bit of a fog from the kiss, and you could feel your lips tingling for more. The sensation would not go away.

Eventually, much to your chagrin, it hit you. The moment was over, you proved your point. No need in keeping things going. You did your job, made your appearance with a devilishly delicious man on your arm, and now you can go home and leave Buck alone. He probably was not thrilled with the outcome of events, given the look on his face.

“I think it’s time to put an end to the fake boyfriend thing,” you said with a frown as you looked at him.

There was something new to his expression, an unconvinced look as he shook his head. “Maybe I want to be the real thing someday.”

Was this playful banter or was he serious?

“That would require going on a real date,” you said. You grabbed him by the arm, keeping up with appearances as the two of you walked to the gate in the fence. You unlatched the opening and watched the gate swing open.

“So ask me.”

You stared at him in confusion as the two of you slowly walked toward the car. It was starting to get interesting again.

“Ask you what?” you replied.

“Ask me out,” he said suddenly, not missing a moment.

Your heart was erratic at this point, and you let go of his arm now that the two of you were away from the party.

“Dearest Evan Buckley, would you do me the absolute pleasure of going on a date with me?” you said sarcastically.

He wasn’t playing games anymore. Without a warning, he had you pinned against the car, leaving very little wiggle room. Your body pressed along the passenger side door, and you felt his hands rub against your waist. You were facing him, and you wished you weren’t. Looking at that incredibly handsome face was becoming a weakness. Your knees shook as you tried to steady yourself.

He leaned in and whispered in a soft voice. “Try again.”

You felt his hot breath against your ear as he kissed the sensitive spot under your earlobe. An explosion of tingles erupted throughout your body as his lips brushed against your weak spot.

“What are you doing?” you asked quietly. Any louder and you were afraid how shaky and trembling your voice would sound. First, he won the compliment game, now he was winning whatever this was.

“Ask again,” Buck whispered in your ear.

One of your arms ran up his, and fuck, that was a mistake. The bulging muscles were almost too much for you to bare.

“Will you go out with me?” you whispered.

You felt his lips leave a trail from your neck, across your jawline, ending with a sweet peck against your lips as he smiled.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said as he opened the car door behind you, “Let’s go get that beer.”

It was easy to slide into the car since you were already a puddle of goo. Your whole body was on fire just from his touch. Buck walked around the car and entered the driver’s side. He turned the key in the ignition and the car roared to life. His hand reached for yours and you accepted it instantly.

How in the world did the evening turn out like this? And where in the world was it going to go? You could only wonder as Buck began driving. Inviting him to a party as your fake boyfriend was the best decision you ever made, and you couldn’t wait to see what else was in store tonight.

#evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley x you #Buck #buck x reader #buck x you #9-1-1 #9-1-1 on fox #9-1-1 fic #oliver stark

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buckstaposition · 3 years

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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)

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#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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squiddybeifong · 3 years

Text

Not-Quite Couples Therapy, Chapter 4

On Ao3 here!

Raven had sat in her car until the very last possible second, her head in her hands. Hoping that simply tearing up wouldn’t make her eyes too red, the goth begrudgingly made her way into the building. She hesitated at the sight of the stairwell’s door and opted to take the elevator again, resting against the metal railing as she watched the ‘Level 5’ button light up under the press of her finger.

Donna and Dr. Quinzel were greeting each other in the hallway when the elevator’s shrill ding! rang in the air. Raven sheepishly waved at them as she walked up, fiddling with her rings and ignoring the slight furrow in Donna’s brow as the three entered the office.

The psychiatrist gave a small smile as she sat in her armchair and crossed her legs, watching as Raven and Donna sat in their usual spots. Blue eyes looked over the couple, deciding that the harrowed look in Raven’s eyes and the tension in her shoulders should be the first thing to address. “How’s everything been going, you two?”

Dr. Quinzel briefly met Raven’s gaze, “We could talk about the obvious elephant in the room?” Her voice took on a lilt at the end, the therapist obviously not wanting to upset her before the session could really begin.

Donna leaned back in the loveseat, glad that she wasn’t going to be the first one to be analyzed as Raven softly deadpanned, “You mean my father.”

The blonde considered the emotions that the goth kept hidden just below the surface, her smile softening into something that was both professional and maternal as she saw how terrified Raven was at where the conversation was going. Dr. Quinzel’s answer came out as a sigh, “Yes, if you’d like to talk about him.”

Blue eyes flicked to Donna for just a second, “And how this has been affecting your relationship.”

Donna moved to play with one of her numerous bracelets, twisting one of the plastic ones around her wrist as the whir of the air conditioning filled the office. Raven, biting the inside of her cheek, fought the urge to let out a sigh at the psychiatrist’s words.

Her voice quiet, the goth admitted, “It has been straining some of my relationships, actually.”

Gray eyes flicked to Donna for the briefest of moments, Raven’s gaze settling in her lap as she intertwined her fingers and squeezed until the pads of her fingers turned white with pressure. “Kori --she’s my best friend, she hasn’t been sleeping right since the manhunt started.” Dr. Quinzel silently made note of the way Raven’s voice cracked at the word ‘manhunt’ but she didn’t speak up about it, something that the goth was eternally grateful for.

Taking in a breath through her nose, Raven closed her eyes and continued, “I don’t really tell people my last name anyway, but some of those who know… they’ve been avoiding me.” With her face facing her lap, Raven didn’t see the way Donna’s face hardened at the revelation, her fingers pinching the thin plastic of her bracelets, just barely remembering not to let them snap in the air. A shaky sigh slipped out of the goth as she fiddled with her rings, “The library doesn’t even want me helping out the kids until he’s caught.”

“That’s awful,” Dr. Quinzel gently spoke. She didn’t look at her notes as she wrote down her observations, her gaze continually going to the expected mishmash of emotions that crossed Donna’s painfully obvious features. The rock climber certainly understood why Raven was being pushed out, perhaps a sizable part of her even wanted to join the crowd in their exclusion, but there was something concerned and protective in Donna’s face that needed to be addressed if the couple was to get through the session.

Dr. Quinzel chewed the end of her pen, knowing where she wanted to take the conversation, “But Raven, I need to ask you something.” The goth looked up, an almost expectant glimmer of emotion that came in the dark circles around her eyes. She obviously hadn’t been sleeping properly, but the psychiatrist was struck with the understanding that Raven fully expected to be attached to her father’s decisions, no matter how badly she didn’t want to be.

“You do know that nothing he does is your fault, correct?” The blonde kept an eye on Donna as Raven sat on her hands, “We can’t control others’ actions, just our own. And from what I’m seeing, you seem to want nothing to do with him. I won’t fault you for that, Raven.”

Donna softly tilted her head, crossing her arms as she added, “And I won’t either.”

Raven’s head whipped to the side so fast Dr. Quinzel worried that she gave herself whiplash. Obviously not expecting Donna to be on her side, the goth tried to play off her surprise, tucking the wayward strands of hair back behind her ear. She inadvertently shrunk back half an inch when Donna met her stare head-on, the rock climber’s voice dropping low as she tersely added, “But that doesn’t mean I’m not fucking horrified that Dick thought to set us up.”

Raven’s face hardened and a retort was on her lips when Dr. Quinzel interrupted; aiming a reassuring smile the couple’s way, she rolled with the change in topic, “Yes, it’s out in the open. Donna, you know what Raven’s father has done, but his actions are his own. Raven has nothing to do with it, so how does that make you feel?”

“I just don’t know why Dick set us up, then.” Donna stretched her bracelet around her wrist over and over again, the repetition in both her words and her fingers’ movements just barely keeping her leg from bouncing as wildly as she wanted.

Her brows furrowed, “I have expectations. For myself and for who I keep in my life. I don’t know why he’d think I wanted to be with the daughter of a fucking druglord.” Raven winced at the venom in her date’s voice and ran a hand through her hair. Her voice was quiet and resigned when she spoke, turning her head to the fern painting as she repeated her claim from their last session, “We don’t even know each other.”

Donna clicked her tongue and fought back a scoff, “We don’t.”

Dr. Quinzel let out a knowing hum, professional experience knowing how close they were to getting a bit too personal. She clicked her pen and gently redirected the conversation, “Well, we could always come back to the topic later on.”

Raven crossed her legs and leaned against the loveseat’s arm, none of the tension leaving even as she stared at the fern’s brushstrokes. Dr. Quinzel once again worried that she’d gnaw a hole through her cheek but leaned back in her armchair rather than commenting on the couple’s coping strategies that she’d seen so far.

“Now, as for Donna,” Dr. Quinzel started, “You seemed to be worried about your family issues affecting your relationship as well. Would you like to speak on it?”

The rock climber seemed to start to panic, shaking her head and pulling her hands to her lap at the sudden flash of attention. Her voice was clipped as she forced a smile, “I’m fine.”

Raven didn’t look away from the fern but her chin did inch towards Donna, who was awful at keeping emotion out of her voice. Dr. Quinzel’s encouraging smile lit up the room, “This is a safe space, Donna. It’s fine to get uncomfortable; that’s kinda what therapy’s for.”

The blonde tilted her face, discreetly checking her notes as she assumed, “Is this about Diana?”

Donna’s eyes widened and Dr. Quinzel let out a knowing sigh, “Sibling rivalry is rather commonplace and completely natural, you know.”

“No, it’s not a rivalry,” Donna shook her head, her opposition to the word compelling her to speak. Her fingers clasped in her lap for a moment as she tried to think of what it was that she felt so jealous of when it came to her older sister, but when words failed her she resorted to fiddling with her bracelets again.

“It’s not like we compete or anything. I mean we do, but that’s sparring or trying out new techniques for when we actually try out for competitions.” Donna looked down at her lap, her glare loosening as she tried to put her feelings into words, “It’s never been a fight for how many accolades we can get. We’ve always celebrated each other’s accomplishments; she was in my corner when I taught a new rock climbing class and I was in the stands when she won both her Olympic golds. I just…”

Donna leaned back in the loveseat, sinking into the leather as she finally admitted, “I just can’t keep up.”

Dr. Quinzel didn’t comment on the dejection that filled the muscular woman’s voice, instead making note of it on paper. She nudged her glasses higher up her nose, “And that obviously bothers you. Have you ever talked to Diana or anyone else about this?”

Donna shrugged and rubbed the back of her neck, “Dick knows, I guess.”

“You don’t seem glad about that.”

The psychiatrist’s observation was met with a snort, “Well, yeah. He’s pretty much pierced it together from when I vent to him. I mean, I can handle getting my ass handed to me and I can even handle always being the second best.” A bit of resentment was creeping into her voice, “It’s fine to not be the first choice; I’m okay being Donna, the constant runner up. But it’s just--”

She stopped fiddling with her bracelets and let her shoulders slump as she realized why even the mention of her older sister brought a surge of anxiety in her stomach: there was something awful about being second best to someone who was too genuine to even think about being a sore winner. “She’s always so damn encouraging. It doesn’t matter if I’m too slow to qualify again, Diana’s gonna be there cheering me on.” Donna palmed her face with one hand, her words coming out in an incredulous laugh as she tried to bite back the glassiness that was taking over her eyes, “Even if it’s after she beats me in a sport she doesn’t even like!”

Raven shifted in her seat as Dr. Quinzel hummed out, “At least it’s good to have someone positive to go up against.”

That got her a laugh, this one softer than before. Donna wiped at her eyes, “I know! She cares a lot and even if I know the good that Diana can do outside of shot put and rock climbing… seeing how good she is at everything, I can’t help but wonder--”

Gray eyes just barely refrained from glancing at Donna. Raven let out a noisy huff through her nose as she palmed her face, easily guessing where Donna was going as she muttered under her breath, “What you’re good enough at?”

Running a hand through her hair, Donna tossed her hands in the air, “--then why aren’t I good enough?”

Raven furrowed her brows but elected to stay silent; Dr. Quinzel gave her a small smile, leaning forward to rest her clipboard on her knees as she tried to reassure her client, “I haven’t known you long but I sure think you are.”

“And I know I’m not.” Donna bit back a scoff and turned her head to look at her date, commenting on her silence, “And let me guess, Raven. You’ve already seen something, right? You already know why?”

Raven jerked back at Donna’s question, her eyes widening as she whipped her head to look at the rock climber, “I don’t think…” Her lips twitched as she faltered, “I mean I never said--”

“Oh I know you never said it out loud. Why would you? I’m just the jock who can’t even dream of living up to her family.”

Dr. Quinzel was hastily scribbling in her notebook as she let their conversation play out, determined only to interrupt if they resorted to insults. Neither of her clients noticed. Donna crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, her growing impression of her date’s background finally bubbling to the surface, “I’m not like you, Raven. I’m not the one who just has to not be a fuckup to be better than the rest of my lot.”

Her stare didn’t waver as Raven’s lips pursed into a thin line, the goth’s words coming out clipped, “At least you have a family to measure up to.”

There was a tense second of silence as the two glared at each other. Raven, against her better judgment, spoke out a parting quip, “Even if you’re too ungrateful to see it.”

She clicked her tongue and held Donna’s glower, her words aimed at the therapist as she spat out, “Can you imagine being annoyed at a sibling that actually puts in effort to encourage you? Who cares if you’ll never be able to measure up! At least you have an environment where you’ll be supported to try to get better.”

Donna scoffed, her anger getting the better of her as she crossed her arms, sarcastically agreeing with her, “Better to be annoyed by an overaccomplishing sister than to be associated with a murder-happy druglord, I suppose.”

Dr. Quinzel put down her pen and clapped once, holding her clasped hands together against her chest as tensions flared, “Okay! That’s quite enough. How about we reset things, hmmm?”

The couple didn’t break their stare, both bitterly wondering why their friends were so insistent on setting them up with someone who obviously didn’t understand the pressure that the other felt. Raven narrowed her eyes at her date, “No thanks. How about we just stop early again?”

“I would strongly advise against that,” Dr. Quinzel said. She sat up in her armchair, her jacket’s red shoulderpads and blue handkerchiefs reflecting the light onto her face and giving the lines of her mouth a more serious look. “You two need to learn how to properly communicate how you’re feeling, but we absolutely must go over proper arguing techniques.”

Both glanced at her from the corner of their eyes and Dr. Quinzel surged on, glad to have their attention. She held out her hands, her smile a bit strained, “You two are partners. There’s no reason to--”

“But we aren’t partners!” Donna’s words came out as an exasperated cry as she uncrossed her arms. She ran a hand through her hair and hastily wiped at her eyes, hating how she always lost her cool whenever her inadequacies came up.

Raven’s face hardened at her date’s somewhat accurate claim, forcing a nonchalant shrug as she abruptly stood to put back on her jacket, “She’s right. We aren’t.”

Dr. Quinzel’s concern was palpable as she tried to make eye contact with either of her clients, Knowing that both women were bound to be out of her office before they could resolve what had been said, the psychiatrist urged them one last time, “You two need to actually try to understand each other’s side. There’s a lot of familial pain for both of you; you’re actually rather similar in that regard. If you’d let me show you how to talk it out--”

Donna’s face scrunched up at the idea, her hands practically circling each other as she methodically played with her bracelets. Raven kept her face towards that painted fern, a sigh slipping out of the goth as she curled her fingers to keep her rings on while sliding her jacket over her arms. Gray eyes kept flicking around the room, picking up on how Donna seemed ready to jump out of her seat the longer they were in the same room.

Raising her voice a notch to do some sort of damage control before Raven could leave the room, Dr. Quinzel sighed out, “Okay, fine. You two take some time to cool off. Sometimes that’s what’s needed most. But do know I expect to see you both next week.”

The goth’s movements faltered for half a second then she practically teleported to the door, her pale hand tightening on the knob as she bid goodbye, “Thanks, Doctor.”

Dr. Quinzel’s eyes went to Donna as the tall woman sat on the edge of her seat, fiddling with her bracelets until the plastic one that she’d been favoring that day finally snapped, stretched too far without a reprieve. The therapist gave her a soft smile, not commenting on the bracelet’s fate, “There’s still quite a bit of time before 4 o’clock, Donna. We could still talk over what you said about Diana--”

The rock climber let out a choking sort of cough as she interrupted Dr. Quinzel, hiding her discomfort with an awkward smile. There was a hidden hope in her eyes that the half minute would be enough for Raven to have completely left the building as she stood from the loveseat.

“I’d love to, but I gotta go. Bye, Dr. Q,” Donna ran a tongue over her teeth but she didn’t wait for a response, almost skipping as her rushing steps took her out of the office and into the stairwell. As her sneakers loudly slapped on the concrete steps, Donna ran a hand through her long hair and tried to think of whether or not Dick was working a double shift that day; she desperately needed someone to spar with.

Back in office 527, all was quiet except for the ticking of the clock, which read 3:46. Leaning back in the plushness of her chair, Dr. Quinzel chewed on her bottom lip as she let out a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. The blonde let her brows raise, the full scope of disbelief and concern that professionalism concealed during the session finally showing on her face; it had certainly been a while since she’d had to witness such an argument during couples counseling. Letting out a sigh as she braced herself on the chair’s arms, Dr. Quinzel softly got up from her chair, closing the door to her office.

Neither Donna nor Raven knew how to properly argue within a relationship, that was for sure.

Her red-tipped nails clashed against her blue pen as she sat at her desk and scribbled out a single word on how the day’s session had gone, her lips in a thin line as she wondered what she’d see when she saw them the next week: ‘Disastrous.’

#wonderbird #donnarae #donna troy #raven #harley quinn #blind date couples therapy au #my writing #the angst chapter has arrived!!!!#that line about rae just not needing to be a fuckup is what was holding this chapter up tbh. I wrote it w/out thinking and then it killed me #jfc that fight was agony to write y'all. there is a Possibility that I was an unwilling witness to a really bad break up at like 3 am #in an ihop. my sister and I were looking into our pancakes like ;-; so I wanted to give harls that same vibe. feel like it came out well #anywho this chapter puts us at juuuust over 11k! 9k left of reconciliation and harley being a good therapist #and reconciliation means apologies which means flirting which means F L U F F so yknow. I'm Excited

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razieltwelve · 3 years

Text

Neighbourly (Final Rose)

“Is something wrong with your air conditioner?”

Azura looked away from the struggling air conditioner. There was a scruffy, ragamuffin of a girl peering over her white picket fence at her.

“Um... yes. I think there is.” Azura didn’t want to be rude, but she was not exactly in the best state of mind. She had newborn twins to deal with, and now the air conditioner for the house had up and died on her in the middle of a torrid summer heatwave.

“That’s not good.” The little girl made to simply climb over the fence before a strangely familiar dark-haired woman grabbed her by the scruff of her shirt.

“No climbing over people’s fences without permission, kiddo.”

Azura covered her face with her hands as the air conditioner finally gave up the ghost and ground to a halt. Her twins were sleeping inside, but she doubted they’d stay that way for long. Without the air conditioner, the house would soon be stiflingly hot. For a moment, she had to fight the urge to cry. Her husband was a pilot in Vale’s military, and he’d been called away on an emergency mission. He hadn’t wanted to leave, but the orders had apparently come straight from the top.

“Look,” Azura said. “I really don’t want to be rude but...”

“Hey.” The dark-haired woman smiled comfortingly. “I can tell you’re having a bad day. We live just down the road, I can bring a fan and some muffins over, and my daughter can handle your air conditioner.” The woman tilted her head to one side. “You’re new here too, right? I don’t think I’ve met you before.”

“She moved in last week, mommy.” The girl made another attempt to leap over the fence only to be stopped in her tracks again. “She has baby twins, and her husband is a pilot.” The girl must have noticed her surprise because she cackled in a way that was somehow adorable. “I saw your husband leaving in uniform a few days ago, and I was taking my pet snake out for a walk when you moved in.”

Azura was utterly baffled by what she’d just heard. “What?”

The woman chuckled. “Diana tends to have that effect on people.” She ruffled her daughter’s hair. “By the way, my name’s Fang.”

Fang...?

Azura’s eyes widened in horrified disbelief. Her husband had been adamant that spending the extra money to get a house in this neighbourhood would be worth it. His job meant he was often away for long periods of time, but he’d been certain that she would be perfectly safe in this neighbourhood.

He’d put it very bluntly:

“Honey, there are three members of Team LFSC and three members of Team SYLV within walking distance of this house. No one in their right mind is going to even think of committing a crime here.”

When he put it that way, it did make an awful lot of sense. And how many tall, dark-haired women who wore blue saris could there be in this neighbourhood who also happened to be named Fang.

“As in Oerba Yun Fang?” Azura croaked.

Fang grinned and nodded. “That’s me.” She chuckled. “Look, you should head back inside. It’s really hot. I’ll bring a fan and some muffins over, and my daughter will have your air conditioner fixed in no time.”

Diana struck a pose. “You can leave it to me!”

“And Diana,” Fang said. “Just fix it. That’s all. No extra modifications or anything.” “But mommy...”

“I don’t think she needs an air conditioner with inbuilt lasers or anything like that. Just fix it.”

“I guess...”

As Fang headed back down the street, Diana cackled and leapt over the fence with obvious delight. She skipped over to the air conditioner as a drone came in to land beside her with a box of tools. Within moments, she had the air conditioner opened up as she glanced down at her scroll. Azura was no expert in air conditioners, but she could recognise a schematic when she saw one.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” she asked. She glanced through the window beside them. The twins were still sleeping in the living room, but they were getting a bit restless.

“Of course, I do.” Diana rubbed her chin thoughtfully and began to pull out tools. “You’ve got one of the newer models, so finding the schematic wasn’t hard. All I have to do now is work out why it died.” Her pupils changed, and Azura recoiled. “Don’t worry, I’m just using my Semblance to see what’s going on a bit better.”

A child this young already had an awakened Semblance?

“Ah...” Diana smiled. “I found it!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing too bad. I should be able to just take the damaged part out and repair it. It shouldn’t take me more than a few minutes.” Diana rubbed her hands together gleefully. “Whoever built this thing was smart. They didn’t try to do anything too complicated. Some of the newer models try to do too much, so they don’t actually end up doing anything well at all.”

By the time Fang came back with the fan and the muffins, the air conditioner was already working again.

“Already done?” Fang scratched the back of her neck. “That’s what I get for underestimating you.”

“It was easy.” Diana struck a pose as the drone carried off the box of tools. “But we’re still having muffins, right?”

“Yeah, we are.” Fang glanced at Azura. “If that’s okay with you.”

“It is very okay with me.”

X X X

Author’s Notes

There’s a reason that house prices in Lightning and Fang’s neighbourhood are astronomical and why nobody blinks an eye about a kid coming over to fix things. Not only can Diana get it done quicker than anyone not named Vanille, she can get it done more cheaply too. Both Lightning and Fang do make a point of getting to know their neighbours since it makes life more pleasant, and the girls (and later Taren) have plenty of friends who live nearby.

As for Azura, it can be tough being married to someone from the military. On the upside, her husband is a pilot, which is better than being in the infantry. Sure, there are flying Grimm, but a pilot has access to much better weaponry than your average trooper.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find on Amazon here or on Audible here.

#final rose #fanfiction #diana yun farron #oerba yun fang

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toughguywithbossygirlfriend · 4 years

Text

Superman : Heroes #1 ... Diana and Bruce

In “Superman(2018) #18″ Superman revealed to the World that his name was “Clark Kent” and the comic book “Superman:Heroes #1″ presents the immediate aftermaths.

(Edit from DC Comics Rebirth Superman(2018) #18 and Superman:Heroes #1)

This Issue had a unique and delightful little story with Diana and Bruce, 0% Action, only talking,.. a dance between two people caring for each other ... It revealed a bit of the real man behind the “Bat” and the “Playboy”. I loved Diana’s wisdom in this, especially when she compared Bruce to Clark.

As a first result, not every one in the Justice league looked happy about that “Scoop”..

(Edit from DC Comics Rebirth Superman(2018) #18)

Batman’s POV about secrecy shouldn’t be a surprise, ... but Diana’s behavior seemed rather unsettling... First I thought she was still angry after her speech about the loss of trust during their last exchange in DC Comics “Batman/Superman (2019) #6.

(Edit from DC Comics Batman/Superman (2019) #6)

Her whole speech was about the morality of keeping secrets ... Diana’s speech may have encouraged Clark to go Public with his Identity ... but after he’d done it her comment shows she didn’t seem so sure about that part ... Why would she be unsatisfied if Clark just followed her theory about secrecy ?

(Edit from DC Comics Rebirth Superman(2018) #18)

Revealing everything to the world wasn’t what she meant ... She’s a diplomat, she understands that there is an “in between”, a compromise to make ... not all truths can be thrown around without care... Diana was making them a lecture about “keeping secrets” earlier, Yes, but... it was mostly about “keeping secrets from each other” ... so this new “secret” Clark had kept again from them was actually what she was complaining about previously and had to hurt both, Diana and Bruce,... once again one of them took a secret decision without sharing it with the others. Leaving them to face the consequences once everything was done ... Bruce is so angry that he ironically tells Clark that the Kents are completely “off the grid” (something he surely invested some hard work and a lot of time to achieve) because Clark just busted all of his hard work in a second... Yeah, Clark, how should he feel about that ?... XD

(edit from DC Comics Rebirth Justice League(2018) #47)

Finally Clark understands how much he hurt Bruce later and apologizes (see “Justice League(2018) #47″)... He may now have understood what Diana talked about earlier...

But lets get back to our subject “Superman : Heroes #1″

The stories of DC Comics “Superman : Heroes #1″ have been written by Brian Michael Bendis, Matt Fraction and Greg Rucka.

Greg Rucka is one of the best writers of the pairing Wonder Woman/Batman (“Blackest Night : Wonder Woman”, “The Hiketeia”, “The Solstice”, ...) he has usually a great touch when it comes to tell in a more subtle way how much Diana and Bruce care for each other.

(Edits from Some of Greg Rucka’s Work for DC comics)

In the comic “Superman:Heroes”, Greg Rucka is behind these 8 Panels out of the 35 that the comic contains, pretty much one quarter of the whole book about Superman, and his story is only about Diana and Bruce ... already a message in itself ... and he did an amazing work again. Few words but so much was said (pretty much the opposite of what I am doing right now ! XD )

The Art is amazing as well.

It happens shortly after Superman’s meeting with the JL, and starts with Bruce standing alone in front of his Parents grave. Lost silently in his thoughts.

(Edit from DC Comics Superman:Heroes #1)

Suddenly a well known voice breaks him out of his reverie. Diana is here. Bruce is Classy as always, while Diana wears more casual clothing ... I think Rucka chose on purpose to drop the uniforms for this exchange ... because the uniforms are not really “them”. This is not really about Batman and Wonder Woman but about the people behind those masks.

.(Edit from DC Comics Superman:Heroes #1)

She came to look after him. She could have gone anywhere, with anyone. She could have celebrated with Clark and the rest of the league this unique moment, this huge step Superman made... but she choose to go to a most lonely and sad place for one of her closest friends : Wayne Manor’s graveyard.... and she knew she would find him there... She knows his reaction was excessive ... there is something hurting him hard and she needs to know what...

“Thought I would find you here ... How are you doing ?” A useless question because Diana already knows the answer to her question ... otherwise she wouldn’t be there, she wouldn’t have come directly to the graves...

(Edit from DC Comics Superman:Heroes #1)

Bruce turns around and walks away ...then, in the distance, just says “Fine.”. Diana stands silently while he flees into loneliness again... Bruce knows she won’t go away after just a “Fine”, he knows the truth, she will dig further, so he retreats from the battlefield because she won’t leave him to his dark mood...

3 sentences, 11 Words, that's all you get for a full page with 5 great pictures...

All 8 panels of that story are really wonderful. They are made like a movie, using silences to show the depth, the seriousness of the subject, the loneliness, sadness and deep closeness of both characters. Pictures with perspectives, enhance the effect of their loneliness ... Diana and Bruce may be in their home world but it is as if they were both still with only each other in the plane of Gehenna ... Diana and Bruce ... all alone.

(Edit from DC Comics Superman:Heroes #1)

Second panel ... Bruce stops somewhere facing in silence a magic sunset matching his current mood ... Diana follows until she stands next to him.

(Edit from DC Comics Superman:Heroes #1)

Again he tells her he doesn’t want company ... “mhm”, she acknowledges ... the wind blows in her hair, she tries to fix it ... silence ...

(Edit from DC Comics Superman:Heroes #1)

The wind blows, she gives up, letting her hair flow around her face... A little chat ... Bruce turns around, fleeing the battlefield again ...

Third panel ... Hell ... a full page , 7 pictures, only two sentences, 8 little words... pure magic from G. Rucka and the other artists.

(Edit from DC Comics Superman:Heroes #1)

This time Diana is inside Wayne Manor ... looking at the giant painting of Bruce’s Parents... deep in thoughts ... wondering what exactly pushed Bruce to their graves after Superman’s revelation.

(Edit from DC Comics Superman:Heroes #1)

Bruce is in the kitchen ... Diana enters as if she was at home and drops her jacket ... approaching the table, they exchange a look ... She takes a seat, her usual seat? then Diana waits for him to make his move ... She smiles ... She just owns the place ... Bruce isn’t surprised, he expected her, he waited for her, even made some tea in the meantime... did he flee earlier ? or did he just want to get them a comfortable place to be and talk ? ... He probably wouldn’t have made tea “for two” if he wanted to be left alone ... He knew she wouldn’t give up on him no matter how strong he would push her away, so there was no need to put more conviction in the game ... that’s what they learned in Gehenna ... they may both give up the fight for their mission, but they never ever give up on each other... Bruce knew he wouldn’t win that battle. Not with Diana, so he didn’t really try. Actually Bruce needed her and she came ...

(Edit from DC Comics Superman:Heroes #1)

And the only sentences exchanged between the two in the whole panel are so domestic ... “Tea ?” ... ”That would be lovely, Bruce.” ... That bright, sly, smile on Diana’s face reveals everything ... she knows she was right and won their little fight ... he won’t push her away again, he doesn’t even want her away ... they are going to talk. But she needs to let him space ... Diana just has to let him lead the way now.

Is it even possible to make it more obvious how much they know each other, care for each other ... those two don’t even need J’onn J’ozz to communicate without speaking ... they only need an brief eye contact.

Fourth panel ... more silence ...

(Edit from DC Comics Superman:Heroes #1)

Bruce needs to collect his thoughts ... Diana sips her tea ...

Then he talks, but Diana plays dumb ... she wants him to express his problem, to name it... Diana is very smart here ... because she cannot really get a grip on what is hurting him so hard. She needs to get it out of him ... she knows the real problem is hidden deep under layers and layers ... and this isn’t really about Clark keeping a secret from him ... from them.

(Edit from DC Comics Superman:Heroes #1)

Of course they talk about Superman revealing that he was “Clark Kent” and even if Diana plays dumb, she still says something very interesting here ... she calls him “KAL” while Bruce is upset because of “Clark” ... I think this way Diana tells him that Superman still didn’t tell the truth ... because “Clark Kent” is just another identity ... “KAL” is the kryptonian man who lives on earth under the disguise of “Clark Kent” and who is called “Superman” when he plays Superhero... just like Bruce is a human who lives a fake life as a Playboy and CEO when he is not playing Superhero and called “Batman” otherwise ... I think it is her way to say the Superman is still Lying even if it is to himself. Still she can give “Superman/Clark Kent” a name describing the real him “KAL”... while “Bruce” uses his own birthname for a partly faked persona ...

In “Superman : Villains #1″, Supergirl, still under the effect of the Batman Who Laughts Toxin tells pretty much the same as what I think Diana tries to convey here.

But Bruce is too upset to listen to her ... So he gives her a list of reasons why this is bad, partly accurate partly disputable ... so she counters him even if her own arguments is accurate/disputable as well ... nothing is simple ... but this isn’t about “Superman”, something Diana understood quickly ... if it was only about “Clark” or “Kal”, Bruce wouldn’t be this upset... How long have Diana and Bruce been married again ?... Yeah, Right,.. something like 37 years in Hell ...

(Edit from DC Comics Superman:Heroes #1)

Several millennia and all the Wisdom of Athena speaks thru Diana while she harbors that sly smile. Bruce gets silent again, Diana saw right thru him, maybe better than he did himself.

(Edit from DC Comics Superman:Heroes #1)

Bruce flees again ... but does he really ? Since the beginning he doesn’t really push hard and Diana knows it ... You just get the feeling he wants her to follow him ... maybe he needs her to help him figure out why he really is that upset..

(Edit from DC Comics Superman:Heroes #1)

The Batcave ... it looks as if they were getting more and more deeper, more personal ... First the world outside, then inside his home, and now his most secret part... maybe another symbolic meaning ... to show how Diana is getting closer to the real hidden reason.

(Edit from DC Comics Superman:Heroes #1)

By the look of Bruce’s sneer, you can tell he is angry, hateful even... but Diana never feels threatened in any way, she feels safe, even “Poking the Bear” a little as shown by her mischievous look... until it suddenly downs on her !! ...

(Edit from DC Comics Superman:Heroes #1)

Can we just relish in that view for a moment ? ... Perfect female body meets perfect male body .... Aargh !! ... can’t they just go down on it ! ... OK ! I need to get some self control back ... sorry !

What Diana sees... is Bruce staring at his suits, his disguises, his secrets, his ... enemy ? ... Batman ? ... now she can SEE what hurts him so hard !

(Edit from DC Comics Superman:Heroes #1)

Diana figured out the truth ! ... Bruce is first in denial, then thinking and accepting it ... Bruce goes from angry, to sad and beaten...

One part of the amazing points of this story is Diana’s statement when she compares “Bruce” and “Kal”. Whoever thought Wonder Woman wouldn’t value the “powerless” Bat when compared to the “godlike” Superman is going to wake up with a serious headache ... For Diana, the only thing Clark can do, that Bruce can’t, is what we all do ... “live without a secret identity” ... anything else she considers Bruce does at least as good as Clark if not better ... BAM ! ... I honestly didn’t expect to read that in a comic about Superman ! ... And this coming from non other then Powerhouse number two Diana Prince, Wonder Woman, Princess of the Amazon, daughter of Zeus gifted with the Wisdom of Athena ... that was mind-blowing !!

But to be honest such appreciative comments from Diana, somewhere in between admiration and adoration, happen more and more often lately in different DC comics.

(Edit from several DC Comics books)

I would say we’ve gone back when Diana considered Clark as “Good husband material” for Lois, while “Bruce” was “Fast, Dangerous, the thrill ride..” ... back then, even Clark understood who Diana’s heart would settled with...

(Edit from several DC Comics Trinity(2008) #6 and Blackest Night:WW(2010) )

This was of course before the New52 nonsense hit the fan...

(Edit from DC Comics Superman:Heroes #1)

The other great point is that “Bruce” ... is jealous of “Kal” ... What !? how is that great ?

For the Dark Knight, admitting this kind of weakness to anyone is pretty much unthinkable ... unless it is to Diana. I think Bruce and Diana are now closer than Bruce and Clark ever were. But this jealousy is as well the proof that there is a man behind the Batman, behind the Playboy ... someone who doesn’t really like either of them, someone who dreams of family, home, of the freedom to live a normal happy life. The Princess of Themyscira is one of the only women (if not the only one) to have access to that man, the real “Bruce”.

Bruce is someone who can’t be reduced to “the Batman” as often said. He is a man, a Hero who decided to play that role, a man who made it his duty to fight crime and to protect those who can’t do it for themselves. Just like Diana did when she chose to become “Wonder Woman” and leave the paradise island of Themyscira for Men’s world. He is jealous, and is ashamed of it, because he should grant it to his best friend Clark/Kal. It is his dream to have that kind life, a dream Diana shares as well ... but both have decided long ago that their Duties were more important and had to be done at any personal cost.

(Edit from DC Comics Superman:Heroes #1)

But there is another message in this Jealousy ...

Over the last 50 years, it had been explained several times that Bruce Wayne chooses his romantic partners with a purpose as described in the story with Bekka (in January 2008): Relationships must fail.

(Edit from DC Comics Superman Batman(2003) #42 - story with Bekka)

If Bruce is Jealous about Clark’s “Home, Family” life this means he is now ready to a real longtime commitment with a woman. He wants that now. Over the years he matured (just like “Batfleck” in the DCEU). Keeping his distance with Diana because of their friendship all those years was only part of the excuse. He always chose his partners to fail ... and with Diana he knew a relationship would have a high risk of succeding. I think Diana was always more ready to start something with him at least judging by the way she smiled when she woke up from the “Transconciousness Articulator”, but she changed her mind once he told her he didn’t want to know what was “lurking in his mind” ... Back then Diana knew he wasn’t ready.

Bruce Wayne is ready now ... Is this what Tom King meant when he said he changed Batman for the Decade to come, that he put his “Mark” on Bruce Wayne ? His Batman/Catwoman run proved one thing to the shareholders... the Batman fans are ready to have their Hero seriously committed to a Woman. In fact the love story didn’t drop the sales but supported them. Tom King showed Batman sells better as a “Man in love” then as a lone Wolf ...

Still a lot of fans understand that an untrustworthy and still active criminal like Selina can’t possibly be the best match for the crusader of Justice ... and while Diana seems still to adore him, after that little chat in the Cave and the 37 years in Gehenna, she should have understood by now that he is ready for something really serious ... So ... “Perhaps ....” hopefully in the near future ...

#wonderbat #wonder woman #diana prince #batman #bruce wayne

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super-hero-girls-netflix · 3 years

Note

Jess and Pam fluff/angst? Btw love ur blog bro. This show deserves more love and seeing ur post makes me happy. 👁👄👁💖💖👌

Note: I'm glad my posts makes you happy.

The Art of Avoidance and the Cost, Confrontation.

Prompt: Jess/Pam fluff/angst. Jess just wanted Pam to wish her a happy birthday. Pam just wanted Jess to leave her alone. Of course, it's not that simple.

*Jess*

"Happy Birthday!"

Jess knew that she didn't have the most... consistent relationship with Pamela Isley. There were times when she was sure that Pam felt something not negative towards her. Especially after a successful protest when Pam would scrunch her lips in an effort to tamper her smile. Or when Jess said something particularly amusing and Pam would quirk her lips as she passed by.

"Maybe she didn't hear us? ...Happy Birthday!'

But of course those times paled to all the other times Pamela clearly stated that she hated Jessica Cruz's butt. Forgo all the times Pamela would ignore her texts or greetings- there were times when Pamela would state at her with complete and utter hatred usually when she was doing mundane stuff like eating her lunch (a salad, of course) or talking to one of her friends.

"Err, Babs- Jess looks a little...mad? Sad? Smad?"

"Smad isn't a word, Hal."

"No one asked you, Karen!"

"Ugh, I hate when you say my name like that-"

So truly, Jess shouldn't have expected Pam to acknowledge her birthday. She really shouldn't have. It was a hope that would surely lead to dissapointment. But it still hit harder than expected when the morning passed without Pam even casting her a side eye.

All of her friends were loud..! Obviously if Pam didn't know it was her birthday from the beginning she should by now-

"Jessica! Are you alright?"

Jess snapped to attention, finding Diana and her friends looking at her curiously from where they sat at the lunch table. Barry, Garth and Hal (the only boys who stuck around after congratulating her) where standing, also staring at her.

They all shifted their concerned gazes from her to her salad- which she speared so fiercely it tore clean through.

Pushing her lunch away, she said, "I'm sorry, what?"

"Are you alright?" Diana repeated deliberately.

Bobbing her head eagerly, she said, "Yes! I'm great!"

"You just stabbed your salad," noted Kara dryly. "Did it make you angry?"

Zee elbowed her but didn't say anything- also curious to hear Jess explain herself.

"I was... thinking."

Silence stretched across the table, not that Jess paid it much mind. She was back to furtively scanning the cafeteria for the petite jerk who refused to acknowledge-

Ah, there she was.

Pam Isley.

When someone walked into a room there is always someone who looks up to see who. A handful of someone's. But as that handful checked and quickly dismissed Pam from their ignorant minds...Jess kept staring.

Because... how could you not?

She was absolutely breathtaking. Her full pouted lips, soft seemingly pink hair, long full eyelashes covering the most amazing green orbs.

But more than that- Pam made the room complete.

And almost as if Jess' stare was a physical tangible thing- Pam's eyes immediately met hers.

*Pam*

Jess wasn't very subtle.

Pam knew that Jess had been eyeing her all day. Pam knew that Jess was expecting something of her today.

But honestly Jess was always expectant of Pam so really it was easy to deflect. Not. Never could anyone deny Jessica Cruz.

So, Pam decided, that she would greet Jess and get it over with-

"Jess, let's go to Sweet Justice after school to celebrate!"

Pam narrowed her gaze as Jess broke their eye contact to answer Barbara. Hareleen's...friend? Hareleen's important something.

Celebrate what?

"O-oh, sure. I'd like that."

Pam took a step closer. What were they going to celebrate?

"God, you're so old now." The dumb jock (Harry, was it?) teased, tugging at her hair.

Something stuttered in Pam's chest.

A realization.

God, you're so old now.

It was Jess birth-

"You only turn 18 once!"

So...Jess beaming at her in the hallway, staring right at Pam... waiting for Pam. It was because she wanted Pam go wish her a happy birthday?

They weren't even friends! We're they friends? They were something. Pam couldn't deny that there was something intoxicating about Jess' company. That when Jess ranted passionately it was engaging and cute. That when Jess looked down at her, her hair twirled around her finger-

What was she thinking about again?

Pam brought Phil closer to her face, asking the plant an important question. "Phil, do I...like Jess?"

If Phil had eyes he'd be rolling them if his exasperated 'No shit, Sherlock' was any indicator.

No....shit.

*Jess*

It had gotten worse. Pam was no longer not noticing Jess- she was avoiding her. Ever since her birthday, Pam avoided Jess like the plague.

It was taking a toll on Jess. She couldn't sleep, her anxiety was sky rocketing and she had been craving something... greasy.

At first, when Pam first dodged her, Jess was willing to wait her out. The petite girl might not be in the mood. But eventually one encounter missed became two. And then three and four and five. And Jess was no longer patient.

She was pissed. Really, very pissed.

So pissed that the books were liable to catch on fire because of her stormy temper. She quietly fumed, hiding behind a library shelf waiting for when she could finally secure and corner Pam.

(Pam had taken to walking through the library to avoid Jess instead of the populated hallways.)

What was up with Pam? Usually the girl would at least humor Jess for a bit if only to get her off her back. Was she sick? She did look awfully flushed everytime Jess nearly cornered her! God, this was infuriating.

She...just needed to know if Pam was OK.

T-then if Pam was still set on keeping Jes from her life... she'll back off. She can take a hint...she can. And...- If Pam hated her so much she shouldn't make her uncomfortable anymore.

Only if. Only if there wasn't a good reason for her avoidance.

There probably was!

But still...

Her body did it before her mind could commit itself to the act. Her arms reached out, pulled the girl into the aisle, turning them both, and effectively caging Pam. Pam had her back against the wall and was blocked a quick escape by both of Jess arm's.

A triumphant smile breaks across her face.

She did it!

*Pam*

For a second all she could focus on was the beatific smile Jess wore. Then she saw Jess' smile soften and her eyes focus.

Then she felt Jess' breath all over her forehead and- oh my ivy. She was too close.

Her face went hot.

"What the hell," she hissed, turning her head so Jess couldn't see how quickly she was going pink.

"I wouldn't have done this if you had just- are you ok? Your ears are red, and" Jess spread her fingers on Pam's cheek, "your face is hot."

Was breathing always this hard? Holy-

"I-I'm fine. Just move, you're way too close."

As if just realizing it Jess startled and moved back, but kept her arms braced on both sides of Pam's head. (How was it that Jess didn't notice when that was all that Pam could think about?)

(Feeling this way and knowing that Jess didn't even think of the possibility that Pam felt the way she did pissed her off.)

"What do you want?"

Jess blinked, hurt flashing in those hazel eyes before her gaze narrowed, "I want to talk to you. You've been avoiding me."

"No, I haven't."

Jess stared at her for a second, stunned by her blatant lie. "...yes. Yes, you have Pam. And I want to know why."

She was still too close.

"I've just been," madly in love with you, "...busy."

"That's BS and you know it!" Jess takes her arms back and hugs herself. "Just tell me if I did something wrong. Are you mad at me? What did I do? I don't like it when you're avoiding me like this. You're a very good friend to me-."

Friend, huh.

Friend.

Yeah, well...do friends do this-

And without further thought, without permission, without even knowing what she was doing...Pam Isley, a girl who has never as much as held someone's hand in a romantic way, kissed Jessica Cruz.

*Jess*

There is a blissful stage of confusion. Before everything makes sense, no- before that. Before anything exists besides that one emotion.

That emotion, for Jess, was peace.

Before she realized what she was doing and who she was doing it with. Before she can tear back and ask Pam what she was doing even though it was fairly obvious but at least why- Pam pulled back first.

"W-what?"

"I'm not mad," there was an angry insane look in Pam's eyes. "I just don't think I can be friends with you anymore."

Jess, cheeks still hot, was indignant. "And why not?!"

Pam ducked away from Jess and began backing away, "I think it would make me very unhappy."

And Jess finally realized why.

Pam liked her.

Pam liked liked her.

Pam who loved the Earth.

Pam with those green eyes.

Pam. Pam.

Pamela.

Pam turned to face her, eyebrow quirked.

Did she say that out loud.

"What now?" Her.... Pam's lips were trembling in an effort to remain still.

Jess wanted to still those lips with her teeth.

Heat burned the inside of her face.

Oh wow.

Pam started to turn to walk away but Jess latched onto her wrist. She had such a thin wrist. She really needed to eat better-

"Say what you need to say so I can leave."

"You like me then?"

"Anything but that."

"What kind of person leaves after dropping a bomb like that on someone?!" Indignation made her chest swell and she stepped closer to Pam, using her grip Pam's wrist to pull them closer. "You should at least give them a second so they can think of how to react to that-"

Pam looked at her, stunned. Then, annoyed she rolled her gorgeous eyes and said, "Can you just shut up-"

"Make. Me."

Jess was panting with emotion and Pam's eyes were wide and her gaze flickered from Jess' eyes to her grip on the wrist and to Jess' lips.

Jess bit her lip.

Pam stared at her mouth.

They just stood there. Jess swallowed. "B-back to the topic.." What were they talking about again? "Uhm, right..! Well, it's unfair of you-"

"You already said that," a resigned smirk colored Pam's face.

"R-right. Well..."

"I'm not asking you to return my feelings-."

"You're not giving me much of a choice!"

A hand thumped on the bookshelf and they startled guiltily apart and whirled around to see who it was interrupting them.

"Shhh!" The librarian hissed, eyes narrowed before stalking off to lecture some poor kid.

Pam was hugging herself, hands twisting the material of her sweater. "What do you mean I'm not giving you a choice?"

*Pam*

"Well, you are so insistent that I won't return your feelings..." Jess looked at her, unimpressed. "It kind of feels like I'm not allowed to."

"You are."

It's embarrassing how desperate she sounds. But Jess must dig desperation since she grinned, pulled Pam closer. Hands cupping her cheeks, one pausing to brush her pink hair behind Pam's red ear.

Oh... Jess was teasing her.

That wouldn't do.

So then with just as much purpose as before, Pam pulled Jess down and their lips met again.

This was such a mess. But with Jess so close and soft and pliant under her hands. It's okay. Messy was ok. Right now. In that moment, Messy was perfect.

#dc superhero girls 2019 #dc super hero girls #dc superheroes #lol #my fanfiction #what a ship #they are such a pair #what are we going to do with these two?

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 22: Sasha

Basira brings the first tape before the week is out, and Sasha is apparently the only one surprised that Jon doesn’t seem happier about it. As a matter of fact, he seems downright distressed.

The assistants normally stagger their lunch breaks so there are at least two people in the Archives at any given time, something they’ve done almost since the beginning, but Jon comes out of his office and suggests all three of them go together, and Tim and Martin hustle Sasha out before she can ask questions. It’s Tim who points out, sotto voce while they’re standing in line at the cafe, that Basira probably called to say she was dropping by and Jon wants them out of there to preserve the fiction that he’s not telling them what’s going on. Sure enough, they pretend to ignore Basira in the parking lot on their way back to the Archives and re-enter to find Jon sitting on the edge of Tim’s desk, turning a tape over and over in his hands.

“That was quick,” Martin comments. “Thought it’d be harder for her to get them to you.”

“I did, too. I wasn’t—anticipating anything before next week at the earliest. And since I don’t know how soon she’ll be back with another one—or come back for this one, for that matter—I kind of have to listen to it as soon as possible.” Jon looks up at them with a pained expression.

Sasha frowns. “Am I missing something? Why’s that a bad thing?”

“Because I don’t…the real statements take a lot out of me. Live ones are worse. According to the Primes, doing more than one a week is going to be a drain. At least until I…build up my tolerance, I guess.” Jon sighs. “Which I’m not altogether sure I want to do.”

“We could record any real statements you get for you,” Sasha offers. “Then you can just listen to the tapes.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you all,” Jon says, looking shocked. “I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.”

“Yeah, but you’re the Head Archivist. Why would it affect us like that?”

“It’s the statements, not the position,” Martin says. “Each one is a thread that binds you closer to the Eye. Regardless of who takes it.” When they all stare at him, he blushes and adds, “I talked about it with Martin Prime while I was recovering. He told me he read more than a few statements over the last year and a half he was at the Institute.”

Jon rubs his forehead. “All the more reason I should keep doing this. I just…I don’t want to lose myself, either.”

Tim hesitantly reaches out and puts a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “You won’t. I mean, Jon Prime hasn’t lost himself, has he?”

“Only because he has Martin Prime to keep him grounded.”

“Well, you’ve got us.”

Jon smiles, but says, “I don’t want to put the burden of my humanity on you.”

Martin tilts his head. “Even if we offer?”

“Even then. I just…it’s not fair to you.” Jon sighs, obviously frustrated. “And I’m curious. There’s no denying that. Especially about…this. Gertrude actually seems to have labeled it properly. And—well, I only met her once or twice, and I-I was very new at the time.” He looks at the three of them. “Did any of you?”

Tim shakes his head. “Apparently I’d remember if I did,” he says, shooting a look at Sasha.

Sasha shrugs. “You would. We talked a fair amount. She—she said I ought to apply for the position of Archivist if it ever came up vacant.”

Jon flinches, but doesn’t say anything. Martin swallows. “I think she avoided me, actually. Never could figure out why, but any time she sent up to the library for something, Diana made a point of sending anyone but me with it. Which was weird, since usually she took any excuse to get me out of the way for a few minutes.”

Tim drapes an arm over Martin’s shoulders. Jon looks embarrassed, but stares at the tape in his hands. “I suppose I’d just like any insight to her time here. And, well, even with—” He glances up at the ceiling. “Even with what we know, there’s so much we don’t. And I understand that, there are some things we need to discover on our own, and other things we won’t believe until we have proof. Still.” He sighs. “And on top of that, I find myself wondering if the Eye is going to have any influence over the tapes Basira brings or if it’s going to be random.”

“What’s this one?” Sasha asks.

Instead of answering, Jon hands her the tape. Sasha peers at the label—a case number, a name, and the words Algasovo, central Russia. “Well, I doubt Basira picked it at anything but random if she wasn’t being influenced somehow.”

She passes the tape over to Tim and Martin, who study it before handing it back to Jon. “Does that mean anything to you? Algasovo?”

“No. I’m not sure it means anything to Basira, either.”

“Hang on.” Sasha sits at her desk and flips open her laptop. A few keystrokes later and all four of them are peering over her shoulder at a list of search results. All of them are generic, or else written in Russian—basic information about the town, the weather, and the surrounding area. “It’s a nothing village in the middle of nowhere. But Gertrude obviously thought this was important enough to put on tape.”

Martin nods. “And if it’s something we need to know about…”

“I suppose I’ll have to listen to it,” Jon says with a sigh. He stares at the tape again, and there’s something in his eyes Sasha recognizes—something hungry. He wants to listen to it. But there’s also something in his eyes that she sees reflected in Martin and Tim’s—fear. He’s afraid of what he’ll become as much as he desperately wants, needs to know.

She thinks about what Martin said, about how the statements will affect all of them no matter who reads them. She thinks about Martin Prime quietly telling Jon Prime that you being here might help him. She thinks about all of them listening to everybody’s statements all at once and not getting half so wiped as Jon looked on Monday when Basira left after making her statement.

“What if we listen together?” she blurts.

Jon looks up, obviously startled. “What?”

Sasha taps a fingernail on her desk. It’s getting ragged, she really needs to make an appointment for a manicure—maybe this weekend, she thinks. “If it’s going to affect anyone who records it, or reads it or listens to it or whatever…there’s probably a finite amount of energy to it, right? It’s not like we’ll all absorb the full amount of fear, it’ll most likely be more…it’ll get siphoned out and divided between the four of us. If we all listen to this tape together, maybe we can stop you from becoming…like that. Or at least slow it down. Maybe it won’t take so much energy from you.”

Jon hesitates and looks at Tim and Martin. Tim shrugs. “Worth a shot.”

“I’m up for it if you’re willing,” Martin agrees.

Jon swallows, then nods. “All right. Let me go get the tape recorder.”

Martin blinks. “What, you want to do it here? In the open?”

“I don’t believe there’s any point in hiding in my office to do it. Or Document Storage or whatever. Nobody’s likely to come down and interrupt us. It—it should be fine.” Jon leaves the tape on the desk and heads into his office.

“I’ll make us some tea. We’ll probably need it.” Martin fishes four mugs out of his desk drawer and disappears in the direction of the break room.

Sasha watches him go. “We really ought to just set up a tea station here in the Archives. Save wear and tear on the carpets.”

“I know you’re being sarcastic, but that’s not half a bad idea,” Tim says. “Bet Jon would agree.”

“Agree to what?” Jon comes over with the tape recorder in hand. “Where’s Martin?”

“Getting tea. Sasha suggested setting up a tea station here.”

Jon pauses. “Actually, why haven’t we done that before now?”

Tim’s right—Sasha was being sarcastic, but she enters into the discussion anyway and they’ve got a list of things to pick up after work almost fully written by the time Martin returns with the same cups he always uses for them. They rope Martin into the discussion, since he’s the one who knows the tea procedure inside and out, and they’re all a lot more relaxed by the time they settle down to listen to the tape.

Sasha’s attention is immediately piqued by the statement. Gertrude’s familiar dry, reedy voice sounds much more intense than she remembers from their conversations. It’s obvious the statement is real—it comes across in the texture of Gertrude’s voice—but she reads it calmly, no hesitation or upset. Something about the scenario draws Sasha in as much as it frightens her. Maybe it’s knowing that it killed her in the Primes’ timeline, or maybe it’s just that it’s the antithesis of the entity she’s essentially bound to, but the Stranger scares her the most out of all the entities. It fascinates her, too, which she supposes isn’t the greatest sign in the world, but too much of her mind is focused on the statement to really care.

At last, the statement ends. Gertrude gives a short summing-up that makes it clear, at least to Sasha, that she never intended for these tapes to be used by anyone outside the Institute, or indeed outside the Archives; her supplemental makes reference to things she obviously already knew and speculates in a limited sense about the nature of the younger brother of the statement-giver, and then the tape clicks off.

The scrape of a chair breaks the spell, and Sasha blinks up in time to see Martin, his face creased with empathy, wrap Tim in a hug. Tim doesn’t even bother to stand up from his chair, just clings to Martin like he’s drowning. Sasha can see the tears rolling down his face. Shit.

“Tim?” Jon slides off the desk, looking a bit shaky, and puts a hand on Tim’s shoulder. Tim reaches out blindly and pulls Jon into the hug, too.

Guilt rises in Sasha’s throat. She should have guessed. Out of everyone in the room, she’s the only one who knows why Tim came to work for the Institute in the first place, and it really should have occurred to her as soon as Gertrude uttered the word circus that this one would hit Tim hard. Add in the younger brother in peril and her dry comment about them being lucky to escape with only significant mental trauma, and it’s no wonder he’s crying. But she was too wrapped up in the statement to even think about him, let alone notice what Martin evidently picked up on immediately.

God, some best friend she is.

“Oh, Tim,” she whispers, penitent. She gets up from her seat and joins the group hug, hesitantly, not sure if she’s welcome. She doesn’t want to wedge herself in the middle of things, so she just squeezes Jon and Martin closer to Tim and prays that’s enough.

Someone is murmuring something, over and over, and it takes Sasha a second to realize that it’s I’m sorry and a second longer to realize it’s Jon, apologizing repeatedly into Tim’s hair. Christ, he’s starting to tear up, too, and he doesn’t even know why Tim’s so upset. Unless he’s figured out the whole mind-reading thing already. She doesn’t think so, though.

Finally, Tim takes a deep, shuddering breath and pulls back. The others ease off, with varying degrees of reluctance, and Martin fishes a tissue from somewhere on the desk and offers it silently. Tim takes it and wipes his face. “S-sorry,” he says hoarsely.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jon says, obviously trying to be brusque, but it’s as obvious a lie as when he was trying to be brusque with Martin the night of the attack. “You have nothing to apologize for. I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you listen to that.”

“You couldn’t have known.” Tim closes his eyes and breathes deeply for a moment, then looks up. “My—I still owe you a statement, I think. Not today,” he adds quickly, evidently seeing the slight panic that crosses Jon’s face. “You can’t take that, and neither can I. Just…whenever you think you’re up to it. But—short version, I lost my brother to a Russian circus. It’s why I joined the Institute.”

Sasha actually knows precious few details beyond that—Tim may have told her the whole story, but they were both drunk at the time and she’s blurred out a lot, although she remembers the salient points. Jon looks stricken. “Tim, I—I didn’t know.”

“No reason you should have. I never told you.” Tim finishes off his tea in one long swallow, then pushes back from his desk. “I—I need some air.”

“Take your phone.” Jon’s voice is soft. “Call if you need us.”

“I will. I will.” Tim pockets his phone and heads out.

Jon watches him, then turns to the other two. He still looks shaken and visibly distressed. “Did you know?”

“I had no idea.” Martin touches his shoulder gently. “Jon, sit down. I’ll—I’ll get you another cup of tea.”

“Not right now. I’m fine.” Jon does sit, though, and he squeezes Martin’s hand briefly before looking up at Sasha. “Did you…?”

“He told me once,” Sasha admits. “I don’t remember most of the details, honestly, but I knew about Danny. I just didn’t make the connection while we were listening to the statement.”

Jon rubs a hand over his face. “I didn’t even notice—God, I was so focused on—I’d have stopped it if I’d known.”

“I don’t think you could have,” Martin tells him. “I—he started turning grey right after Gertrude mentioned the circus, and by the time they realized the brother was missing he was starting to hyperventilate. I wanted to tell you to stop the tape, o-or try to intervene, or something, but I—until the tape stopped, I couldn’t move. It was like sitting there listening to Martin Prime rattle off that chamber of horrors all over again.” He sounds frustrated and upset. “Like I was bound there. I don’t get it. It’s not like I’ve never interrupted you doing a recording before.”

“Only once,” Jon says. “And you—” He freezes, suddenly stiffening, and looks back and forth from Martin to Sasha. “Oh, God. You’ve both interrupted me, but that’s the point, you came in in the middle of the recording. You’ve never been there from the beginning.”

Sasha gets it, all of a sudden. “Because we were there from the start, we got caught in the—the threads of the statement. I wonder if anyone ever interrupted Jon Prime if they’d been there from the start?”

“I—I don’t know. I suppose I can ask.” Jon rubs his forehead again. “Not right now, though.”

“No, not right now,” Martin says firmly. He stands up from his desk and moves towards the shelves.

“What are you doing?” Jon asks.

“Getting Leanne Denikin’s case file,” Martin answers over his shoulder. “There’s just a couple things I want to look at.”

Sasha looks at Jon and shrugs. “While he’s doing that, let me see what I can pull up about our statement-giver. Gertrude said she recorded this in ‘97?”

“Y-yes,” Jon says, looking a bit shaken.

“That was almost twenty years ago. The Internet’s come a long way since then. Bet I can find things she could have only dreamed of.” Sasha cracks her knuckles and opens up her laptop again.

Jon raises an eyebrow at her. “Do you read Russian?”

“No, but there’s this nifty thing browsers do now where they’ll translate whole pages for you. It’s not perfect, but it’s good enough. Mostly.” Sasha offers Jon a cheeky grin. “More technology Gertrude didn’t have access to. And I have no idea if she read Russian.”

Jon’s eyes go slightly unfocused for a moment. “She didn’t. The Eye might have occasionally led her to read or understand a language she didn’t know, but only if doing so would give her the knowledge the Eye craved.” He closes his eyes and winces, shaking his head as if to clear it, and it’s only then Sasha feels the faint buzz of static receding. Before she can say anything, though, he adds, “The Roger Rabbit principle, I suppose.”

“The what?” Sasha and Martin, who’s just returning with a file in hand, say in unison.

“Did you ever see that old movie, Who Framed Roger Rabbit? It’s a blend of animation and live action—it takes place in a world where cartoon characters are real people and live alongside actual humans, although they live in a-a suburb of Los Angeles, I suppose, called Toon Town. The eponymous Roger Rabbit gets accused of murdering a man and turns to a human detective for assistance. There’s a segment in the film where the detective—Eddie Valiant—and Roger are handcuffed together, and Eddie is attempting to cut the cuffs off, but the box he’s using is wobbling, so Roger slips his hand out of the cuff and steadies it. When Eddie realizes what he’s done, he demands to know if Roger could have done that at any time, and Roger replies, ‘Not at any time. Only when it was funny.’”

“I think I get it,” Sasha says, glancing at Martin.

Martin nods. “You’re saying the Eye only lets the Archivist access languages otherwise unknown if it gets something out of it in return. Like extra fear.”

“Something like that.”

Martin sits down and drops two files on his desk. Sasha cocks her head. “What’s that second one?”

“Oh—since Gertrude listed the case number, I figured I’d see if I could find the paper file somewhere in the shelves.” Martin waves one of them at her. “It was in the back corner. I think it’s one of the ones Martin Prime said he was gathering, that he could sense were real.”

“What makes you say that?” Jon asks.

“You won’t like my answer.”

“Try me.”

Martin looks up at him. “The shelf was almost packed solid with cobwebs.”

Jon bites his lip. “You’re right. I don’t like that answer at all.”

Sasha tries to disguise her laugh as a cough as she goes back to her search.

She gets absorbed in the work—a totality of focus she’s only noticed a few times before—and is therefore caught off-guard when a mug of tea suddenly appears at her elbow. She looks up, startled, just in time to see Jon surprise Martin with his own mug. Sheepishly, Jon says, “I was starting to feel a bit useless, but I—I don’t know that I want to be alone in my office right now.”

“It’s fine. Thanks.” Martin offers Jon a warm smile, which Jon tentatively returns. Sasha wonders if they’re moving towards a romantic relationship. She also wonders how much faster they’re moving than the Primes did and if she’s going to have to shoot Tim before he uses the two of them being together as an excuse for why they should give it a go, even though she’s fairly certain he’s mostly joking about their “will they-won’t they” storyline.

“Either of you found anything yet?” Jon asks.

Sasha shakes her head. “Well, I was able to verify that Ivan Utkin did die in 1984, just like Gertrude said—it’s not that I doubted her necessarily, just that I wanted to be sure. That’s young, though. He was only forty-eight. His obituary doesn’t list cause of death, and, well, that was the height of the Cold War, so I’m not sure if the records exist anymore. I’ll keep trying, though. Yuri Utkin died in…” She swallows. “May of last year.”

“Around the time Gertrude Robinson died.”

“A bit after,” Sasha specifies. “The twenty-fifth.”

“Ah, the Glorious Twenty-Fifth of May,” Martin murmurs, not quite under his breath. When Sasha gives him a funny look, he adds, “Discworld reference.”

Jon shifts his attention to Martin. “Anything interesting in there?”

“It’s definitely the same circus. I mean, we knew that, Gertrude specifically called out Nikolai Denikin in her summing-up, but I’m guessing that the steam organ Utkin mentions in his statement is the one up in Artifact Storage, which…isn’t great.”

“No,” Jon agrees. Something suddenly seems to occur to him. “Sasha, how long have you been with the Magnus Institute?”

“Six years,” Sasha answers. She’s been in academia for ten years—well, eleven now—but the first few years after graduating she worked for the EPCC, until the project she was on shut down and she needed to come to London anyway. “Since August of 2010.”

Jon seems to deflate a bit. “So you weren’t here when the Calliophone came in.”

“No, but—Martin, you were here, weren’t you?”

Martin nods absently. “Yeah, I—kind of remember it getting delivered? Not surprised nobody can find the paperwork, though.”

Sasha looks over the top of her computer. “Why do you say that?”

Martin looks up, too. “There was some staff turnover in Artifact Storage about that time. There were a lot of injuries over the month, and at least six people quit. Then the head at the time—um, Henry Winchester—died and…I heard it was kind of messy.”

Sasha’s interest is caught. “Messy how?”

“Christ, Sasha, I don’t know. It didn’t happen on Institute grounds, so it’s not like I saw it. I just remember a couple people muttering about crime scene photos and peri- versus postmortem injuries and whether it was something that would end up in the Archives at some point.”

Sasha bites the inside of her cheek and stares at her computer for a second, wondering if she can dig up the police report and see what happened. Then she shakes her head slightly. It’s not relevant to anything they’re working on right now and she doesn’t need to be using Institute resources—including time—on personal projects.

“Actually, Sasha, do you think you can see what you can dig up on that?” Jon asks, and Sasha looks up sharply, wondering if he really is reading her mind. “If it’s…if Henry Winchester’s death was ‘messy,’ it’s possible that whatever killed him was…well, whatever killed Leanne Denikin’s ex. And, ah, being able to connect the death of the previous department head to an artifact from one of our statements might give us a bit of clout wh—if we have to tell them to leave another artifact alone.”

“I’ve got to admit,” Sasha says, backing out of the network of old Soviet record sites and tapping into the series of back doors she normally uses to access police records, “even knowing what we know, it still seems hard to believe that someone could be killed by an evil clown doll.”

“It’s probably not actually the doll,” Martin says absently. “Probably just a manifestation of the Stranger. There were clowns in the circus, after all, it’s not without the realm of possibility that the doll in Denikin’s steamer trunk was just an effigy of a real clown.”

Jon gives him a look of mingled amusement and amazement. “You’ve really got the hang of this side of things, haven’t you? The rest of us are fumbling in the dark and you’re marching in front with a spotlight.”

Martin’s cheeks turn pink, but he shrugs. “It just…makes sense, I guess. It’s like—like I’ve had this bag of puzzle pieces my whole life, only they’re a photomosaic and they aren’t really distinct enough to put together easily and there aren’t any distinct corners or edges to it. But now someone’s finally given me the box, so I can see what the whole picture is supposed to look like. Makes it easier to put together the right way.”

“We’re lucky to have you,” Jon says with a smile.

If Martin blushes any harder, the heat is going to set off Sasha’s computer fan. He mumbles something and goes back to work comparing the two statements.

Sasha hits a wall in researching the police records. No, not a wall—a black hole. There’s simply an empty space where the records ought to be. She backs out and tries again and again. Still nothing.

“We may have to get Tim to work his magic on this,” she tells Jon. “I think this might go past hacking files and into seducing file clerks.”

“Are you saying you don’t think you’re capable of seducing a file clerk on your own, Miss James?” Jon asks with a lift of his eyebrow. Sasha makes a rude noise in his direction and he smirks.

Martin looks up. “Where is Tim, anyway? Shouldn’t he be back by now?”

The smile melts off of Jon’s face. Sasha glances at the clock at the bottom corner of her screen and is astonished to realize it’s nearly four in the afternoon. “I’m not letting any of you boys go off on your own in the middle of the day anymore. Every time I do, you disappear for hours on end.”

Before Jon or Martin can answer, Jon’s phone rings. He fishes it out of his pocket and answers with a crisp greeting. Instantly, his expression shifts. “Tim! Are you all right? We were just—what?” A frown puckers his forehead. “You’re where? How did you…never mind. I know where that is. Stay there. I’m on my way.” He hangs up and slides to his feet, then opens Tim’s desk drawer and fishes out his keys.

“Is everything all right?” Martin asks, a little anxiously.

“It’s fine. Tim got himself turned around and needs a rescue.” Jon flips through the keys and mutters under his breath, “I never pegged him for the damsel in distress type.” Straightening, he adds in a normal tone of voice, “I’ll be right back. Martin, if you can, go through the Hector Silvana file and see what we still need to follow up on…Sasha, have you had a chance to look into those incidents in Jason North’s statements?”

“Not yet, but I will.”

“Thank you. I’ll be back soon.” Jon turns on his heel and strides out of the Archives.

Sasha waits until she hears the door close, then tilts her laptop slightly closed and looks over at Martin. “So, while the Helicopter Parents are out of the Archives, how’s the search for a new place to live going?”

From the way Martin’s ears go pink again, she knows she’s right; he’s been avoiding the topic. Tim is still weirdly persistent about them staying at his house, and while Jon puts up halfhearted protests, Sasha doesn’t think he’s actually all that keen to go back to his own flat. Sasha’s been crashing in Tim’s bed since the Primes moved out, mostly because the others keep protesting the idea of sleeping in there and she’s just tired of arguing and also slightly tired of Tim’s living room, but she’s ready to go home. As much as she loves her boys, she looks forward to having her own space again.

“I’ve been looking,” Martin says, a bit reluctantly. “There are a few…Martin Prime told me where he ended up in his timeline, and it’s—it’s not bad, really, but it’s a bit out of my price range. He didn’t have a choice, he had to get somewhere in a hurry and it was the only place he could even come close to affording. I know Tim’s going to eventually want me off his sofa, so I’m looking, but…”

“Well, if you need someone to put in a good word for you, let me know,” Sasha says. “I don’t think there are any units open in my building, but my landlord runs a few different ones. Might be able to get you a good rate.”

“Th-thanks. I’ll let you know.”

Sasha re-opens her laptop and goes back to work. She somehow doesn’t think Martin’s going to ask her for a recommendation. As a matter of fact, she’s already mentally betting with herself against him asking Tim how much he’d charge to rent out his spare bedroom. They might all live alone, normally, but she’s noticed over the last couple of months that the boys seem much more relaxed sharing a space than they did before. And besides, living alone in the Archives for weeks on end probably isn’t good for anyone’s sanity. No wonder Martin wants to be around people these days.

She’s managed to verify an apparent lack of supernatural involvement in two of the incidents involving Jason North when she hears footsteps and Martin looks up from his work. The look of relief that spreads over his face tells her without looking around that it’s Jon and Tim returning, none the worse for the wear.

“Thanks for the lift,” Tim says, sliding into his seat and bumping his shoulder against Martin’s companionably. “Seriously, I didn’t realize I’d wandered so far, I just—”

“Tim, it’s fine. No real harm done,” Jon says, in a tone that indicates they’ve been having this argument for several minutes. “It’s been a long day and you needed to clear your head. Nothing’s actively trying to kill us at the moment, so far as we know. It’s fine.”

“Yeah.” Tim opens his laptop. “Still. Next time I need space, I’ll go…I don’t know, reorganize a shelf or something. Feels more productive.”

“At least it’s a nice day,” Martin says, but there’s an element of uncertainty in his voice as he glances at one of the high-set windows in the Archive. They’re technically underground, and while it was nice enough when the three of them went to lunch earlier, that’s no guarantee it still is.

“Yeah, it is. Oh, and, ah, I found something kind of interesting.” Tim reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper, which he waves at the other three with a slight teasing grin.

Sasha can see in his eyes, though, that whatever it is, he’s very, very serious about it. “Oh? Do tell.”

Tim unfolds the paper and spreads it out on his desk. Sasha, Jon, and Martin all crane their heads over to see. It’s one of those flyers that real estate agents set out sometimes in front of houses for sale or rent, which is when Sasha remembers that Tim technically rents the little semidetached house they’ve all been crashing in lately. This one is terraced, but looks bigger, and appears to be in a halfway decent neighborhood. The price at the bottom is surprisingly reasonable for a house in London proper.

“Are you thinking of moving?” Sasha asks, surprised.

“Well, yeah. I-I mean, I wasn’t before, necessarily, but…well, I’ve been thinking. I’ve been living in that same house since, well, before Danny died,” Tim says softly. Martin looks up, eyes filled with sympathy. “It might not be a bad idea to start over somewhere new, you know? And it might be nice to own something, to start putting down roots. Plus, this one’s bigger—three bedrooms, it says. A-and I thought, well, I mean, if all of us went in together, it might…” He trails off.

Jon looks more startled than he has all day. “Wait. You thought—you wanted all of us to—”

“Well, it’s just—” Tim looks at Martin. “You need a place still, and I know—I thought it might be easier to share expenses on a place than to go full out on your own. And I’ve—I’ve kind of got used to having all of you around. I like it.” He looks from Martin to Jon to Sasha and back, his eyes almost pleading. “It’s just an idea, but—I mean, I thought I’d see if you guys were interested.”

Sasha is touched, but she’s also a little worried. Tim can be impulsive and tends to throw his whole heart into something, and he’s also been known to pin all his hopes on a single course of action. If he’s had the idea of all of them living together permanently in his head for more than a few minutes, it might not be easy for her to extract herself and go back to her own flat. It has to happen, though. She’s got just enough of a life outside the Institute that it’s important for her to get away.

Martin picks up the flyer and studies it more closely. “Says there’s an open house on Saturday afternoon,” he says, handing it over to Jon. “Might be worth taking a look, anyway.”

Tim brightens visibly. Jon examines the flyer, then nods slowly. “I think that would be an excellent idea.”

He offers it to Sasha, who smiles and shakes her head. “You boys have fun. I’ve got an appointment Saturday afternoon.”

It’s not exactly untrue. Second and fourth Saturdays are visiting days, and Sasha hasn’t been by in a while, so she probably ought to go. Plus she really does need to get her nails done. But it’s also a convenient excuse to avoid going and not have to pretend she’s going to be splitting the mortgage with them. Because Sasha knows herself well enough to know she’s not going in with the other three if they decide to do this. She values her independence, she values her privacy, and she does not want Tim to entertain any hopes that they might actually get together at some point. Besides, she picked her building for a reason, one she’s still not ready to share with the boys. She should probably feel guilty for keeping secrets, but she doesn’t.

“We’ll let you know what it’s like,” Tim promises.

Sasha smiles and nods and goes back to work and tries not to think about the fact that she’s basically going to break Tim’s heart.

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#the magnus archives #tma #panic attack tw #love is stored in the jonmartim #and occasionally backed up onto the sasha

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storiesforallfandoms · 5 years

Text

the runner ~ hotch;criminal minds

word count: 2562

request?: yes

@stiffinme “I’d like to request a Criminal Minds story, please! One with Hotch, while he’s in witness protection and they have to ask him to babysit another witness because she keeps giving her handlers the slip and has escaped them multiple times, getting as far away as several states before they find her again. And they’re hoping he can corralled cuz he can read behavior before she runs. I would like her to be called Steph, please!”

description: while under witness protection himself, aaron hotchner is tasked with looking after another witness with a history of escaping her handlers

pairing: hotch x female!reader

warnings: spoilers for up to season 12, swearing, things may get a little steamy ;) (also, not sure if this is a “warning” but I stopped watching Criminal Minds after Shemar Moore/Derek Morgan left the show so I’m really not caught up, have no idea what this plotline about Hotch being in witness protection is so if I get anything wrong feel free to let me know and I’ll edit the imagine)

The last thing Aaron Hotchner expected to see when he was put into Witness Protection was two agents stood at the door of his safe house, asking him to help them with another witness.

“Why me?” he found himself asking. “I’m not an agent anymore, I thought you weren’t supposed to ask me to engage in anything FBI related while I’m in Witness Protection.”

“We’re not,” one agent responded. “Not really. There’s going to be a handler with the two of you at all times, you’ll both be watched as you’re supposed to be, just together instead of separate. We’re just hoping...you’ll be able to help us to understand why she keeps running.”

Aaron looked down at the picture that was placed before him. One of the agents was holding the file on the witness, a young woman named Steph, which Aaron wasn’t allowed to see, for obvious reasons. He was only given the information he was allowed to know: Steph was a runner. She continuously gave her handlers the slip and managed to get as far away as a different state before she was tracked down and had to be given another protection identity. She had been under Witness Protection for only a year, but proved to be the hardest witness they had.

“Your job was to read people, to find things out about them just by their behavior,” the second agent explained. “We think you’ll be able to help us to stop her from running.”

“What about my son?” Aaron asked. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to leave Jack all by himself, especially with Mr. Scratch still out there looking for the two of them.

“We'll watch him until you return,” the agent responded. “It’ll only take a month, maybe two. If the two months comes to pass and she’s still trying to make a run for it, we’ll bring you back here to Jack.”

Aaron thought it over for a while before deciding, “Okay, I’ll help.”

~~~~~

Aaron was almost shocked to see Steph chained to the fridge in her safe house. According to the agents, she was recently recovered from another run attempt, however instead of moving her to yet another safe house, they handcuffed her to the fridge of the last house she was in while her newest handler watched her.

She looked annoyed. She was staying down her handler, who was paying as little attention to her as possible. She kept pulling at the handcuffs, Aaron could tell she had been doing this for a while as her wrist was starting to become red and raw.

When the two agents entered with Aaron, her attention snapped to them.

“Welcome back, agents!” she responded with mock enthusiasm. “Did you bring me a new friend? I’m so glad you did, Paul here is becoming a bore already. Hi there, I’m Steph, but you have to refer to me as Diana as that’s my newest Witness Protection name.”

“He’s not here to watch you,” one of the agents informed Steph. “He’s also under Witness Protection. We’ve brought him here until a handler can be assigned to him.”

Aaron told the agents on the ride over that it would be best if they didn’t tell Steph what their true intentions with bringing him there were. If she knew that Aaron was there to observe her, she’d make sure to act differently as to throw them off.

“Really?” Steph asked. “And you brought him here with me? With my track record. Yeah, have fun with that guys.” She addressed Aaron as she asked, “Don’t know what you know about me, but I won’t be around too long.”

Aaron nodded but didn’t say anything. He noticed she was very comfortable in this situation, with talking to the agents the way she was. They were supposed to be guarding her life, although obviously she didn’t care all that much if she kept running away.

The current handler, Paul, stood from where he was sat and approached Steph. “I’m going to uncuff you, but only so you can show our guest where he’ll be staying. You make a run for it, he’ll call for us. Right?”

Aaron nodded again.

Steph rolled her eyes. “I suppose I could stick around long enough to help the new guy settle in. This can be his place when I make my grand disappearing act again.”

She stood from the floor, rubbing at her sore wrist, before turning to Aaron. “Come with me, new guy, I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

She didn’t wait to see if he was following her, not that she could’ve gone far while he wasn’t. The house was a small, single level, two bedroom house, small enough to go unnoticed by anyone but big enough for the two people who were staying there.

Steph brought him into the living room and made a grand gesture to the couch. “This is your luxurious bedroom where you’ll be staying. The couch folds out to a not very comfortable bed, but unfortunately that’s the only kind of accommodations we can offer you in this small ass house, so for your benefit I hope you find a handler very soon.”

“Thank you,” Aaron said with a nod.

“It’s whatever,” Steph shrugged. “It’ll be kind of cool to have someone around who’s not a boring ass agent.”

“Even if you’re not staying around that long?” Aaron asked.

Steph’s slightly smile quickly fell. “Yeah, yeah even if I won’t be around long.”

She left the room without another word and Aaron noticed something else about her - behind her uncaring and sarcastic façade was just a hint of something else: fear.

~~~~~

That night Aaron was sat on the couch in Steph’s safe house. When he was taken away, he didn’t get a lot of time to take anything personal or valuable from his house. The one thing he did manage to take, however, was a picture of himself, Jack, and his ex-wife, Haley.

Even after he had gotten into other relationships following Haley’s death, it had always been his favourite picture, because it reminded him of happier times. A time when Jack was still little, when Aaron’s job hadn’t taken over his life, when he and Haley were happy. He missed her more than anything. Haley was his first true love, and he absolutely regretted letting anything get between them, especially his job, which ended up being the reason for Haley’s death.

“What are you looking at?”

Aaron looked up to see Steph standing at the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. She was wearing a tank top and a pair of pyjama pants. She was carrying two beers in her hand. She flopped down on the couch next to Aaron and offered him one.

“Who’s that?” she asked, nodding to the picture in Aaron’s hand.

“My ex-wife and our son,” Aaron responded.

“How recent of an ex?” Steph asked. “Is she the reason why you’re under protection?”

“No,” Aaron responded. “She...she died a few years ago. Murdered by a serial killer, he called himself The Boston Reaper.”

“Shit,” Steph said. “That’s rough, I’m so sorry. Does that have anything to do with why you’re in protection? Is he back for revenge? If so, I wouldn’t let myself be in protection. I’d beat the shit out of him.”

Aaron offered Steph a small smile. “I already did. I killed him that day.”

Steph nodded, impressed, and offered the neck of her beer to Aaron. He tapped his bottle against hers and they both took a long swig.

“You’re still here,” Aaron noticed. “Waiting for everyone to go to bed?”

“No,” Steph responded. “I haven’t planned out my latest escape yet. Even if I did, why would I tell you? Not only did you tell Paul earlier that you’d let them know if I ran, but I know for certain that you yourself are an agent.” Aaron opened his mouth to protest, but she quickly cut him off, “Please, you scream FBI agent. You’re all serious and down to business, much like the assholes that look over me. I knew from the moment you walked in that you’re not here to be protected, you’re here to do the protecting.”

There was a moment of silence while Steph challenged Aaron to tell her different. When he didn’t, she tipped her head back and chugged the rest of the contents in her beer bottle. When it was all gone, she stood from the couch and started towards the kitchen.

“I am in Witness Protection,” Aaron said, causing Steph to freeze in place and turn to look at him. “And I’m not an FBI agent anymore, for that reason. I was put in protection a few weeks ago, myself and my son. Another killer is after the two of us, one that I managed to escape from years ago. He started stalking my son and we had to leave to be safe.” Steph crossed her arms and opened her mouth to ask why he was telling her all this. He cut her off by saying, “I just wanted to tell you that we didn’t completely lie to you earlier.”

Aaron wondered if Steph would use this moment to bolt. If she did, he wouldn’t have the time to alert Paul and also run after her. He’d have to chose one or the other, and either way she’d be long gone before either men could properly catch her and bring her back. He was preparing for her to run, but was surprised when she approached the couch again and sat next to him.

“Why did you tell me that?” she asked. “I mean why did you go into so much detail? You could’ve just said that wasn’t a lie.”

“I figured if I told you my story, maybe you’d tell me yours,” Aaron responded. “I’ve only been told that you were put in protection a year ago, and that you’ve been running from your handlers ever since.”

Steph scoffed. “And why do you care what my story is?”

“Maybe then I’ll be able to figure out what’s been causing you to keep fleeing. You can learn a lot about a person just from one simple story.”

Steph looked at Aaron for a long time, deciding if she should tell him or not. She pulled her knees up against her chest and hugged them to her, looking like an innocent child as opposed to a grown woman.

She went into her story, telling Aaron about how she ended up needing protection: her boyfriend of nearly three years turned out to be a member of one of the most dangerous gangs. She found this out early on in their relationship, but he assured her that all he did was run drugs for the gang, he wasn’t involved in any of the other horrible things that the gang did. Foolishly, she believed him, until one day she was walking down an empty street and heard a screaming from an alley way. When she went to investigate, she saw her boyfriend standing over three dead bodies with the gun in his hand.

“I ran,” she concluded. “Went to my friend’s house and called the police. They took him and whoever was at his house at the time into custody, but there was still a large amount of gang members out there, ready to come after me. So, they took me and put me into Witness Protection. That was a year ago, they still haven't found all the gang members. I still receive threatening messages from private numbers on my phone every now and then, no matter how many times I get a new phone with a new number.”

“Is that why you keep running?” Aaron asked.

Steph raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were supposed to be able to guess that from my story.”

“I think that’s part of it, but I feel like there’s something else to it.”

Steph sighed. “Yeah, there is. I....I went to see him once before I was put into Witness Protection. A stupid decision, I know, but I just wanted to see him one last time. Closure or something, you know? I didn’t tell him I was being put in Witness Protection, but I did tell him that I was going to have an officer with me at all times to keep me safe, but he told me that wouldn’t be a problem because apparently they have people in the police. Obviously he wouldn’t tell me who, but he said I would never truly be safe.” She wouldn’t meet Aaron’s eye. “That’s why I keep running. I don’t know if the handlers that are sent are on his side or not. I just keep hoping they’ll stop coming after me and let me be.”

“It’s their job to protect you,” Aaron told her.

“But how can you feel comfortable and safe when you don’t know if the next person walking through the door is going to be someone that works for your ex-boyfriend?”

Aaron could understand her worry. She wasn’t just trying to get away, she was trying to stay safe. She was afraid for her life and she didn’t know who she could trust. In her head, she was alone in the world and her only option was to run.

Aaron reached a hand out to touch Steph’s hand. She looked up at him and he noticed for the first time that she had tears in her eyes.

“For as long as I’m being protected, I’ll be here to protect you,” he told her. “Even when I’m free to go home, I’m a former FBI agent, I know how to protect people. As long as you promise not to run anymore.”

Steph looked at Aaron for a long moment in shock. He was starting to think she was going to turn down his offer, which he’d also understand. He had only just met her a few hours earlier, she wasn’t sure if she could trust him just yet or not.

However, Steph shocked Aaron by climbing onto his lap and starting to kiss him deeply. At first, he started to pull away, sure that it was wrong for two under Witness Protection to engage in any sort of relations, but after a moment he calmed into the kiss, allowing himself to enjoy it. He wrapped his arms around Steph, kissing her back with just as much passion. Steph’s hands started moving to his shirt, trying to take it off him, when they both heard the bedroom door open.

Just as fast as she was on his lap, Steph was sat back on the couch next to him. A sheepish Paul exited the room and looked between the two.

“How may I help you, good sir?” Steph asked in a sarcastic tone.

“Just came to get a drink of water. Didn’t mean to disrupt anything,” Paul responded before moving to the kitchen.

Steph leaned close to Aaron to whisper, “He really came out to make sure I was still here. By the way, if you hadn’t noticed, that was me taking you up on your offer. And this - ” She pointed between them, “ - is to be continued.”

She stood from the couch and went to her room. Suddenly, Aaron wasn’t dreading his situation as much.

Sorry if this was bad :/

#aaron hotchner #hotch #criminal minds #aaron hotchner imagine #hotch imagine #request #imagine #imagine request #criminal minds imagines #leave a request

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elisaphoenix13 · 5 years

Text

Introducing The Baby

It was the calm before the storm. Tony and Stephen didn't bother planning a time to introduce baby Valerie to the team because last time they tried, they found out before then. So they opted to have FRIDAY warn any of their friends arriving to the family floor via elevator, or in the rare case the stairs, to be quiet. It was still early enough for their three oldest to still be asleep, but some of the team would undoubtedly be awake. There was a usual routine for those early birds to get up, get through their morning work out, and then come up to raid their fridge or join them for breakfast.

Breakfast that Tony was currently cooking while Stephen gave their newest addition a bottle in the living room. The tv was on at low volume and Tony could hear his better half speaking softly to Valerie every once in a while, and then he could see Stephen carefully depositing the infant into the baby swing. Tony chuckles when both Levi and Tibbs approach the baby to watch over her and Stephen joins him in the kitchen once he confirms he can still see Valerie.

"Tibbs is joining the baby." Tony smirks as he takes the finished bacon out of the pan and places it on the growing pile on a plate.

"It's alright. He just wants to lay with her." Stephen says quietly as he takes a piece of bacon to munch on. He looks back over at Valerie and frowns when he finds Levi gently poking at her cheek. "Stop that. You'll wake her."

Levi moves away immediately at its masters words and instead opts to float beside her and watch for signs of discomfort. Even if she did wake up and fuss, Tony would put money on Stephen still managing to get to Valerie before the cloak. The elevator doors open just a couple of minutes later, and to the adults surprise, it was Quill. The man usually didn't roll out of bed until an hour from now...two if Scott was in a mood.

"You're up early Porcupine." Tony greets and Quill yawns.

"Scotty kicked me out of bed. I'm still not sure if he was asleep or not." He turns toward the living room. "I'm gonna crash on the couch for a few minutes. Wake me when-"

And then the celestial froze. He very obviously caught a glimpse of the sleeping infant, and both Stephen and Tony give each other a knowing look. Quill just stood in front of the swing staring down at the tiny human, and when his sleep muddled mind finally processed what he was looking at, he whipped his hand around so fast to look at the couple that Tony cringed. It looked like that could have hurt.

"Is...are you...what the fuck?!" He whispers incredulously and Stephen chuckles.

"Yes. There's a new baby. Her name is Valerie."

Quill looks back down at the infant as Stephen joins him. "When did this happen?"

"When we were in Malibu. Do you want to hold her?"

"Yes." The excitement in the god's eyes quickly turns to terror. "NO! Holy shit...no. I...I could break her or something-"

Stephen merely smiles as he shoos Tibbs off the swing and scoops up his daughter, and with a few directions, deposits Valerie into Quill's arms. The man had never held a baby before and while he panicked as Stephen handed over the tiny creature, he calmed down as soon as he had her. Stephen trusted him enough to return into the kitchen, and Tony sniggers at the enraptured look on Quill's face. The unmistakable sound of the baby whining a few minutes later at the stranger holding her had Stephen moving once again, but the whines quickly turned to coos when the celestial spoke softly to her.

It had the sorcerer settling back onto the stool at the island. "For all that worry, he's doing just fine."

Tony turns off the stove. "I'm pretty sure if Thumbelina were up here and saw this, he would cream himself."

"It's too early for you to be vulgar." Stephen sighs out as the elevator doors open again and Natasha steps out. "Oh no…"

Natasha gives Stephen an offended look, but then Valerie gurgles loudly and the assassin turns her attention to the living room. Oh no indeed. The woman made a beeline for Quill and the baby, and the celestial actually growled when she got close enough and held his free hand out, Valerie safely snuggled into his other arm.

"Papa Bear...you give me that baby right now!" Natasha demands.

"The hell did you call me?"

"You heard me. Cough her up!"

"Fat chance!"

The two were still bickering when more of the team arrived, and the moment they saw the baby now held to the Celestial's shoulder (which was extremely cute because Valerie looks very tiny compared to Quill), they froze. Most of them watched in amusement as a god and an assassin fought over a baby, and the others waited patiently since they didn't want to get maimed. Scott and Cassie arrived just as the commotion woke Harley, Peter, and Diana, and Tony had probably been right. When Scott saw his husband with a baby, he got a look in his eyes that spoke of arousal and fondness and had Tony laughing his ass off.

The thief quickly recovered though and approached the larger man, and carefully took the new family member from him. The galaxy eyes had been out and even Natasha wouldn't take that risk. Scott thankfully only wanted a few moments to hold the baby before he passed her off to Natasha, and after that, Valerie was safely passed around her new family during and after breakfast. Quill was a little put out at having the little girl taken from him, and he even vocalized his displeasure, but it just had the others laughing.

"I guess it's official." Sam grins and Quill gives him a confused look.

"What is?" The god grumbles.

"You're Papa Bear." Natasha says. "You're nowhere near Mom's level, since you only seem to give the attention to Cassie, Diana, and now the new baby...but you're protective enough."

Quill sniffs. "I ain't parenting all of you."

Stephen snorts as he rescues his fussing daughter from Clint. "No, that's apparently my job."

Clint raises an eyebrow at Quill. "You don't seem to papa bear Lila."

"She's never really here." The god explains with a shrug.

Which technically was all the explanation needed. Quill was only protective of Cassie and Diana because he saw them on a daily basis. Valerie would no doubt to be added to his bubble of protection since she would be seen daily as well, but Lila only visited from time to time. Not that Quill or anyone else wouldn't protect her if she needed it, there was just no bond there. Stephen barely had the bond to Clint's kids as it was and they spent time with the sorcerer as much as possible when he was home.

When Stephen got Valerie settled again, it was Bucky's turn to hold her. "It's about time you gave in." The soldier says with a smile at the baby girl, even though the words were directed at Stephen.

"Tony practically shoved the book in my face and told me to get on with it." The sorcerer says and Tony scoffs.

"That's a little over dramatic babe."

"Sounds accurate." Rhodey jokes.

Even though there was a new baby, everyone made sure that the other three kids didn't feel left out. It was unnecessary for the most part though since they expected the hype over their new baby sister and knew the excitement would die down within a few days. The majority of the excitement died down once everybody got a turn to hold the baby, and when she finally ended up back with her mother, Valerie fell asleep against his shoulder. The team was respectfully quiet while she slept and either left the floor to do their own thing, or hung around and watched TV with the family. Except Quill. He took to prowling. He didn't want to overwhelm the baby, but it was obvious he wanted to hold her again.

"Settle down Spaceman. She's not going anywhere." Scott assures the man as he reaches up to pull his husband on the couch next to him.

"You don't want her right now anyway." Stephen says as he stands up with the infant snoozing on his shoulder. "She needs a diaper change."

Quill grimaces and waves at Stephen. "Yeah, that's all you."

While Stephen disappears up into the master bedroom with his burden, Quill lays back onto the couch, making Scott resituate himself so he can lay comfortably...well...on Quill. The man kind of took up most of the couch, so Scott had to half lay on the god to be comfortable. Tony snorts when purring snores fill the air not even two minutes later, and the kids laugh.

"Why's Spacecase so tired?" Harley asks.

"He said something about being kicked out of bed but now that I think about it, I can't see Scott being able to do that. Quill's a tank." Tony answers and Scott lifts his head.

"I did it on purpose. He was hogging the bed...and I didn't kick him."

"Did you push him?" Peter asks with a raised eyebrow.

"I did."

Cassie rolls her eyes. "Dad, you could have just woken him up."

"I was making a point." Scott mutters as he settles back between the human tank and the back of the couch.

Scott was quick to fall asleep after that since he was one that was easily lulled to sleep by Quill's snores, and Tony gave the boys the go ahead to play video games. Bucky and Steve were in the living room as well, but the captain was entertaining himself by sketching, and Bucky had his head in Steve's lap (facing the man's stomach) dozing as well. Tony muttered something along the lines of 'old farts' but his kids ignored him as they played Mario Kart. That was no fun. That usually would have gotten at least a snicker from one of them, but nothing.

Tony props his elbow on the arm of the couch and rests the side of his head on his hand as he mindlessly answers emails on his phone, and then he and Steve look up when Stephen leaves the master bedroom with a fussing baby. The sorcerer approaches the engineer with a frown and Tony sits up when Stephen holds Valerie out to him.

"I don't know what's wrong. I've changed her, I tried feeding her, burping, rocking…" Stephen says a little helplessly.

"She just started crying for no reason?" Tony asks as he takes Valerie.

"She was fine while I was changing her."

Tony holds the infant up to his shoulder, and gently pats her back as he tries to soothe her in Italian, but the wailing continued and showed no sign of stopping.

"See if Quill's snoring helps." Steve offers and Tony gives him an exasperated look.

"Valerie clearly isn't interested-"

Understanding dawns on Stephen and he takes Valerie back from his miffed husband. "He wasn't referring to the noise."

Tony watches as the doctor carefully approaches the napping couple on the couch and gently places Valerie on Quill's chest. The adults wait in apprehension for the next few moments, and when Stephen just about gives up on the idea, Valerie finally quiets down. The baby's wailing slowly turns into whimpers, and then eventually silence within seconds of being placed on Quill. Tony stares incredulously as his daughter falls back asleep, and Diana looks up at him with a smug smile.

"Even Valerie likes Uncle Quill's kitty noises."

Stephen chuckles. "She likes the vibrations. I'm sure if your father were asleep and snoring, she would sleep on him too."

Peter looks over at his sleeping sister and frowns. "Aren't you afraid she'll get knocked off or fall?"

As if hearing the teen's question, Quill stretches out in his sleep to make himself more comfortable, all while bringing a hand over Valerie to keep her in place. The interrupted snoring continued once Quill was comfortable again and neither Scott nor Valerie woke from the small adjustment. Tony couldn't even be jealous. His daughter was already included in the Celestial's protection, and it was nice to see her warm up to others besides her immediate family. Being passed around their large family was overwhelming for her and she fussed sometimes, but he was positive it wouldn't take much for her to get used to everyone and the going ons of the tower.

"I think she's safe with Scott and Quill for now." Stephen eventually says and sits next to Tony.

"I would hate to imagine what disasters they might be with one of their own." Tony jokes.

"What am I? Chopped liver?" Cassie asks from beside Diana and the engineer shakes his head.

"I meant a baby Miss Sass. Your dad might have experience, but Quill only has experience babysitting. Meaning he can give the kid back. With their own, it might be a different story."

"Don't forget about Groot." Peter points out.

"Still babysitting. Rocket was his main caretaker."

"I don't know." Cassie tilts her head. "I think they'd do okay."

Diana gasps. "Mommy! You can give them a baby with the magic!"

"Unfortunately, I don't think it works that way. I believe the spell only works for the one using it. It would only give me and your father another baby." Stephen says with a shake of his head.

Diana shrugs. "Oh well."

Scott stirs and cracks his eyes open and stares at the creature on his husband's chest. "What the hell?" He mumbles.

"Porcupine is doing us a favor. Don't worry about it." Tony informs the thief as Scott sits up and yawns.

"Okay." Scott glances at the tv and carefully climbs over Quill to sit next to Stephen on their couch. "I play winner."

The next hour passes with Tony and Stephen watching the kids and Scott play Mario Kart, Bucky eventually wakes up and joins in the gameplay, and Steve sticks to drawing. None of them noticed when Quill stopped snoring, or when he studied the weight on his chest that he was holding to himself, but they did notice when he finally spoke up.

"There's a tiny person on me."

#ironstrange #supremefamily #tony stark #mama bear stephen strange #diana stark strange (oc)#stephen strange #peter parker #harley keener #valerie stark strange (oc)#peter quill #scott lang #antlord #avengers #cassie lang

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nikatyler · 4 years

Note

4, 8, 13, 19, 26, 34 & 43 of the OC questions. Thank you!

4. A character you rarely talk about?

Basically my entire BPR lol. But that’s because I don’t see the sims in that legacy the same way I see many characters from my other two legacies. They’re...just sims.

Bianca and Zoey are often in the shadow of their brothers, even though I love their story arcs. They’re different. Probably the saddest, most heartbreaking I’ve planned in the whole legacy? And one of the most serious. They have some lighthearted moments where you can laugh, but overall, they’re definitely more on the darker side. Also, Bianca and Zoey are one of my favourite siblings relationships I’ve ever written. Their bond is so incredibly strong...yeah I love them. Moving on, I feel a general rambling about siblings and family coming and we’re not here for that now :D

8. Do you RP as any of your OCs? If you do, introduce one of your RP OCs here!

Answered before, forgive me that I’m too lazy to link that answer 😅

13. Do you have any troublemaker OCs?

The biggest, most obvious troublemaker would probably be Tyler. High school Tyler, I mean. He calms down after that. But yeah, as a teenager, he was quite wild.

19. Introduce an OC that means a lot to you (and explain why)

The one that I first introduced as Diana/Deanna, then recently Sylvia, then Sylva for like a week, then her surname Wynter became her name and on Saturday Wynter became Wyntra. And who knows what it will be next month. I’m joking but not really.

Wyntra. Why is she important to me? I had the very first draft of her when I was 14. At that time, she was my age too and I adjusted it a few times, so when I was 15, the story was moved to when she’s 15 too, when I was 16, she was 16 and so on. (Not anymore though, I’m 20 and she’s stuck at 18 and that will stay, it wouldn’t make sense to make her older in the beginning of the story.)

My point is, she kind of grew up with me. She’s like a diary, if that makes sense. I look at her and think of how far I’ve come as a writer (there’s still a long road ahead of me and I’m sure it’ll show on her too) I kept her through all my writing changes. Whatever I did, my mind was always coming back to her. I took breaks and wrote something else but I always came back to her with an updated idea for her story...and all these updated ideas and drafts are now combining into something that I’m planning anxiously. This time, it’s finally coming together. I feel more confident about it than ever. I’m really figuring out what story exactly I want to tell and what I want to say between the lines.

26. Have you ever had to change your OC’s design or something else about them against your will?

I have issues with names. I tend to use a lot of names starting with the same letters and often use name that sound similar, so when I notice, one has to go and I never like doing that but in the end, it's for the best. (I'm especially careful with this in my nonsims stories, not so much here.)

As for designs...I was sad when I decided in gen 4 that Tyler would cut his hair. I wanted him to keep the long hair. But other than that, not really? I’m working alone though, so I’m the one who has the final word...nothing is ever really against my will. Even the example I gave wasn’t exactly against my will - I 100% wanted to do it for the story, but my personal preference was different.

34. Do you have any twin characters?

Let’s see how many twins I have...I hope I don’t forget anyone important haha

Crystal and Claudia

Marie and Scarlett

Dylan and Aurora

Regan and Felix

Magnolia and Avery

Freya and Faye

Juliet and Dorian

[spoiler]

Some spares definitely had twins too, but I don’t remember their names. Shhh

43. Do you have any certain type when you create your OCs? Do you tend to favour some certain traits or looks? It’s time to confess

Yeah. I like to write dorks like Tyler, Sunset or Claudia and on the other side, introverted characters like Isaac or Caleb R, to put it really simply. These are definitely the two “major” types, then of course each of them is slightly different, things overlap...most of my characters have to at some point deal with insecurities, anxiety or loneliness because guess what, somebody likes to project her own struggles onto them. (Not saying it’s a bad thing. Not always.)

As for looks, it doesn’t happen that often when I’m writing a nonsims story, but when it comes to sims...ooh boy. When creating a male character, it’s a struggle to stay away from long hair, not gonna lie. :D

Thanks for the ask ♥

#dandylion240 #answered

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wolfpawn · 5 years

Text

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 10

Chapter Summary - Paul talks to Danielle and offers make her munch, while Tom and Benedict meet with their respective partners for lunch, what will come to pass in that time?

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1

“Do you want to talk about it?” Paul looked at Danielle as she finished the paperwork from bringing in a woman who had an asthma attack to the A&E of the hospital he worked in.

“I am working.” Was all she responded. “And so are you.”

“Danni…”

“Paul, I…” she bit her lower lip. “I am not sure I can do this.”

Paul pulled her away from the nurses’ station gently and brought her to an examination room that was not in use, leaving the door slightly ajar. “I know; that is why you need to talk about it.”

“How do you know?”

“Diana saw me in the street, asked me if I had seen you. Her daughter showed her the piece, they know you had nothing to do with it, apparently, you know things about him that would pay off the rest of your mortgage in a bidding war.”

“I don’t have a mortgage, I sold my parents house and used my dad’s life insurance to pay for my place.” She gave a half-smile back.

“Danni, She’s worried about you.”

“Who?”

“Diana, she keeps calling your phone, so have I actually, but it’s not on.”

“Yes it is, I just made sure to keep it on the ‘do not disturb’ setting.”

“You won’t answer the door to her.”

“I was in Norfolk for a few days.”

“That shoot, I remember. How was it?”

“Good actually, it was Sherlock, so I got to see a few scenes of what’s to come.”

Paul’s face lit up “Really? I love that show, it’s brilliant. Did you meet Cumberbatch and Freeman?”

“Yes, I did actually, well, not Freeman, but Benedict was there.”

“You are on first name terms?”

“Look who I live next to.”

“Yeah, but how would that equate to him?”

“I’ll tell you later.” She shook her head, knowing there was a small chance of them being overheard in semi-public.

“How about we meet tomorrow for lunch, my place, you, me and Mac, let you get whatever it is that has been eating you off your chest? I’ll even hide anything incriminating so you can’t sell it to the papers.” Danielle gave him a bemused look. “Kidding.”

“I’m not sure Paul, I’m not really in a…”

“Look, I get it, you are a bit tossed in the air with this, for whatever reason, but I think you do actually need to be able to let it out.”

“That is why we have psych evaluations every other week.”

“No, that is for work-related crap, but for life stuff outside of that, you are on your own, but you don’t have to be.”

Danielle gave him a small smile. “Why are you so nice to me?”

“Because contrary to whatever is going on in that beautiful head of yours, I think you are amazing and worth every ounce of effort.” He gave her a cocky smile back. “Lunch?”

“Okay, I concede.”

“Wonderful, I am off in a half an hour.”

“Lunch isn’t for another twelve hours Paul.”

“I know, but I am only doing a sixteen-hour shift today.”

“The joys of working for the NHS!”

“So I will be to yours at noon, and we will have an afternoon of you being waited on, cooked for and accompanied for a walk, does that sound amiable to you, Miss Hughes?”

“I think it does.” She smiled. “Thank you, Paul, for everything.”

“My pleasure.” He took her hand and kissed the back of it. “You washed these after Mrs Jenkins, right?”

Danielle laughed. “Of course.”

“Good, the last thing I want is to have bunion ointment breath for my last rounds.”

“That would be a little off-putting, yes. Thank you for making me laugh.”

“I will endeavour to do so often, I happen to love your laugh.”

She smiled again but then they heard a light knock on the door. “Danielle, we are needed at a house fire.”

“Shit. Thanks, Dave.” She turned to Paul again. “I better go.”

“See you tomorrow.” He smiled, watching her leave.

“How am I supposed to be nice to this…I cannot even call her a woman, she is ten years younger than me and acts like a prepubescent?” Sophie hissed into her husband’s ear.

“Think about getting Tom to see the light.”

“Isn’t that a movie he was in?”

“Focus Sophie.”

“Right, here is the place, God Ben, what if this doesn’t work, why…?”

“Sophie, breathe, if it gets too much, make an excuse to leave the table for a few minutes, as long as it is believable, I doubt anyone will notice.” Ben squeezed her hand in his to give her some encouragement. “What the…”

The outside of the restaurant was a sea of snapping cameras. “Oh, God.” Sophie grimaced.

“I guess they’re here,” Ben growled quietly. “Excuse me, please.” He held Sophie next to him and tried to make his way through the paparazzi.

A few of them asked questions, he was sure he heard Tom and Taylor’s names, as well as a comment that startled him, a reference to Danielle, not by name, but by asking if he was worried about his personal stories too.

“Did I just hear…?” Sophie looked at him when they entered the restaurant.

“Yes.” Benedict confirmed, “I think it is safe to say my suspicions as to who is behind this is right.” He turned to the maître d’. “Hiddleston table, please.”

“You mean the Swift table.” The man corrected. Benedict had seen him every time he came to this restaurant in LA, chosen specifically because it was off the beaten track, quiet and not a celebrity hotspot, or at least, where people did not expect to see them. It was one of the best-kept secrets in the industry, until today, and Benedict would wager that because of Swift, it would be no longer receiving the clientele it was aimed at.

“Really?” He asked, utterly disgusted, looking at Sophie. “He can’t book a table now?”

“We’ll see what is going on.” She smiled at him, noticing they were getting close to the correct table when Tom rose to his feet, a smile on his face. “You are Sherlock after all.” Sophie gave a dry smile.

“And you are a far better sidekick than Martin, prettier too.” Benedict grinned. “Don’t tell him that, though.”

“Of course not.” Sophie turned and was enveloped in a large hug from Tom, “Tom, so long since I’ve seen you.”

“And I you, how are you both.” He grinned at her but turned slightly to greet Ben.

“Well, but a little jetlagged, you know the drill.” Ben smiled, extending his hand to Tom, who shook it enthusiastically, placing a hand on Ben’s arm as he did.

“Yes, I get that too often now, I have flown more time zones in the past few months.” He rolled his eyes playfully.

“Yes, we’ve seen.” Sophie smiled politely, but her words dripping with obvious disapproval.

Tom’s smile faltered for a moment, but the sound of a throat clearing behind him caught his attention. “Where are my manners? He turned and beckoned Taylor to stand up and come over to his friends, which she did so, after a moment of a contemptuous glaring, her smile was pristine however when she got to her feet. “Ben, Sophie, I would like to formally introduce you to Taylor, Taylor, you know Benedict Cumberbatch, and this is his lovely wife Sophie.”

Taylor gave Ben a seemingly genuine smile and a kiss on the cheek, Sophie however, was treated to a glare and curt grimace of a smile. “Lovely to meet you both.”

“And for us to finally meet you, we have not had the pleasure before now, Tom, that’s solely on you.” Ben chastised playfully.

“Well, with everything…” Tom began.

“And certain people,” Taylor interjected.

Tom shifted uncomfortably; causing Benedict to realise there was actual doubt in Tom’s eyes, filling the older actor with relief that all that was required was a slight push to get him to question everything. “Yes, but let’s not dwell on that right now, how about some starters, I am quite peckish from the flight.”

The meal went by slowly as far as the Cumberbatch’s were concerned, Tom spoke as animatedly with Ben as he usually did, though there was an eagerness in him also, as though he had been yearning to talk to him for ages. Tom ensured to include a very bored looking Taylor in the conversation, explaining to her different things that had to be to comprehend the story, but she seemed only interested when she was the one speaking; name dropping and laughing at mundane things.

“Please do not think me rude, but I just want to check with mum if Christopher went down for her okay.” Sophie placed her hand on Benedict’s arm to get his attention.

“Of course darling, tell her I say hello.” He smiled, watching as Sophie went to the maitre d’ to ask where she could make a phone call privately. “Sorry, it’s just after his bedtime.”

“Don’t apologise, that’s parenting, right? On July fourth, Reynolds and his wife spent half the day on the phone to the nanny.”

“Yeah, you think at a party they would just get over it for a few hours, I mean, I know they have a kid, but what are they going to be like with another one?”

“Hopefully responsible parents.” Ben smiled back, though it was in no way a friendly one.

“Remember when we did War Horse, and the Producer was minding his kid on set,” Tom asked.

“Jesus, yes, and we were all judgement, wondering why he wouldn’t give it to a nanny. I still don’t know if it was a boy or a girl.”

“All I know was it was loud, it startled a horse.” Tom agreed, “But remember how you went on about nannies not being as bad as he thought.”

“I would not give Christopher to a nanny for all the money in the world now.” Ben acknowledged. “I mean I could if I had to, and there are a lot of damn good ones, but I would bring him to set if I could first.”

“If you could pry him from your mum.”

“She is out with me for not leaving him with her, but you know…”

“Sophie’s mum is in Scotland, she has to get her time with him too.” Tom agreed with a smile before his face turned solemn. “Can I ask what is it you are so worried about?” Benedict frowned at him. “Danielle?”

“I rather not talk about it.”

“She is just a leech, they are everywhere, I told you to get rid of her before.” Taylor dismissed, not looking up from her phone.

Benedict felt his lip curl in contempt, “I just mentioned a situation that occurred with Christopher in church at Sunday service, you know, as babies do, it’s boring, and how the priest had to be given a few extra pounds for the church’s restoration fund at the end of it as an apology, but you can imagine how that sounds in the media.”

Taylor seemed to have picked up interest in the story and nodded, as though she actually did understand, her hands on her phone under the table. Tom, however, eyed Benedict with great suspicion. “I better go to the ladies room, excuse me.” Taylor smiled sweetly. “Will you mind my phone darling?” she handed her cell to Tom and walked off.

“What are you doing?” Tom asked as soon as Taylor was out of earshot. “You don’t go to service, you gave out about your wedding being in a church.”

Benedict grinned. “I am showing you where your leak is.”

“What…” Tom paused and looked Benedict in the face. “You think the issue is Taylor?”

“Yes, I genuinely do, and now I have met her, I can honestly say, run Tom, run while you can. I believe every word Danielle said of their encounter, don’t you think the timing of your little leak is awfully convenient, Danielle tells her to go fuck herself and all of a sudden, Danielle is supposedly pouring your family secrets out for no fucking reason.”

“They never exchanged words with one another, so that is utter bull…” Tom paused when Taylor arrived back, smiling happily. “Everything alright love, you ready to go?”

Taylor seemed slightly startled by the change in atmosphere and looked between them. “Yes, this has been a very nice lunch.”

“Out of curiosity Taylor, can I ask your opinion on something, after all, you are somewhat alike to Danielle in age.” Taylor nodded. “What is your opinion of her from encountering her?”

“Rude, obsessive and willing to hurt anyone to get what she wants; that’s my impression from that less than pleasant talk.” She answered plainly.

“But you said you never spoke to her.” Tom frowned, looking at Taylor. “You said the only times you saw her were in my presence and you never spoke those times.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you about when she cornered me outside your mum’s and was really horrible to me, saying all sorts of abusive things. I didn’t want to trouble you with it; it’s not fair to drag you into things.”

Tom was acutely aware of the fact they were in public, so remained silent, but to Benedict’s delight, there was clearly a fire in his eyes. “I better go get some rest, this jet lag is a bitch. Tom, please call me when that thing we were speaking about happens because I am dying for your reaction.” Ben smiled at his friend, “I’ll make sure to answer.” Sophie chose that exact moment to come back inside, looking somewhat baffled. “Darling?”

“As you expected.” She smiled back.

Benedict looked at Taylor as he spoke. “But of course.”

#I Hate you I Love You #chapter 10 #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic

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queen-susans-revenge · 5 years

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Ingrid Seward and her Smear Campaign Against the Duchess of Sussex

The astonishing and unabating waves of vitriol and misogynoir directed against Meghan, Duchess of Sussex in the British tabloids are really something; yesterday Elton John took to Twitter to denounce “these relentless and untrue assassinations on their character that are spuriously crafted on an almost daily basis.” He was including Harry in his remarks, but the truth is that the vast majority of the press attacks are directed at Meghan. They began when her engagement was announced, with such odious headlines as the Daily Mail’s “Harry’s Girl Is (Almost) Straight Outta Compton -- Gang-Scarred Home of Her Mother Revealed - So Will He Be Dropping By for Tea?” and they have never let up. (As it turns out, yes, the Duke and his mother-in-law visit frequently. She usually comes to them though, because they are a prince and a princess who live in a frickin’ castle--okay okay, on the grounds of a frickin’ castle--and can’t go anywhere without a paparazzi mob.) Both the elegant and impressive Doria Ragland and her equally elegant and graceful daughter have borne the onslaught in silent dignity. It has been so ugly and unjust that the American press, and many in Hollywood, are now pushing back: Vanity Fair, The Washington Post, and Harper’s Bazaar, among other outlets, have published stories that all come to the obvious answer:

One interesting thing for Sussex fans, is that when you read the latest trash hit against Meghan, it’s often the same people saying the terrible things. Which then the other tabloids will pounce on and regurgitate and spin up into a fresh cycle of “controversy.” Piers Morgan is perhaps the most obvious culprit. A lot of the Meghan-bashing stuff comes from that douchebag. But he at least has been appropriately challenged: Jameela Jamil accurately called him “a slut-shaming, fat-shaming, misogynist, irrelevant shit stain, smeared across our country.” Friends, netizens, fellow blanket goblins. I am not here to talk about Piers Morgan. I am here to talk about someone that I don’t think has been named and shamed enough, because just as many of these ugly stories planted in the press turn out to come from her. This is a callout post for Ingrid Seward.

Who is Ingrid Seward? She is a wretched fucking harpy, and also the editor in chief of Majesty magazine--which seems to be an online-only webzine with about the same production values as your local supermarket flyer? Anyway, nine times out of ten when a “royal expert” launches an attack on Meghan, it’s Ingrid Seward. Here’s a gallery of her greatest hits: * Remember that whole business when Meghan came out after Archie’s birth for Trooping the Color, and people noticed she’d changed up the band of her engagement ring? At the time Ingrid Seward had a lot of sneering things to say about that, quotes that got picked up and cycled through a bunch of different outlets: “I find it a bit odd Meghan would want to alter a ring that her husband had especially designed for her...A royal engagement ring is a piece of history not a bit of jewelry to be updated when it looks old fashioned.” The implication of course here being that Meghan is not really one of us, she doesn’t understand the significance--Harry designed that ring with Diana’s stones, she’s desecrating it! (Never mind that it’s her damn ring, and that any alterations Meghan makes to her jewelry will simply add to the heritage and historicity of the pieces.) But it gets better! * So then it came out that Harry had the band changed, actually, because he gave her a second ring when Archie was born and he wanted her to be able to wear them stacked. Was there any apology from Ingrid? No, of course not. She’d successfully planted one wave of bad stories about Meghan, and she’d moved on to the next wave--the christening. * Right, remember all the kerfluffle around how Meghan and Harry wouldn’t allow press photographers at the christening? I’m not gonna say this one was entirely orchestrated by Ingrid, but man does it have her fingerprints all over it: she was very intentional about fanning up the flames of criticism, and very successful at it too. Here’s a quote from one representative bitchy piece in the Express: “Ingrid Seward, editor-in-chief of Majesty Magazine, said she felt that people were becoming a 'bit jaded' by 'stylised' pictures of the newest royal. 'I think what people want and what people are used to seeing are lovely family images of the baby in the royal Honiton lace christening gown. They won't want an arty Instagram shot of Archie's foot three days later if it's left up to the couple themselves to take pictures and release them,' she said, referring to a Mother's Day shot issued by the couple of their son on social media." * She doesn’t name Meghan directly here, but it’s exactly the same implication as before--Meghan doesn’t understand the significance. Her Hollywood, Instagram, American style marks her as not one of us. * And as usual once she’d successfully planted one negative quote somewhere, it would get picked up and amplified by other outlets. E! Online ran a piece that quoted her appearance on the Today show: "I've covered five or six christenings during my royal career and I've never come across such secrecy," Majesty magazine editor-in-chief Ingrid Seward said on Today.” The headline for the E! Online article was “The Archie Christening Controversy: Why Meghan Markle and Prince Harry Are Under Fire Yet Again.” Like yeah okay they are, but at some point don’t we get to talk about the fact that it’s always the same little squad doing the firing? * Of course in the end what Meghan and Harry actually released were lovely family images of the baby in the royal Honiton lace christening gown, just like Ingrid Seward said she wanted.

* Was she happy? * No. Her success at generating negative coverage for the Sussexes has only made her bolder. “I would think it might bother William a little bit, because he might see the way that Harry and Meghan do things as being detrimental to the business of the monarchy as a whole,” Ingrid Seward revealed in the British documentary titled ‘William & Harry: Princes At War?’ as reported by UK’s Daily Mail on Monday.” * You can see how she gets the media machine to spin up and regurgitate and repackage her smears. That quote was actually from a Fox News piece: “Meghan Markle and Prince Harry’s ‘detrimental’ behavior ‘might bother’ Prince William, claims royal expert.” * So one bad quote from Ingrid Seward generates negative TV and press coverage along many outlets. And she’s usually just referred to as a “royal expert,” which makes her fly under the radar more than Piers Morgan. But she is the news here! There’s no actual story about William: this entire news cycle of negative coverage is generated by Ingrid Seward, just like previous bad news cycles have been spun up by her. * She never retracts her criticisms even when repeatedly proven incorrect (as with the ring and the christening photos), and other journos never stop quoting her, either. * Here’s more from her: “And of course William and Kate would have quite naturally thought, ‘Oh, she’s been married before, she’s older than Harry, I hope she’s going to make him happy.’ Anyone would think that.” No, you fucking harpy, normal people just thought “what a lovely young couple!”

* I think it is honestly very reasonable to ask why the editor in chief of Majesty magazine appears to be orchestrating a smear campaign against the Duchess of Sussex. Isn’t she supposed to be a royal fan? Aren’t we all supposed to be celebrating the pretty dresses and the sparkly tiaras? Because that’s what I’m here for. But not Ingrid. Ingrid is here for something very calculated, and very ugly.

#this is an ingrid seward hateblog #duchess of sussex

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goddessofroyalty · 5 years

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Day 6 – Arranged Marriage

So remember that historical AU I apparently have now. Yeah. This is set in it.

Also I acknowledge this is my weakest day in terms of content posted. It be like that sometimes.

Pairings: contemplated Babs/Dick; Kori/Dick; Donna/Dick; Roy/Dick; Slade/Dick; Joey/Dick; Wally/Dick

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19324948/chapters/46145581

It is time for Dick to get married.

As much as Bruce may not like it, and Bruce really doesn’t like, the fact remains he cannot hold it off much longer.

Still Bruce loathes the idea of handing his eldest away to, well, okay, basically anyone. But the fact remains that he would be a fool to actually keep all his sons unwed and by his side. Politics and alliances are best maintained through marriage and, with the uncertain future Bruce can well see looming on the horizon, keeping and strengthening his alliances is the best strategy.

The strategy part of arranging the marriage rules out the obvious, and Bruce’s favourite, option. Barbara Gordon, as much as Bruce adores the young alpha like a niece and knows she is close to Dick, simply has no political advantage. Her family is already well-loyal to Gotham and the royal family, thus adding a marriage bond a pointless endeavour. Perhaps in more peaceful times he could justify it as keeping power close to home, a reward for a faithful family. It is not peaceful times though. Thus logic must overbore emotion and Barbara ruled off as an option.

There’s the alpha ‘princess’ Kori, apparently exiled from a far far off land that Dick believes the story of and keeps requesting permission to take troops to liberate. But, well, that land is very far and the spies Bruce has sent to investigate the validity of the claims still haven’t returned yet. And they really don’t have the time to wait for them to do so.

Roy Harper has already well proven his character in the bastard daughter he brought back with him after an adventure. And while King Oliver has reaccepted his wayward heir back into his inheritance Bruce still refuses to allow him to possibly drag Dick’s good name down with him.

Both Princesses Diana and Donna have unfortunately already been married off. Which is honestly a shame considering how useful a more solid alliance with the Amazonians would be. And Princess Cassie is too young to be considered for marriage yet.

Too young for marriage is a trait that is also shared by both of King Clark’s boys. Perhaps when it’s time to think about Tim’s marriage but way too young for Dick.

The Kingdom of Atlantis is much too far away for Bruce to be willing to contemplate any of its prospective mates. He refuses to have Dick so far from his reach.

He point-blank refuses to even acknowledge Slade Wilson’s ‘claim’ to his throne. So despite the man’s ballsy proposal to Bruce about taking Dick’s hand in marriage he would sooner die than allow it. And while Wilson’s son may have some sympathy for having had suffered the man for a father it isn’t enough for him to be willing to allow Dick anywhere near that mess more than absolutely necessary.

It is frustrating. To look at a map of all neighbouring allies and to be able to so quickly rule out all possibilities.

The only one really left is Prince Wally. The alpha relative to King Barry of one of Bruce’s smaller allied neighbours.

And Wally isn’t a bad man per-say. He just also isn’t Bruce’s favourite man. But Bruce knows he and Dick are close and get along and the traits Bruce cannot stand hardly seem to bother his son.

An alliance with them might not be the most advantageous of potential alliances. But their Kingdom’s are close location wise, and, well, it is a solid alliance still.

On the table of options available it is the best.

Which – okay. Bruce can come to live with.

He can.

He reaches out to grab his quill and some parchment. It better to get this rolling before he changes his mind.

#DC Omegaverse #dick grayson #bruce wayne #omegadickweek #omegaverse #arranged marriage #fic #DC historical AU

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nazm145 · 6 years

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Females in ADOW: My final thoughts on Juliette

(Disclaimer: This is not hate for the show. I actually really like it and as ridiculous and campy as it is sometimes, I love the characters and how the show treats most of its women. I just have issues about their portrayal of certain things. Also, my analysis is based solely off the show, as I have not read the books.)

So I guess they decided to give me death after all. I have to admit, until I actually watched the episode for myself, I was hoping that maybe she would somehow make it.

Now, I’ve seen a lot of discussion about the treatment of women on ADOW and how refreshing it was to see a show made by women, for women. Which I think is one of the main reasons I had dared to put a little more faith in the writers to not go the down the cliched, expected, and problematic route for Juliette, and why I was even more disappointed than I thought I would be when they did. I’ve already talked about (extensively) in my previous post about why I was so drawn to Juliette’s character, and why I was hoping that her story would end differently.

Throughout the course of ADOW, despite a lot of the story being rushed and a lot of the characters glossed over, we got to see the women come into their own, and their relationships with each other grow and develop – leading up to the finale in which Diana masters her powers, Agatha and Satu stand up to the Congregation, and witches, vampires, and demons put aside their differences to support each other against a common threat. Hell, even the Congregation managed to get along in the very end. So in an episode that put so much emphasis on empowerment, support, and even love - especially for women - seeing Juliette meet the end that she did just didn’t sit well with me.

First, I want to address the scene itself. As cool as the fire-bow was, I have never seen a villainous figure get killed off in such an anti-climactic manner. Juliette asking Matthew to kiss Diana was weird, random, and just nasty. In a way I understand where she was coming from, but no. The scene itself also had next to no build-up to the “final face-off” moment. Over the course of eight episodes, Juliette’s entire arc had been focused on her obsession with and desire to get to Matthew, but up until this point Matthew/Diana’s story had no real connection with Juliette’s story. Even her run-in with Marcus and Miriam was never mentioned again. So to have their confrontation be over within the span of literally three minutes felt incredibly forced and inorganic.

It also felt like the whole scenario was blatantly used for shock value and to conclude Juliette’s story according to the books even if it didn’t yet work within the TV show. Another narrative issue that got to me was that really, Juliette wasn’t the main villain of the show. At least I didn’t feel like she was. Yes, she did some really bad things like kill the tourist and attack Marcus, but in the grand scheme of things these incidences were little more than mild inconveniences – and not even for Diana or Matthew. Gillian did more to cause them trouble – telling Knox about the book, breaking into the lab. Her actions were a danger to Matthew and Diana. Juliette’s actions were mostly a danger to herself.

For me, it would have made more sense to keep the focus on the Congregation throughout. Of course, this isn’t my show and the writers can take it in whatever direction they want. But I definitely think it would have improved the cohesion and flow, especially in the last episode. Because from a narrative point of view, Juliette’s death didn’t actually do anything. I haven’t read the books so I’m basing what I know off the show, and I’m sure the deal Diana made with the goddess will come back to bite her. But the whole incident didn’t have any lasting effects apart from Diana’s whole “I’ve never killed anyone before, but I don’t regret it” line, and emphasizing how amazingly talented and brave she is. I like Diana, but the whole scenario of tossing aside a black woman who has been manipulated and abused her entire life just to (barely) further the arcs of two white characters and serve as subpar shock value is not something I’m her for. Maybe it’s because I actually loved her character, but Juliette’s death to me just felt unnecessary, wasteful and empty. Like, is her death even going to be addressed next season? Will we get a reaction from at least Gerbert and Domenico, the two people who probably knew her the most aside from Matthew? What did they do with her body? I know Juliette wasn’t a “good” character, but she was a person and I feel like she deserves at least that much.

Which brings me to her treatment as a character, something that bothered me even more than the narrative inconsistences. I’ve spoken in length about why Juliette’s story so interested me and why I wanted her to not only survive but to grow from her situation. And there were a couple of things from episode 8 that just really drove the knife in on why I felt so torn up about her death.

For one, the exchange between Satu and Gerbert, where he asks her why she set Meridiana free and she replies that “no one should have to suffer centuries of slavery.”

Gee, Satu. You make a very interesting point there. You know who else suffered centuries of mental and emotional bondage and torture? Oh yes. Juliette.

I included these gifs because you can clearly tell that the way this scene was framed, Juliette’s physical confinement was being directly paralleled with her mental entrapment of being taught to crave Matthew and unable to move on from him. Which is why Domenico asked her why she never ran even when she had the chance to. We also see this when Juliette attacks Mathieu the tourist. Realistically, there’s no reason for her to pursue a man just for sharing Matthew’s name, much less to kill him, because when you crave someone you crave that one person specifically. But it just highlights that Juliette has been mentally and emotionally damaged by everything she has gone through and to an extent can’t control her actions. Because there’s no way she didn’t know what Gerbert would do to her if and when he found out.

Look at her. She’s terrified. Now I realize that this in no way justifies or excuses her actions, but you can’t ignore how absolutely disgusting Gerbert is for what he did, and how much responsibility and fault falls on him.

He literally stole her life and sanity away from her.

Before the finale aired, there was some discussion about Juliette’s death and how hopefully the show would focus on the fact that in the books she was specifically trained to spy on Matthew’s family and make him fall in love with her to keep him close. And that if she were compromised, she would have to kill him. Not that this would have made her death any better, but at the bare minimum it would have somewhat given her a purpose greater than the tragic, scorned woman whose white male lover left her for an even whiter woman.

But unfortunately, that’s exactly what they did.

Juliette realizing that she has been nothing but an object in the mess between these two men and saying that she has no value actually broke my heart. I don’t even care if people think she’s intrinsically horrible, which I don’t believe she is – having to live with that knowledge, even subconsciously, for centuries is just so sad. I wanted to give her a hug. This poor woman. Even her being a trained assassin with a mission in the books doesn’t improve things. It doesn’t change the fact that Gerbert specifically created her to do his bidding and then shamelessly used her for whatever he wanted.

At this point I was thinking about it, and I highly doubt Gerbert even asked for her consent before siring her, and that’s clearly a big deal amongst vampires. If this is addressed in the books, someone please let me know.

So to sum it up – Gerbert, an old white man in a position of wealth and power, claims the life of a black woman and conditions her to fulfill a singular purpose outside of which she has no value; she is objectified and physically, mentally and sexually abused, and is murdered with the knowledge that she has been used like a possession, ultimately unable to break free from the situation in which she has spent her entire life. All in the same episode in which said white man has been explicitly stated to have enslaved yet another woman. Forgive me for saying so, but big yikes.

Some people had also mentioned how Matthew did apologize to Juliette, and while that didn’t make up for what happened to her, it showed that he recognized that he was partly to blame. I don’t believe that Matthew was responsible for Juliette’s shitty life because he was her target. He also absolutely did not deserve to be killed. But I don’t believe the apology meant that Juliette deserved to die either.

It’s pretty obvious that most of the apology was driven by him trying to protect Diana and wasn’t nearly as sincere as it may have seemed. Yes, I can understand why Diana would kill Juliette for attempting to murder Matthew, but at the end of the day, he lived. She didn’t. I’m not saying that Diana was wrong for wanting to kill Juliette. But a half-sincere apology from Matthew (who wasn’t to blame in the first place) did not justify the horrible life she was forced to live. Nor did it justify her death, which only supported her claim of being valueless considering everyone’s complete apathy about her murder and that she was never mentioned again.

I get that the show writers were trying to follow the books. I get that they needed a reason for Diana to have to call upon the goddess and make a deal to save Matthew’s life. And yeah, I get why Diana would kill her for what she did. But what makes me upset despite all of this is that Juliette’s character had so much potential; both to be a part of the larger narrative, or at least a larger part of her own narrative. There’s little I hate more than when female characters are put into a story just to serve as a love interest for the man (or an obstacle to his love interest), and especially when those female characters are disposed of for the sake of that man’s characterization and/or story.

As a show that is being lauded for its positive portrayal of female power, pleasure and relationships, and elevating its secondary characters from the book to where they have well-rounded stories and personalities, I was really hoping they would be brave enough to deviate from the books in this case. I know that characters, even those who have suffered and deserve better, don’t always get a happy ending. But you know what else ADOW gave us that we don’t usually get? Women being unapologetically in love without it being some contrived plot point, and no one so much as blinking an eye let alone judging or disrespecting them for it. Women not being defined by the men in their lives. Women who are allowed to be angry, cold, upset and morally gray while also shown to be kind, loving and nurturing. Women not being nice or polite all the time without their personalities reduced to being “bitchy.” Women in loving relationships with men where they are equal in power and respect, and where the focus is placed on their pleasure without it being seen as them controlling or emasculating the man. Women overlooking their differences and long held prejudices to come together and offer love, kindness, and support because they can recognize that standing together in the face of adversity is more important than tearing each other down over petty issues.

I’m sure a lot of people are probably thinking that I’m way too invested in Juliette but trust me – I did not make an active decision to fall in love with a character who I knew was not going to make it past the first season after being screwed over for most of it. Maybe it’s because I have a tendency to latch on to side characters, especially the unappreciated “underdogs.” Maybe it’s because Elarica is an ethereal being who brought life to the character and played her so well. Or maybe it’s because in a time when so many crimes and so much violence against women remains unanswered for, when so many women still await justice against their abusers, when so many never even get free of their horrible circumstances and are put down, silenced, and cast aside, I was really hoping that ADOW, a show that has focused so much on female empowerment, would do the better thing and empower Juliette too.

I’m not saying at all that the show has some responsibility to be the poster child for a 100% unproblematic portrayal of women. But you know what I would have loved to see? Juliette somehow teaming up with Satu to bring hell to all the gross men who have held them back (seriously, I would have been so fucking here for this). Or Juliette teaming up with Domenico and ripping Gerbert’s head off.

(On a side note: Domenico half-mocking Gerbert by saying it’s “not like [Juliette] to run away.” He really thinks she left all the shit behind and is probably somewhere safe, but instead she went and got herself killed, just shoot me alive.)

Or you know, Juliette dealing with Gerbert by herself like the badass she was capable of becoming and then living her life. Or not doing anything at all except just walking away. If Juliette’s final scene had been her leaving the church and her old life behind and we never saw her again, I would have been happy. Because at the very least her story would have been one of finally overcoming all the horrible abuses she has suffered. Juliette may have been a villain in Diana and Matthew’s story, but in her own she was a victim, plain and simple. And the fact that she was killed off only to be dismissed and forgotten while her abuser retains all his power and has not faced any consequences for his actions is just not okay.

Juliette Durand deserved a better life than the one she got. And she deserved a happier ending than the one the show gave her.

#a discovery of witches #adow #juliette durand #diana bishop #matthew clairmont #domenico michele #gerbert d'aurillac #this is even longer than the last one good lord #sorry again #just had to get some stuff off my chest #I have appalled even myself at how invested I have become in this character #not really #I get super invested in everything #I just don't write novels about them #usually #oops I guess?

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