Part graphic novel, part memoir, Wake is an imaginative tour-de-force that tells the story of women-led slave revolts and chronicles scholar Rebecca Hall’s efforts to uncover the truth about these women warriors who, until now, have been left out of the historical record.
Legal doctrine teaches a clear idea of justice, but the world only showed me justice distorted, Everywhere 1 looked, racism and sexism warped the very possibility of justice.
—Wake: The Hidden History of Women-Led Slave Revolts by writer Rebecca Hall and illustrator Hugo Martinez
Warnings: 18+, angst, language, established relationship, emotional hurt/comfort
Word Count: 1.4k
A/N: watched season three, episode 4 of narcos today and I'm not okay about it. since i can't go and stay by the sea to recover, i must simply write angsty fanfic instead 😔
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You almost didn’t hear the ringing of the phone in the next room over the sounds of the radio and you cooking. Luckily you were turning the heat down on the stove, the sizzling in the pan quieting just enough to let the sound reach your ears. You turned the stove down just a little more before walking away to answer the call.
“Hola?” you answered, holding the phone up to your ear with one hand while you wiped the other on your apron.
“Hola,” he responded from the other end of the line. His voice was quiet, the way it always was, but you heard the strain in it that wasn’t usually there.
“Hugo?” you said his name like a question even though you knew it was him. “Todo bien?”
“Sí,” he said, a lie, but still nodding to emphasize it despite the fact that the two of you were miles apart.
“Estás seguro?” you asked, worry seeping into your voice. “You sound…” you trailed off, not wanting to say sad but not sure how else to describe his voice.
You could hear the slow, deliberate breath he took, trying to adjust his tone but not quite getting there. “I’m okay. I’m,” he cleared his throat, “I’m leaving soon—coming home.”
Your brows knit, turning your wrist so that you could look at your watch. “Leaving?” You chuckled softly, trying to keep things light to ignore the knot forming in your gut. “Early for you these days.”
He hummed, almost-amusement. Not quite a laugh but it was something at least. The best he could give you. “Want me to find somewhere else to be?”
Despite the attempt at humor, you could still feel the heaviness through the phoneline. “No, no. Come home. Ven a casa.” You paused, smiling slightly to yourself before tacking on, “Pronto.”
Despite the weight in his chest and the burning sensation in his eyes, the ends of his mouth curved just slightly into the smallest smile. “Por supuesto.” He pressed his lips together for a moment, fighting to keep his tone in check still. “Te amo.”
You chose not to comment or ask further about the gravel in his voice. “Te amo mucho.”
Once the two of you said your goodbyes, you hung up the phone and went back to making dinner. Your mind turning over all the possibilities of what could’ve happened that made him sound like that. Hugo wasn’t a man who was a stranger to the hardships that came with his job, with the world that he had to navigate. Some days it hung heavier on his shoulders than others. But it had been a long time since he sounded like that.
The house was much quieter by the time he got home. Dinner was done and you’d turned the radio down. It was quiet enough, in fact, that you heard him walk inside. Heard the door shut, the first couple heavy footsteps while he was still in his boots, the softer footsteps that followed once he left them by the door.
You didn’t want to make a fuss when you didn’t know what was going on. But even so, it was impossible for you to hide your concern. Subtle had never been your style, anyway. So when you heard the floorboards creak beneath him as he stepped into the kitchen, you couldn’t help but to turn around and face him with worry all over your face. Brows creased, lips turned down into a small frown, you were the human embodiment of the question, “What’s wrong?”
His shoulders dropped slightly at the sight of you, sagging as though from your expression alone he knew that he wasn’t going to be able to try and have this conversation later. “Amor…” he trailed off, shaking his head the entire time.
Your frown deepened as you walked over to him. Bringing one hand up, you cupped the side of his face, thumb tracing along his cheek as he eased into your touch. “Qué pasó?” you asked quietly.
He shut his eyes for a long moment before finally opening them again and looking at you. They were glassy, tinged with red and you knew that it wasn’t from exhaustion alone. All he could do for a moment was look at you. He knew, deep down, that while what happened was going to change a lot of things, it wasn’t going to change anything between the two of you. You were steady—always had been. That wasn’t why he was hesitating. There was a different layer of finality once he said it out loud to you. A different weight than his brief exchange with Peña only a short while before.
“Hugo?” you said when you saw him getting a little too far away inside his own head. When he looked at you again, really looked at you, you repeated your question. “What happened?”
There was no delicate way to break the news. “I had to turn in my badge.”
The soothing movements of your thumb across his cheek stopped, hand stilling as all the breath got let out of your lungs. “Wh-what?”
He gave a small nod, breaking eye contact as he rested his hands on your hips, fingers fussing with the fabric of your skirt. “Sí. They apparently found documents,” he took a deep breath, “that said I took money from Cali.”
The word apparently was doing all the work in the world that it possibly could. Your worry and sadness quickly cloaked itself in anger as your hand slid down to rest on his shoulder. “That’s ridiculous.”
He nodded in agreement, but still shrugged knowing there was nothing to be done about it now. “And yet…”
“That’s, that’s,” there were no words that could properly articulate all the thoughts and feelings coursing through you. “How could they?” You shook your head. “Those motherf—”
“Amor,” he cut you off, voice still heavy but the amusement in his eyes over how quickly you got fired up on his behalf was almost enough to balance it out.
“I’m not taking it back,” you said with a shake of your head.
He let out a tired chuckle at that. “I know.”
Your face softened again the longer you looked at him. Placing your fingertips underneath his chin, you tilted his head up so that he was looking at you rather than back down at the floor. “I’m so sorry.”
You saw the way his entire body shifted at the sound of those three simple words. The weight of it all, the emotions, all the things he typically addressed in private when no one was around to see, it all forced its way to the forefront. There was no hiding any of this from you, there was no handling this on his own. Leaning in, he let his forehead press against yours.
Finally, he nodded. “Me too.”
Tilting your head slightly, pressed your lips to his. The kiss was gentle, brief. Extra reassurance that you were there. Your hand slipped down until your palm was resting against his chest. Despite it all you could feel the ever-steady beat of his heart beneath it. Consistent, even in the midst of the mess.
Bringing your hands back up, you let them interlock behind his neck. You kept your voice quiet. “Whatever’s next, we’ll figure it out.”
He gave a small nod, only knowing that it happened because you could feel it as his forehead was still resting against yours. He wanted to have something else to say. I love you. Thank you. I can’t believe it all came to this. But he couldn’t force the words out from the back of his throat. Instead, he wound his arms around your waist and pulled you in closer. Leaning in, he let his forehead drop so that it was pressed against your shoulder. You took a deep breath, another wave crashing over the two of you. Hooking your chin over his shoulder, you let one hand come to rest on the back of his head, the other resting between his shoulders.
There was going to be more—more to say, more to figure out, more long nights and layered emotions. But more would be a problem that the two of you could start facing tomorrow. For now, the two of you helped keep each other upright underneath the weight of the world that was currently crumbling down around you.
Day 29 of Narcoctober- Create a fanwork inspired by your favorite horror movie.
Character(s): Javier Peña x Reader; Steve Murphy, Connie Murphy, Horacio Carrillo, Trujillo, Hugo Martinez
CW: violence, blood, character death (both implied and real)
WC: 689
A/N: The way this needs to be an entire fic and/or series??
Your lungs were on fire. The muggy Texas air didn’t help matters. All you felt was hot, thick cotton stuffing its way down your trachea with each breath you took. Every ounce of energy was going into getting away from certain death. You were too tantalized with fear to turn around and see if you were still being chased. Instead, you looked in front of you. Working overtime to catch up to Javi.
One of your best friends ever since you got to college kept swiping glances back at you, not sprinting too far away from you. The two of you got separated from the rest of the group somewhere in all of the frenzy and now you were both alone as you ran for your lives.
Adrenaline was a hell of a drug. No one was given much chance to come to terms with finding Hugo’s bloodied remains in a heap outside the lone Victorian-style farmhouse they had stopped at for help with their overheated travel van. Connie’s screams had permeated through the air as she realized that she had discovered the newly deceased body of their college friend and travel buddy. Steve immediately pulled her away, yelling, “Holy shit, that’s Hugo!”
Everyone’s yelps of confusion and horror gets drowned out by the sound of a chainsaw and the large man wielding it who’s charging straight at them.
Horacio and Trujillo take off towards the house while Steve is pulling Connie back towards another vehicle on the land, hoping and praying that it’ll work.
You immediately flee for the opposite direction in which the violent slaughterer is coming from. Javi falls in step with you and he points out the woodsy area that would hopefully provide shelter. It’s farther away from the roads in which you all drove in to get to the house, but you’re left with no choice.
Your feet pound into the ground, carrying you further and further away except you don’t hear the sound of the chainsaw growing less quiet with time. You know he’s following you. You can’t bear to turn around and confirm, but you know it.
Javi looks back once more now that he’s several steps in front of you, “Come on!”
You clear the tall grass of the southern fields. It’s reedy and thick for the first several feet. The sound of the deadly weapon dissipates some, like he’s stopped. You’re catching up to Javi finally, but the two of you don’t stop. The fescue grass starts getting thinner in some areas, patchier, but there’s trees up ahead and you’ve got a good chance of completely losing your friend’s murderer if you can get across where there’s possible civilization.
The sound of the chainsaw grows quieter and quieter and there comes a point when the two of you don’t hear it at all. Javi puts a finger to his mouth, willing quietness. He grabs onto your hand and pulls you both closer to the ground. The grass is getting shorter and there’s about thirty feet between it and the expansive space of trees. There’s no cover in that small feat. If the killer’s attention was no longer on them, it wouldn’t matter anyway, but it was still a risk.
You glance into each other’s eyes and realize the same thing at the same time. It’s do or die. Now or never.
The both of you stop at the border that stops at the reeds and begins the wide open field before hitting the woods. A few seconds feels like a few hours. Thousands of words are exchanged between the desperate gaze the two of you share. The confessions you want to make. The feelings that you’ve both held for years. The promises you make to yourselves and to each other of what happens when this is all over.
There’s no silent countdown. The two of you just nod and dart out into the open, making the rough, muddy terrain your track field.
Your lungs burn.
Your feet hurt.
The chainsaw drums up again.
DALLAS MORNING NEWS- 7 University of Texas Students Reported Missing, Last Seen Traveling Together on Spring Break
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Freya posing with my upcoming August Book Club read ❤️
I’m really excited to read “Wake: The Hidden History of Women-Led Slave Revolts” by Rebecca Hall and illustrated by Hugo Martínez, because I don’t know much about this subject but I want to learn more about the overlooked history of the country I live in.
This book will bring a good discussion to our group when we meet next in August.
