#this is probably one of the least well drawn oops

[shooks-stupid-stuff]

year of the dwagon

#this was meant to be drawn/posted yesterday but oops! too busy gaming cjhvbjcv #oc shiz #shook arts #taiana (oc) #saino (oc) #i hope to do more art this year. well compared to the past few months atleast- #probably not gonna be able to make up the weekly oc debt at this point but. i can try! expect one this week at the very least #and im FINALLY gonna get my webcomic started. literally one drawing has been stopping me from doing so but. #i'll do it. i'll do the fucking establishing shot. ill draw a fucking small town i swear- #...man i hate drawing backgrounds kjcvjck- #but yeah! happy 2024 everyone!!

[junggunz]

red flag ft. cheon taejin | 🔞

summary: taejin might be a red flag, but who cares when red is your favorite color. wc: 1.6k cw: fem!reader | PWP | smut | size kink | choking | squirting | one instance of degradation | creampie | all characters featured are 18+ an: oOps my fingers slipped. shoutout to @carapparuru11 for planting this idea in my head LOL

“Red flags? Who cares? You’re gonna have fun.”

Taejin’s words echoed in your mind as you laid in bed, contemplating whether or not to text him again after you had casually brought up how when you first saw him you thought of him as a set of walking red flags. The shroud of mystery surrounding his past and what he actually does for work made you wary of him, yet you found yourself intrigued. Charming, well spoken, incredibly attractive, a dapper dresser—and on top of that, reeking of wealth— he checked a lot of boxes for you. 

The fact that he even alluded to the fact that he was toxic should have been enough for you to back off from him but you were at a point in life where you craved excitement. 

Without putting much thought into it, you text him and ask what he’s doing. Once you send the text, you realize how late into the night it is and assume he probably wasn’t gonna reply because he was sleeping. And if he was still awake, he’d probably assume you just wanted to hook up. Though it would be dishonest to say that you weren’t curious about what he was packing in those expensive dress pants, the last thing you wanted was for him to see you as easy. 

But of course, it was in your cards for Taejin to text back within ten minutes and ask if you want him to come over. By the time he’s at your apartment, things play out like every other casual fling you’ve had. Playful banter turns into lingering touches. Which leads to kissing and then making out with heavy petting. And not too long after, he’s asking where your bedroom is so the two of you can progress to foreplay.

Taejin gets you naked in a record amount of time, his lips and hands leaving no spot on your body untouched. He makes you cum on his fingers and tongue at least three times and he’s still not even undressed yet. 

“I can’t take anymore— just put your dick inside me.” You whine breathlessly, thighs trembling as you try to squirm out of his hold. Your heart is hammering against your chest, echoing in your ears so you barely hear the amused chuckle he lets out as he pulls away from you; licking the clear gloss of your arousal off of his lips.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to break you.” He teases, a gentle hand going to stroke your inner thighs. “I just wanted to make sure I prepped you enough.”

“I’m not an amateur, I’m ready.” You insist with a small scoff, already starting to get the feeling that he was trying to overcompensate for something by distracting you with how talented his mouth and fingers were. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at Taejin as he finally takes off his clothes. But even in your dimly lit bedroom, you can see the clear outline of his not so little friend not even trying to hide in his designer boxer briefs. As the last garment comes off, you hold your breath and try not to gasp when you finally see his cock spring out of the fabric. Any notions of Taejin not being well endowed were squashed and you feel your confidence plummet as he settles back between your legs, hand wrapped around the base of his length while he drags the bulbous head along your folds.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet now.” Taejin laughs upon seeing the awestruck expression etched on to your pretty features. 

The nervous feeling bubbling in the pit of your stomach isn’t enough to curb your desire to feel him inside you but now that the polite facade that you were initially drawn in by was broken and you were experiencing a more arrogant side of him, you were frustrated more than just sexually.

“You’re taking so long. You’re starting to make me think that you have performance anxiety.” You quip back, your eyes darting between his face and the tip of his cock catching all of the nectar leaking out of you.

 “Oh, you’re in it for now. I hope you’re on the pill.”

Before you can make another sassy remark, the words die on your tongue and instead a garbled moan pours erupts from your throat as you feel Taejin abruptly slam into you, feeding you every inch of his thick cock at once. Your hands fist the sheets beneath you, holding on to them for dear life as you endure the feeling of being stretched out by him. In the back of your mind, you know that if you want the pain to subside, you need to relax; but it seems like your body doesn’t wanna cooperate. Despite the initial sting of being filled to the hilt by this Herculean man, your walls hug his cock so tightly—you knew he wasn’t able to start moving too quickly even if he wanted to. Settling for slow bucks of his hips for the time being, his large hands settle on your waist.  

“How cute.” Taejin says quietly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he looks down at you. Your line of sight follows his and you see the way your lower tummy bulges every time he sheathes himself completely in your warmth. When he draws back, you don’t miss the shiny, translucent streaks of your juices decorating his cock that only seem to increase every time he pushes into you. “You really do take dick like a pro.” He chuckles when he feels your pussy easing up around him and finally allowing him to seriously indulge in the slick heat between your legs.

You find yourself with your legs tossed over Taejin’s broad shoulders while your hands grasp on to his forearms, your body arching into his as he pounds away at your dripping cunt. From how obscenely you were moaning, to the way your bed frame knocked into the wall with every one of his rough thrusts and the sound of wet skin slapping against each other—you knew you would get a noise complaint in the morning. But it was totally worth it. 

On top of proving to you that he was seriously packing, you were learning first hand that he definitely knew how to fuck. Taejin and his big dick fucked you too good for him to not be toxic. He was right though, you were having the time of your life getting railed by him

It only gets better when the angle of his thrusts shift ever so slightly until the tip of his cock is bullying a sensitive spot deep within you that you didn’t even know existed until now. You don’t even need to tell him to keep hitting it because he can feel the way your gummy walls flutter around his cock in delight every time he pushes into that particular spot.

A few tears manage to slip out and stain your cheeks as you cry out in pure bliss from the sensation of having Taejin’s length ramming into your sweet spot; causing a creamy mess to gather around the base of his dick. 

“Oh—my god.” You mewl out deliriously, your eyes lolling around behind your eyelids as you feel a familiar coil of heat tightening in the pit of your stomach.

A rough scarred hand slides up the expanse of your torso before the long fingers curl around your neck and squeeze the sides ever so slightly.

“You’re gonna cum? Already?” Taejin asks mockingly, noticing the way your walls were starting to try and hold his cock in place while he rammed into you; the steady thwack of his balls against your ass not faltering one bit. 

“So close—” You utter the words in a voice breathier and whinier than usual, his pubic bone catching your clit with every deep thrust he gives you and pushing you closer to your climax. His hand on your throat tightens its hold, a guttural groan rumbling in his chest when he feels your pussy clamp down on him again. 

“Fine. Cum on my dick, you fucking slut.” Taejin grunts, his thrusts losing their precision and selfishly chasing after his own climax since he knew you were close to cumming either way. You moan and squirm beneath him, sobbing as the head of his cock repeatedly hits your cervix. Something about the pain laced pleasure has your juicy pussy greedily swallowing his length until you’re a babbling mess with shaking legs that’s soaking his dick. 

The action seems to please Taejin as a wolfish smile spreads across his face before his head falls back with a deep moan, giving you a couple more toe curling thrusts that stir up your insides and you feel his warmth dispersing within you. He fucks you through your orgasm, leaving you well spent and gifting you his cum in the deepest part of your pussy. When he pulls out, a small whimper escapes you as you’re now empty but you’re too fucked out to find the words to ask him to fill you again. Albeit being slightly sweaty and out of breath, Taejin is quick to get back on his feet and rummage through his clothes on the floor to fish a box of smokes and a lighter out of his pocket. As much as you want to chide him for smoking in your bedroom, you admit that it was a well deserved post coital cigarette.

“Text me again. I’ll save your number so I can remember who has the wettest pussy I’ve been in.”

#lookism smut #lookism x reader #cheon taejin x reader #cheon taejin smut #taejin cheon scenarios #lookism #lookism fanfic #lookism imagines #lookism manhwa #lookism webtoon #junggunz.txt

[evablueblanket]

Will you tell me about an LU character you love and why you love them? Please please please ramble on and on! It's my favorite! I get so many fun ideas when people gush about their favorites.

I (think) I've said this before, but I am not the most analytical/observ person ever so most of what I say is probably kinda shallow :') BUT THIS IS MY RAMBLE SO OH WELL

Okay so recently, I've been on a Warriors kick. I just super love how like, everyone portrays him! Most see him as big brother shaped, which I super love. His background is just so vastly different than every other Link, which serves as a very cool contrast imo

The way @somer-writes makes Twi and Wars idiodic brothers is like, my favorite ever. I love love love LOVE how he writes Wars and Twi it's so insane the comedy that unfolds when they're just messing around xD

Warriors has this air, this *vibe* which I'm just super drawn too, I think it's just how my personality vs his works (you could theoretically draw *some* parallels with Sokka from ATLA, at least the way they each hold themselves I'd say. Also big bro stuff) (ALSO how both of them are portrayed as 'smart', which is a trait I typically relate too in characters)

When I like a character though, it's more based on the different types of relationships everyone writes them as though, I'd say. Wars and Time and Wind have this super intriguing bond that I think is cool to see how everyone interprets it! For the most part people write them as they're all aware of the War of Ages and whatnot, which lead to some nice fluff and/or angst. But when there's some time paradoxes, it makes it every so more tragic and it's really interesting to see how that can get written. I recall a fic (I FORGOT THE TITLE AND THE AUTHOR NOO) where Wars was teaching Wind medic stuff, but it was like a year before Wind meets Wars in the war. So Wars is all "sob this is why Wind is such a good medic? *Bc I taught him?*" THIS IS SO COOL AND INTERESTING

Also when there's War of Ages fics that have Time/Mask being a stupid child (/aff) they're just super hilarious. There's a series out there that has the Fierce Deity (sorry forgot the author again xD) act as Wars parent figure/older brother figure and it's just really funny to me bc ofc Wars would be a stupid overworking idiot. Loser smh

Four is also another one of the sillies that live in my brain, and I kinda wish there were more fics on how they interact. Though, if I'm being real idk how they really would cause they don't really have the same synergy as any other Links. I just like my favorites to interact, but I super understand how they wouldn't ^^

Small side bit on serious Wars (the biggest example is "Call Them Brothers" by wutheringmights which I'm almost 100% certain you've read that already cause it's soooo long and it's SO GOOD AHH) and ugh I wish I could pay attention more to get every complexity that this Wars has but the brain kinda hates me. I think it makes a lot of sense for Wars to have a grittier characterization, war does that to people. The entire fic is so visceral to me, I just vividly remember reading the flashback section about the long winter, and I don't even know how to really describe it xD

Wars has such a broad range of emotion, if one were to put him under and microscope and study him there would be SO MUCH.

HAVE I TALKED ABOUT THE AESTHETIC

HES THE FUCKING PRETTY BOY OF THE GROUP AND THAT'S SO VALUBLE TO ME FOR NO REAL REASON

Ik Wild is seen as the one with like, outfits and Legend has his jewlery, BUT WARS HAS HIS FUCKING SCARF. THERES SO MANY POSTS ABOUT WARS AND HIS EMOTIONAL SUPPORT SCARF AND I AM SO FUCKING FOR IT YOU HAVE NO IDEA

THE SHADE OF BLUE IS AWESOME, ITS SO COOL, ITS SO COOL HES SO COOL RAHHHH

*oops tehe I rambled like a lot* ty for this opportunity :D I'm super glad I decided to type this on my laptop and not my phone xD

#EvaBlue Rambles #like a lot #EvaBlue Answers #linked universe warriors #linked universe wars #linked universe #lu wars #lu warriors #I love rambling #this was super fun #tyyyy ily skip #you're a very cool person

[ender-princee]

Okay, I'm putting this here because God do I have a lot of thoughts, and I don't have a limit here hehe.

Okay, so we all know how yesterday all the eggs (at least the ones that woke up) showed up dirty and with various other traumas. (Chayanne having the feeling he was supposed to wake up, Tallulah feeling in pain and like it would never end, Leonarda just very drawn back and quiet.) And how those with hats had them skewed off and all that.

So I know the theories for those were either a) hatching b) rotting c) they got taken by the federation and beat up.

Based on today, the eggs being missing and the only thing being left is their signature thing, all three things are still a possibility with the way they work. (Although some are more likely than others)

So a) hatching. Honestly out of the three, this is the least likely even if I want it to be true. In mythology from what I can remember, Dragons typically like much warmer climates (ie: volcanoes, deserts), so the eggs could have left of their own volition to go hatch in a warmer climate like they're supposed to. However, This is helped by cellbits code the other day that said the word "eclosion" which means to come out of a shell or pupal state, and would also be explained by quackity studios post of "Oops 🍳" (which is where I got the warmer thing because technically this would be the eggs getting "warmer")

b) rotting. This is still a big possibility as I read from someone who's owned several snakes, and since dragons are technically classified as reptiles we can guess at how their gestation period would work using snakes. It's been about 4 months since the egg event started and most snakes hatch in 45-70 days (sorry if this is inaccurate I did my best but cannot look at snakes at all so this was a little difficult to look up) and taking into account that dragons are much larger than snakes we can guess that they would have at least double the amount of time of the largest snake gestation time.

Which is about 4 months.

Of which after, snake eggs can begin to start rotting because of some shit idk (I am terrified of the things) but they would show discoloration if they did, and/or also growing bigger like Chayanne seemed to look the day before they all left.

Which could imply they are rotting, and they all left to be together when they were rotting as they didn't want to see their parents see them in that state, or the federation took them because this was happening and the plan of federation experiments had failed. (I know it's a lot and probably a long stretch but I have thoughts and I need to put them down and thanks to that one person on twt for mentioning the discoloration and sending me on a rabbit hole of thinking)

Okay finally c) the eggs got beat up by the federation. This is honestly the most likely solution for when they all showed up dirty and such. Because this followed by being kidnapped with no warning other than the cryptic code sent by quackity studios yesterday would make a lot of sense.

We saw evidence of physical attacks in ways other than the dirt and items being messed up in Chayanne being confused, Leo being uncharacteristicly quiet, and Tallulah claiming that her entire body hurt. All of which was likely the punishment of letting one of the new players die on the way back to spawn which they were specifically instructed not to do. It also makes sense as to why they waited to do this, because if they had just done this immediately, they wouldn't have everyone on the server concerned and it wouldn't be an overall punishment. They would have to wait for the new players to get to know the eggs and then the punishment would have more effect when the federation took them.

This would also make sense as none of them would just leave, and especially not without their trademark item/clothes, which has never happened (as far as I'm aware) even in the previous two times they've been kidnapped. That and the federation does not wish well for the eggs or the islanders even if cucurocho claims that we'll know where they went soon.

So in summary most likely is c, least likely is a, and god what the hell were you thinking is b because I feel like that is a major stretch but idk there's my thoughts Tumblr.

Honestly, kudos to you if you read that entire basically essay of me rambling about theories. There's probably more that I forgot lol.

#qsmp #qsmp theory #qsmp thoughts #qsmp eggs #qsmp chayanne #qsmp tallulah #qsmp leonarda #the eggs #qsmp cellbit #qsmp cucurucho #i am so normal #theory dump?? #qsmp eggs are dragons i swear

[ryuichirou]

Replies

Some replies! Starting with one about our Prison AU, but then going into a slightly more cursed territory…

No headcanons today, sorry.

Anonymous asked:

I know it's been awhile since prison au has been last talk. But have ever wondered what Vil and Ortho be like in that au? Both being guards while also Vil being a prisoner and Ortho as a guard.

It really has! I think about it from time to time though, revisiting this AU is always fun. I’m glad you like it, Anon!

Whether Vil is a guard or a prisoner, the dynamic between him and Ortho is going to stay relatively the same: Ortho is his little sunshine in this hellhole lol If both of them are guards, Vil probably uses Ortho’s robot functions more than any other guard (except for Idia, obviously). While some of the other guards are either neutral or even a bit distrustful towards Ortho (because he is a robot + because the Shrouds are very detached from the rest of the guards), Vil makes it a point to treat Ortho as an equal. Or at least as a promising protégé who deserves all the praise for his hard work. Whenever he actually works and not just hangs out with Idia at their booth, of course.

If Vil is a prisoner, he really enjoys the days when it’s Ortho’s turn to patrol. Because Ortho always says hi to everyone and stops to chat with Vil specifically for a minute or two. Maybe it’s the fact that Ortho’s views on morality are so weird and his emotional development is at a very awkward stage, but Vil is very drawn to him, so their little chats are highlights of his days. Ortho enjoys it a lot too – he learns a lot from Vil, especially considering the fact that Ortho is into movies and Vil is an actor with a very turbulent life. So yeah, Ortho is probably one of the few people who make Vil smile in this AU.

Anonymous asked:

This is such a cursed thought, but imagine Sebek and Greenhill having a screaming match, lol.

Oh god, they’ll break so many windows with their yelling, these loud blokes lol I wonder who’s louder…

Anonymous asked:

Women Azul pegs idia for sure

Even better, she tentacles Idia 🥰 even if it’s a f/m situation

Anonymous asked:

I’m probably gonna regret this but what cringey stuff does Lilia bully Idia into yelling?

It depends, Lilia is kind of a menace and sometimes demands his lovers to say things that make no sense and that aren’t even that sexy, just weird. Like animal noises and stuff, but fortunately he didn’t ask Idia to do something like that yet… well. Maybe he told him to meow once. Maybe twice.

Sometimes Lilia goes the classic route and demands his lover to beg to let him cum or forces him to pick between two equally embarrassing options, but it makes Idia so overwhelmed and nervous that he ends up getting hiccups and barely being able to make any coherent sound. It’s always a blur for both of them, because Lilia just says shit without thinking about it, and by the time this happens Idia’s brain is a complete mush oops. I’m so vague with this reply...

Anonymous asked:

You mentioned in a headcanons post for Lilia and Idia that Lilia will degrade but that he’s done much much worse? You can’t tease us like that and not spill the deets, yk.

Damn I was kinda hoping I’d get away with it (headscratch png)

Well, compared to what Lilia used to do when he was younger, some degradation is really kind of vanilla… he really mellowed down with age, that Lilia.

Some of the shit that Lilia used to do: physical and emotional torture that lasted for days, public humiliation, orchestrating gangbangs/orgies and participating in them, desecration of his wounded enemies’ bodies, brainwashing, insane and intense kinks, scaring the fuck out of his enemies and haunting them, etc etc etc. It didn’t happen every single time of course, but at his worst Lilia used to be quite scary. Debauchery was his middle name… Lilia Debauchery Vanrouge.

#replies #prison warden au #our aus #oruvil #lilidia

[violet-fire-cat]

Hello! I noticed that in your werewolf/vampire au, you mention that vampires can hypnotize people. We haven't got mych information on it and I was wondering if you could explain a bit how it works?

HELLO! I totally didn't forget about this ask for //checks date// four months. Nope! Oops. Sorry about that! 😅

This ask was sent at the start of July so I was probably busy with ArtFight and then busy with writing and other stuff and then it just slipped my mind completly. Oh well. I'm here now! And I wrote a lot and drew something so hopefully that makes up for it!

ANYWAY! Yes! Vampires can hypnotise people! It's something that's been mentioned in the fics but never actually shown I don't think. It's a skill that most vampires know at least on a basic level, and is used fairly frequently by a lot of them. Though very few are truly masters of it.

(The rest is under the cut 'cos it got long whoops)

Vampiric hypnotic abilities are a type of magic and can be used for all manner of things. From tricking people, confusing them, or adjusting memories, to outright controlling them. The latter is more advanced, with most vampires with hypnotic skill using variations of the first three.

Etho, as an example, has fairly basic hypnotic abilities- which he mostly uses to trick his landlord into thinking he's paid his rent (he's never paid his rent). But he does also use it to confuse or placate prey when he's hunting, or to tweak memories afterwards to make them misremember exactly what happened.

Master hypnotists, such as Keralis and EX, can fully control others once they've got them under their spell. Both a persons actions and their words. They can trick and manipulate and confuse with just a look or a few words in the right places. Or construct entirely false memories and implant them into a persons mind. These things all have their uses, though EX, being as he is, is more likely to use them for nefarious purposes, whilst Keralis is gentler about it.

Keralis is a lot younger, but his skill still rivals EX's. EX has had centuries to build his power, but Keralis had a natural talent towards hypnotic ability as a fledgling and got a pretty big boost from that right from the start. Keralis is only about 100 years old, but he's a master in his own right.

(I hadn't drawn vampire Keralis yet so I had a lot of fun drawing him for this hehe)

But yeah, different vampires use slightly different methods, but the most basic one is eye contact, and once they've locked eyes with you it's very hard, if not impossible, to look away. And as you can see with Keralis above, a vampires eyes will usually change slightly and glow when they're actively trying to hypnotise someone.

Very few people are completly immune to a vampires hypnosis. This includes werewolves and other magical folk. It can be resisted, but how successful that is depends on a persons will-power and the vampires skill.

And yes, vampires can, technically, hypnotise other vampires. But this is incredibly difficult and something only exceptionally skilled individuals are usually capable of. Both Keralis and EX can do it, though their use of that skill is vastly different. (A little more on that later though. Well, Keralis' side of it anyway. I have a silly thing in the works ~ )

#hermitcraft #keralis #hermitblr #mcytblr #mcyt #violetanswers #violetattemptsart #vampire/werewolf au #as always please do send me asks about this au I still love it and want to talk about it and have an excuse to draw for it hehe

[contrastparadoxx]

What was the initial idea for perse? How has she changed over the course of making her?

Oh this is actually SUCH a fun question, because as only some of you guys will know, Perse actually started out as a different character entirely. My friend at the time had a story in the works called Brothers, and while the characters were actually human they were always drawn as furries. I made a joke about a furry wearing a “Ask me about my Skinsona” shirt and that paired with another then friend complaining about brightly colored eyesore furries resulted in this

She was married to one of the main characters, Lucifer, which is why she was named Persephone, or Perse for short. She was immune to a poison that could kill even gods, she stabbed first asked questions later (met her then husband for the first time because he tried to grab something and she pinned his hand to the table with a knife and he was smitten), and she was by virtue of being married to Lucifer, the queen of heaven. She was also a royal guard before she was queen, and I loved her! There were a few relatively minor design changes to her during this time period, none really worth showing

Then the friend and I kinda drifted apart. Originally they were going to purchase Perse from me for $50, but that fell through and she just gathered dust because I was ashamed for some reason. Another ex friend made an alien species that was very furry esq, and I was like oh I can rework Perse for this! And then this version of her was born

I still like that outfit ngl. She was similar in this iteration, still very stab happy, and I accidentally pissed the GM of a game off by playing her being flippent and having fun in a horror situation. Oops. This version of her did not last long because that “friend” got really nasty about me because I “hoard characters”, among other things. Do I eventually left that community and was once again left with a character I used to project on feeling like she and I just don’t belong. All of this is before I even knew the FTC existed.

And then I came here. I wasn’t going to make her, at first. I made a few trolls, I messed around, I was having fun! Then I was like lol what if I made an OC who is a human who hides by wearing a fursuit. That led to me going “oh wait I could use Perse for that, since she’s always had that Skinsona shirt! Wouldn’t it be ironic!” And so Perse the human on alternia was born. I eventually connected her to a few other furry OC’s, which led to her getting her best friend, Ashter. He was her handler at con’s before he was her moirail, you know.

And eventually I went you know what, I want her to be a troll. I had a few ideas for how I was going to do that, but the one I ended up going with involved her making a deal with a demon to get the body she wanted. Her troll form actually originally looked way different too! And I might revamp the old design and make it a different character

I would change at least some of the colors and probably the horns. But while I love this design it never quite fit right. Eventually I decided to just go you know what how about I design a troll version of her fursona (which also has a slightly different design now, but I do not currently have a ref of, I’m working on it) and that THAT finally hit correctly. Technically her design has changed slightly since then as well, but the final version is the one shown in her sprites as made by Roetrolls!

She’s slightly (slightly) less stab happy now, and instead of being immune to a poison that is deadly to literally everyone else, she is technically venomous/poisonous (it’s both), with a toxin that shuts off psionics, chucklevoodoos, anything like that. She’s a gamer now, which was honestly very close to her vibes originally, and still insanely loyal.

I’m sorry if this wasn’t what you were asking about and I’m happy to explain anything further that I need to!

#Persep Rhiali #Yeah we’ll put this in her tag

[smallestflowtree]

SO more detail on the AU I mentioned yesterday which I am calling the Pavel girls AU for now, maybe a better name later if I think of one but knowing me I probably won't

Disclaimer: I LOVE HODARI I am just putting him back in the toy box for a bit so I can play with Leta instead for a while. Ok? Ok

Further disclaimer: I know we don't know much in canon about Leta so I'm veering probably quite far into OC territory here but it's okay I've given myself permission, this is my version of her and everyone else is obviously free to do as they wish, plenty of AU/OC space for everyone

Hodari finds Najuma first. He throws her clear of the cave-in; Leta finds her, frees her, takes her back to Kilima to get help, but by the time she returns with the other villagers it's too late.

Leaving Leta and Najuma.

Leta never considers going home. She's the inventor, so she makes Najuma her prosthetic leg fairly early on.

I like babies/children and I think there should be more of them so I wanted to add another Pavel child to this AU; my first thought was that Leta could be pregnant (early-on and maybe not know herself yet) when Hodari dies but the more I thought about it the more outright cruel it seemed, like that would be A LOT and I felt like I was being unnecessarily horrible to her. Also I liked the idea of the second child being a bit younger than that. So INSTEAD maybe about three years after the accident some kind of travelling merchant is visiting Kilima and runs into Leta in town, and invites himself round to see her later that evening; and she's lonely, and what's the harm? Najuma's asleep. And Leta works hard and she deserves a bit of fun and attention. Then a couple of weeks later once he's long gone she realises, oops. I like accidental pregnancy stories. Sorry Leta.

Anyway this is Saleni Pavel, she's five! She likes swimming and butterflies and telling long meandering stories that go on about five minutes too long. She definitely owns shoes and, if pressed, could tell you where at least one of them is. Her favourite person in the whole world is her big sister and she can very nearly do a handstand and wait, she'll show you. Wait. One more minute. She's going to do it this time. Okay let her try again

(sidenote: I do think of the Majiri as being overall quite sex-positive and we know they are polyamorous but it is interesting that all the children we see, and all the adults as far as we know, were born in (monogamous) wedlock. So I wonder who would be judgemental and who wouldn't)

Leta is a miner, but she's also an inventor and I think especially with two children it would make more sense for her to do more inventing, which would keep her closer to home more of the time. She's friends with Zeki so he could help her with licencing and selling her inventions. I think she'd go into the mines enough to get the materials she needs, and maybe enough to sell locally, but not as her primary means of supporting her family, and larger parts of the mines would be abandoned.

So bringing us to Najuma. Who would similarly not be allowed in the mines - it's not safe, especially when parts of it aren't checked/maintained. And there's no need - she's better off in every way as her mother's apprentice. But I think she'd feel just as drawn to them because of her father's death and wanting to continue his legacy.

And I like to think about Najuma as a big sister. How she'd feel about the fact that at least she knew her father, but that means she knows how it felt to lose him, which Saleni can't, and is that better or worse? And being fiercely protective of her but also having to look after her and getting frustrated and fed up, and also maybe frustrated because Saleni can run and swim and do things she can't with a prosthetic, but it isn't her fault, and teenage angst, and so forth, while also loving her to pieces and if you look at her wrong she will FIGHT YOU. You know, sibling stuff.

Leta in general I see as outgoing, friendly, and generally well-liked; not always as cautious as she should be with a tendency to rush in; rather hot-headed. Loses track of time when she's working on something. Very loyal and loves her daughters to distraction but they are also the people who drive her craziest.

That all I’m going to say today but I have MANY MORE THOUGHTS for other posts, including how I would add all this into the game and what I would change to make it all work and quests and schedules and all kinds of things, and if anyone cares at all then PLEASE reply or message me or something because I need. To get all the thoughts out. I can’t stop thinking about this AU help

#palia #pavel girls au #leta #najuma #being normal about the pavels again #ok I need to go to bed

[cheesybadgers]

Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 18)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24

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Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 10,316

Summary: As Javier and Horacio make a fresh start in Madrid, they attempt to come to terms with their past, present and future with some unexpected help.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Romantic/emotional sex, edging, PTSD symptoms, grief and parental loss, brief discussions of sexuality/coming out, brief mentions of canon-typical violence, smoking, drinking, swearing.

Notes: Ok, so I know I said I wasn't going to be posting for a while, but after some lovely comments I've had on Tumblr this past week, I thought I would show my appreciation by sharing this a bit earlier than anticipated ❤️

Chapter 19 is ready to go, so hopefully I can post that soon, as it's the second half of their Madrid adventures (I had to split it because it got too big for one chapter, oops).

Thank you once again to anyone still following this fic - old or new - I can't believe it's been over two years since I first started it. Never in a million years did I expect it to become, well, this lol. But we are very nearly there now!

I’ve also added to my OHDH trivia post to cover this chapter if anyone is interested. 

Whilst obviously I do not own Narcos or its characters, please do not copy, re-post, or plagiarize this fic in any capacity on this or other platforms. If you wish to create any fan works inspired by it, please provide a credit or send me a message if in doubt.

Chapter 18: One Day at a Time

It was the stillest part of the day, the city suspended somewhere between the dying embers of night and the cusp of dawn. The streets below saw parallel worlds collide as overindulgent revellers staggered alongside coffee-carrying workers who had drawn the short straw.

Neither Javier nor Horacio was a stranger to witnessing sunrise from both sides. But there was comfort in waking up to it rather than being caught unawares when sleep never came.

A raucous catfight had woken them, although the sparring partners had since gone their separate ways and restored calm to the neighbourhood.

Javier surveyed the aftermath from the French doors of the balcony, a pair of arms smoothly securing themselves around his waist, their fingers entwining over his stomach.

“Did I miss anything?” Horacio croaked, grogginess still heavy in his throat, his bare chest radiating welcomed warmth against Javier’s chilled back.

“Just the usual suspects. I know the ginger one lives opposite, but I think the black one must be a stray.”

“The same one that was out here the other day?” Horacio nodded towards their balcony, equipped with a table, two chairs, and a few hanging baskets and potted plants.

“Looked like it.”

“Maybe we should put some food out if it stops by again.” Memories of the stray he and Alejandra played their part in looking after sprung to Horacio's mind. Strangely enough, that had been a black cat too.

“Should I tell Luna she’s been replaced already?”

“Don’t you dare.” At least the teasing took Horacio’s mind off the fact he missed all two-legged and four-legged residents of the ranch tremendously, and according to reports from Chucho, the feeling was mutual.

It had only been weeks since they left Laredo, but the days stretched out longer now. It wasn’t that time dragged, but their pace of life had slowed again. The ranch was a vacation compared to Colombia, but jobs still needed to be done. Here though, they had no commitments.

The first week involved sorting out their apartment. It came fully furnished, but they needed basics like bedding, groceries and warmer clothes. Arriving in Madrid during the winter months was a shock to the system after their balmy Texan Christmas, a fact Horacio probably should have warned Javier about before they stepped off the plane in their short-sleeved shirts.

Not that Javier minded whenever the temperature dropped in the evening, and they would huddle on the couch in front of the electric fire, limbs draped over one another. There was no scent of mesquite wood this time, but that didn’t matter when shared body heat and tactility were more than enough to satisfy as they christened the furniture in their shared home.

The décor was all neutral colours but vibrant paintings of local landmarks and rural Spain hung on the bright white walls. A long corridor stretched from the entrance, with a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen and separate living area branching off it. Despite the modest square footage, the high ceilings and large windows along the external wall made the space light and airy.

The apartment was still dark enough to protect them at this time of day, and semi-closed blinds covered the balcony doors from top to bottom. They could see out the hangings, especially if they were prised apart. But Javier had ensured on the first day they arrived that there was no chance of anyone from outside nosing in. He wasn’t taking any chances, even though that threat was left back in Colombia.

Now the commotion outside had died down, they basked in the peace of their embrace.

“It was the cats that woke you, wasn’t it?” Horacio asked after a contented silence. He had to check, even though there had been a marked improvement in their sleeping patterns lately.

“Yeah, it was. I slept well last night, actually.”

“Me too. Better now I’m getting used to the traffic again.”

“The ranch really makes you forget how fucking loud the city is.” Or maybe, now Javier thought about it, it was the ranch that was so fucking quiet. “I’m still waking up through the night sometimes, cats or no cats. But I guess that might just be getting used to this place.”

“You like it here, though?”

“Yeah, I do. I can see why you wanted to come back.”

“I only wanted to come back with you.” Horacio’s fingers traced idle patterns across the soft curve of Javier’s stomach.

A light shiver ran through Javier as he lolled his head back into the pillow of Horacio’s shoulder. “So you could do this, huh?”

Horacio hummed in agreement against Javier’s neck, his mouth working methodically back and forth as a hand wandered south in search of a trail of dark hair, skirting through the wiry strands.

“Well, it wasn’t for the sangria,” he scathed, his teeth scraping over Javier as though he would rather devour the man in his arms than a glass of that stuff. Maybe it was because they hadn’t drunk much alcohol since Javier returned from Colombia, but neither had taken to it. “And you don’t seem to be complaining.”

“There are worse ways to start the day.” Javier relaxed into Horacio’s hold, allowing himself to be manhandled because there was no rush. There never was anymore.

Plenty of early mornings had begun similarly. Sometimes one man would wake up to the calid pressure of a mouth around his cock, gradually allowing the slow burn of arousal to build whilst they were half-asleep. Other times they would spoon with one held inside the other, barely moving, vaguely dreaming but always on the brink of release.

Then there were times when slow and gentle weren't enough. They had mastered the art of keeping each other quiet, for their apartment walls weren’t the thickest. Not too much, though, because the rhythmic slapping of skin-on-skin or the crisp echo of a palm across the ass was part of the appeal.

But teasing strokes and languorous rolls of the hips were in order now. One hand pumped at an unhurried pace, Javier’s length fitting in Horacio’s grip as though they were made for each other. As though Horacio had every nerve ending and sweet spot memorised as he expertly massaged Javier’s frenulum, extracting a guttural moan that reverberated through their chests in tandem.

Horacio’s free hand mapped Javier’s skin, chasing goosebumps with the calloused pads of his fingers as he found friction at the cleft of Javier’s ass. Each touch and motion a tangible reminder he wasn’t here alone this time, that the solid form in his hold and the stubbled cheek grazing against his were real. That they belonged to each other, not as possessions but as mutual choices made again and again.

Javier luxuriated in a delirious limbo, teetering on the verge but never quite there, the need for release visceral in the pit of his stomach. Yet as he trembled and writhed, alternating between pouting his bottom lip and biting it, a part of him was willing to beg to be kept hanging. Because this was what he had wanted when they were separated by oceans and a misplaced sense of duty, and now he had it, he didn’t want to let it go.

Each twitch or convulsion only made Horacio pull Javier closer, gaining extra purchase with the firm grasp at his hip bone, grinding harder but not faster, lost in dragging the head of his cock in agonising circles, from side to side, then up and down, pausing to let it throb in time with their panting. Knowing he could probe further and give them what they needed, but then it would be game over.

So, they resisted, turning shallow breaths into deeper ones, Horacio ceasing movement whenever they neared the point of no return, reeling them back in like a wound-up coil, forcing them to admire the view below as they fought against every instinct in their bodies.

Javier allowed the balcony door to bear some of their weight with one hand splayed across the clinking blinds, pushing back a fraction just to make Horacio groan in his ear and seize the cross dangling from his neck. His other hand clutched Horacio’s arm, neck, shoulder, whichever part of him he could reach, grounding and anchoring them together.

Whenever they almost succumbed, memories of their time apart would re-focus them in the present; where their legs shook, and their toes curled at every new sensation rippling through their joined form, the anticipation of relief battling with remaining in equilibrium, daring each other to prolong the exquisite agony for as long as possible.

But resistance was inevitably futile. With several final jerks of the wrist and hips, they surrendered control, painting Javier with their release from both sides as they gave themselves over to the white-hot bliss cascading through their synapses, each spasm igniting and stoking flame after flame, consuming and burning until they almost blacked out.

Neither moved as the pink haze of the skyline broached the gaps in the blinds and blushed their fevered skin; the dawn air a perfect tonic to the blazing heat between them. A greeting from the light rather than a reluctant acknowledgement after outstaying their welcome in the dark.

Strong arms encased Javier at his front while a rhythmic beat drummed against his back, catching and soothing him in surroundings that were still relatively new. Steady, grounding, home.

“Good morning, by the way,” Horacio said between tender kisses along Javier’s shoulder.

“Hmm, certainly is a good morning.” Javier shifted to face Horacio, sweeping him up with an open-mouthed kiss as addictive as the first one they ever shared, and oh, how far they had come since then. “Is it too early for breakfast?”

“Not when we’ve built up an appetite.” Horacio nibbled at Javier’s lip to emphasise his hunger. “Although, maybe a shower before I make us some coffee?”

Javier nipped back before instigating another searing kiss, barely breaking it to speak again. “Sounds good to me.”

Nothing was particularly extraordinary about the idyllic scene they had started the morning off with. And yet that in itself was extraordinary. Not so long ago, all of this felt out of reach, something to aspire to or hope for, but not something feasible. But here they were, in their shared apartment, embarking on a new chapter together, taking another leap of faith. Not running away from the past but trying to break free from its shackles, one day at a time. 

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Once they had got their bearings in the first few weeks, they began to venture out bit by bit. First, it was walking around the city’s vast green parks, starting with the nearest and working further away from their apartment each time. Then cooking or takeaway turned into dining in a secluded bistro. And watching TV in the apartment became a leisurely stroll around a museum.

Horacio hadn’t felt much like sightseeing when he was here by himself. But things were different now. Everything was different now, even the city itself, from how the early morning light fell on the buildings to the hustle and bustle of Gran Vía. The crowds were still there in their droves. The shoppers and tourists, who would stop in the middle of the pavement with a street map sprawling across their arms, still needed to be sidestepped at the last second. But it was easier to ignore when Javier was by his side.

It was at this point that Horacio knew there was something he was going to have to do. Something he had been putting off, despite it being something he wanted to do. But that didn’t calm the nerves bubbling in his stomach as he took the familiar walk around the corner from their apartment building and down a cobbled side street. Javier had offered to come with him for moral support, but playing it safe seemed the best option, at least this time, just in case.

As he approached the glass door with its seasonal flower arrangements hanging below the red and gold calligraphic Café Romero lettering, it hit him how much his life had changed since he last visited, how much he and Javier had been through. So how reasonable was it to expect everything to be the same here? He swallowed hard as he turned the handle, the bell above the door jangling as it opened.

The interior looked the same as always. Caramel and beige walls complemented the variety of coffees on the menu and the lush green of potted plants decorating the shelves, in between photos of past and present generations of the Romero family. A large window ran along the front, providing extra lighting and an opportunity to people-watch on busier days.

Horacio could see no staff and only customers, but it was early, so the place hadn't filled up yet. In fact, his usual window seat in the corner was still free. Waves of nostalgia layered with relief rolled over him as he sat down facing the counter.

But it didn’t take long for the face he was looking for to appear from the kitchen carrying a fresh batch of napolitanas de chocolate.

A shriek of delight quickly followed once Señora Romero put down her baking tray and raised her head. She brought her hands to her face in surprise, gathering up her apron at the same time as it caught on her fingers. “Horacio?!”

The intonation of her voice suggested it was a question. But she was already crossing the floor of the café with her arms outstretched.

Horacio rose from his table, making it easier for her to scoop him into a hug reminiscent of the ones his Abuela Margarita gave him as a child.

“It’s good to see you, Señora Romero. I hope you’re well.”

She looked well, her silver hair still tied in a messy bun and her rounded figure and freshly stained apron a sign her passion for food hadn’t waned.

“All the better for seeing you.” She lightly squeezed his cheek as she took in his appearance. “Although you might have warned me, I’d have baked more of those milhojas you liked so much last time.”

“Sorry. I’ve not been back long. I’m still sorting out the apartment and trying to remember my way around.”

“Of course, of course. Rest your feet, and I’ll bring you something over. Your usual coffee?”

Horacio smiled at the fact she had remembered his order. “That’d be lovely, thank you.”

The coffee was as delicious as ever, much like the freshly made churros and accompanying hot chocolate, which Señora Romero gave him on the house despite his protests.

She updated Horacio on her family and how Luisa and her husband, Julián, had become parents since their wedding. Their new arrival, Tomás, meant Señora Romero still ran the café, with Luisa helping out occasionally until Tomás was at school.

Señora Romero rushed to grab some photos from behind the counter, showing off her latest grandson. She was in her element and every bit the doting Abuelita.

“Congratulations, I can see the family resemblance,” Horacio said, passing the photos back.

“I said the same to Luisa! He’s definitely got the Romero nose.” She gazed at the picture before shifting her attention back to Horacio. “So, what did I do to deserve the pleasure of your company?”

Horacio scoffed into his cup, creating ripples across the surface of his coffee as he took a sip. “I don’t know where to start.”

“How about from where we left off?”

Horacio hadn't been looking for sympathy, but naturally, Señora Romero supplied plenty of it, gasping, tutting, and consoling in all the appropriate places when he gave an abridged and redacted version of events since their last meeting.

He spoke more than was ideal about his injury and retirement from the CNP because, by comparison, it was safer ground than the inverted commas silently hugging every use of "friend" a mention of Javier brought.

“Oh, Horacio, my dear. You have been through the wars. How’s your shoulder doing now?”

“Okay, mostly. I still get twinges, but I know I’m lucky.”

“Lucky to have someone like Javier around as well, by the sounds of it.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Even if he had wanted to stop it, the reflexive smile spreading across Horacio’s face was irrepressible.

Señora Romero studied his features intently, beaming in return once she had finished. “And how was life on a ranch?”

“It was…good, actually. I know it’s not the CNP, but I liked the peace and quiet. And the routine. Something always needed doing or fixing.”

“It might not be the CNP, but that sounds much safer and simpler to me.”

“It was. It was good to feel useful again. Like I was making a difference, even if it wasn’t life or death.” Especially if it wasn’t, more like.

“I know you never talked much about it, but I could see how restless you were trapped behind a desk. You’re a man of action, Horacio. I don’t see that changing no matter which path you take.”

The café was busier now, meaning Horacio was left to finish his churros whilst Señora Romero dealt with the start of the breakfast rush.

As he dipped his last churro in the remnants of hot chocolate, it occurred to him that, once upon a time, his father would have been the central focus of this conversation. And, of course, he had wondered what his Papá would have made of his son living and working on a ranch in Texas, of all places. But it was also a moot point. It was an answer he would never get, regardless of how much he wrung his hands about the hypothetical possibility of disappointing his father.

This was about what was best for him and Javier now. The ranch had been their escape from the madness that was slowly killing them. Although Horacio never knew with absolute certainty what caused his Papá’s heart to fail, it was a plausible theory he overworked himself. And that irony sat more comfortably with Horacio these days. Because as much as his Papá had been a role model since Horacio was old enough to understand the word police, he was also a cautionary tale.

When the rush died down, Horacio helped clear some tables. It was the least he could do in exchange for words of wisdom and a complimentary breakfast.

But Señora Romero didn’t stop there and scuttled off behind the counter. She filled a box with an assortment of pastries and cakes, sealed the lid and handed it to Horacio as he moved towards the door.

“Here, my dear. Some more to keep you going. Enough for two, in fact.”

Horacio fumbled for a response beyond thank you as he accepted the box, wishing he could hide inside it as he sensed her eyes still on him.

Señora Romero’s hand lingered on his for a fraction longer than was customary for a simple goodbye.

He looked up to find the same head tilt and gentle smile he was met with in the apartment upstairs almost two years ago. When he was indirectly talking about Javier.

“I meant it when I said don’t be a stranger. You and Javier will always be welcome here.”

The sincerity in her eyes grew sharper, and she gripped his hand. In sympathy? Solidarity? Horacio wasn't sure.

But it put him at ease enough to reciprocate and ask a question now lodged in his throat with no option to swallow it back down. “How did you know?”

“Because there’s a glow about you, Horacio. A glow I remember from a long, long time ago. I might’ve forgotten a lot in my old age, but never that. Not even now it’s just me rattling around upstairs. It doesn’t have to fade, you know. Not if you don’t let it.”

It was a running theme for Horacio’s elders to leave him speechless like this. And it was all he could do to bob his head in acknowledgement, hoping he might be capable of such sage insights one day.

The bell above the door chimed again, signalling the end of their reunion as Señora Romero greeted her new customers, inviting them to sit wherever they liked.

“I think that’s my cue. But thank you, Señora Romero. For everything.”

“Any time. Take care, Horacio. And remember, my door’s always open.”

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Horacio dropped the box of delights on the kitchen counter, the fresh breeze and murmur of traffic revealing that Javier had moved from the bedroom to the balcony since he left.

Javier put the book he was reading down in favour of craning his neck over his shoulder to watch Horacio potter about the kitchen before biting the bullet. “So, how did it go?”

Horacio didn’t speak whilst he concentrated on transferring a couple of ensaimadas onto plates. He then joined Javier, sitting in the empty seat next to him as he offered a plate. “Better than I thought it would. She guessed about us. I didn’t tell her. Somehow she just…knew.”

“How did she take it?”

“I think we’ve got a free supply of these for life.”

They couldn’t help but laugh in unison, more from relief than anything else.

“See, I told you it’d be fine.”

“Yeah. It’s never gonna stop, though, is it?”

“How d’you mean?”

“Every time we meet someone.”

“I say it's nobody’s fucking business unless we decide it is.”

“I spoke to Alejandra yesterday. While you were in the shower.” Horacio paused at his announcement that might have appeared unconnected to their conversation, but Javier knew better. “I let her know I’m back here for now. I couldn’t tell her the rest, though.”

He focused on his plate, poking a fork at the crumbly layers of pastry, hoping to find his courage buried somewhere between them. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no, stop that.” Javier forfeited his plate for leaning closer to Horacio, palm caressing his thigh. “Before Laredo, you said I should only tell Pops if I’m ready. So, there’s no rush, Horacio. Take all the time you need.”

Horacio entwined their fingers on his leg because if anyone understood his apprehension, it was Javier. “I know. I just hate keeping it from her after everything we’ve been through. She would always make me soup if I was sick. And she looked out for me after Papá was gone. She taught me Mamá’s sudado de pollo recipe because it was one of Papá’s favourites. I liked to think I was the man of the house, but she loved reminding me she was my older sister.”

“I bet she did. I saw that a lot with my parents and my Tías and Tíos. Never could decide if I’d have preferred brothers and sisters after they all got together.”

“That’s siblings for you. I didn’t want to shut her – or Mamá – out. But when things got crazy back home, I had no choice.”

“Same with Pops. The worse it got, the more I shut down. But he understood. And…I know I haven’t met them.” Yet, Javier wanted to add but thought better of it. “But they might too.”

“I know.”

“We’ll be okay whatever happens, you know that, right?”

“Yeah. I do.” Horacio finally let go of Javier’s hand, knowing if he held on any longer, he’d have given their neighbours something to gossip about.

Instead, he took another bite of his pastry and a swig of the half-drunk coffee from the table where Javier’s abandoned book lay. “What are you reading, anyway?”

“Oh, just this.” Javier reached for his Mamá’s poetry book, the pages fluttering in the breeze, the superstitious remnants from his upbringing wanting to believe it was a sign of something other than the weather. “Before we left, I told Pops I wished she’d met you. I don’t know if she ever suspected anything about me, but…I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

“Maybe not. But for what it’s worth, I wish I’d met her too.”

It had always been a relief for Horacio that his father and Javier never crossed paths, but that was mostly a projection of his own fears. The truth was, he would never know if his Papá suspected anything about him, either.

Once they had finished their ensaimadas, Horacio washed up the plates and a few items waiting by the sink, a routine he performed countless times with Alejandra when they were just about tall enough to reach the taps; before any expectations of who or what he was supposed to be were placed on his shoulders. Memories flooded back of how they would squabble over who got to wash and dry. Although, of course, more often than not, his big sister would pull rank, and in hindsight, he smiled at the possibility that, all those years later, she, rather than their Papá, was what had made his job so appealing.

As he left the clean plates, cups, and cutlery to dry on the draining board, it dawned on him that Alejandra and his Mamá didn’t have to be the same story as his Papá. They didn’t need to be another unfinished, half-written story in which the ending would always elude him, haunt him, or hold him back. Not if Horacio didn’t leave it too late this time.

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Whilst Horacio resumed his early morning runs, they were more like gentle jogs these days. It wasn’t that he had lost his stamina after being put through his paces back on the ranch, but he didn’t feel the need to charge ahead at full pelt anymore. He was more likely to go through a routine of strengthening exercises, to keep his right shoulder from seizing up, and for whenever they decided to head back to Laredo. If that was to become his full-time job, he couldn’t afford to be out of shape.

He left Javier in bed, with plans to meet him at Café Romero for breakfast. It was to be Javier’s first time meeting Señora Romero, which they were confident they had nothing to worry about, but that didn’t quell the butterflies dancing in their stomachs the night before.

It was why Horacio had gone for a run instead of lying awake restless, counting down the hours until he could get up. His muscle memory, rather than his wristwatch, estimated that by the time he jogged one of his usual routes that took him to the outskirts of Casa de Campo park and walked a few blocks to cool down, he would be ready for breakfast.

About three-quarters of the way through his run, having just exited the park, he heard the call of his name. He willed there to be another Horacio jogging passed at the same time, but when his eyes fell upon the source of the voice, he knew he was out of luck.

“Álvaro?” He didn’t know why he asked; he’d spent enough time with Álvaro Molina to recognise his voice anywhere.

Álvaro was a chief inspector in the Spanish CNP. Not a direct parallel to Horacio’s role in Colombia, but close enough. Although Álvaro was never based at the Consulate when Horacio was, they spent plenty of time in the same cross-departmental meetings.

He was a couple of inches taller than Horacio with hazel eyes and unruly dark brown curls that were more mottled with grey than their last meeting. At one time, Álvaro carried almost as much muscle as Horacio, but he had visibly lost weight, his face now gaunt and rough with days’ old stubble.

“How the hell are you?” A hand shook Horacio’s with vigour. “Better than last time, I bet, now that motherfucker’s in the ground.”

“You could say that.”

“What brings you back? They didn’t exile you again, did they?” Álvaro winked, knowing he was on friendly enough terms with Horacio to get away with it.

A scoff and roll of the eyes was Horacio’s response. “No. Actually, it was the other way round this time.”

“Oh? You are a dark horse. Always thought they’d have to force you into retirement when you’re old and grey.”

“Yeah, me too. But I guess things change.”

“Hmm, some more than others.”

“I take it there’s been no let-up in seizures after Medellín folded?”

“Not with Cali waiting in the wings, no.” There was a brittle laugh followed by a shift in Álvaro’s facial expression, the joviality from moments ago now gone and replaced with traces of sleep deprivation.

“That’s the trouble. You cut off one serpent’s head, and two more of the fuckers grow straight back.” Horacio’s words were loaded with a sting of venom at the mention of Cali, closely followed by thoughts of Los Pepes, Stechner and the CIA’s protection of Cali. How could they possibly win when the whole system was corrupt to the core?

“Tell me about it. Listen, I don’t suppose you’ve got time to grab a quick coffee? Hell knows I need one.”

Horacio calculated he had about 15 minutes maximum spare, so, it was doable if he drank fast and didn’t get too involved in shop talk that was no longer his remit.

“Okay, there’s a place just inside Casa de Campo. But you’re buying.”

“Always the cheapskate.”

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Javier glanced up from his newspaper to the clock on the wall. Horacio was technically late; by his own standards, that was. Javier wouldn’t even have noticed if it was anyone else.

He followed Horacio’s instructions on how to get here, even down to picking the window seat in the far corner of the café. It was empty when Javier arrived – five minutes early, which must be a first – so he sat and waited.

Not long after he took a seat, a lady too young to be Señora Romero came to greet him with a friendly smile, ready to take his order.

Javier went with a café solo for each of them, saving the food order for when Horacio arrived.

Even when speaking in short sentences, Javier was self-conscious of his accent here, sometimes forgetting to adjust his pronunciation or pick a different word than he was used to. Of course, it had been the same when he arrived in Colombia and Horacio in Texas. A cultural exchange that led to many late-night conversations – and the occasional argument – about dialect differences. But that was the versatility of the Spanish language.

The same waitress brought the drinks over, although an older woman had joined her who was now clearing the adjacent table. The family resemblance between the two women was undeniable, so Javier assumed this must be Señora Romero and…Luisa, did Horacio say? He kept quiet for now, just in case he was wrong. Nor did he want to steal Horacio’s thunder with introductions.

As Javier thanked Luisa and explained the second cup was for someone meeting him shortly, Señora Romero ceased wiping a cloth across the emptied table, her ears pricking up at an accent she didn’t hear too often.

Not that Javier noticed as his eyes darted to the door, up to the clock and down to the paper with a heavy sigh.

He got through one and a half news stories when Señora Romero made her move from watching Javier curiously from behind the counter to standing by his table.

“It’s not like him to be late, is it?”

Javier was startled out of his newspaper and looked up, where rich shades of chestnut and cinnamon collided for the first time. “How—?” was about all he managed to stutter out.

Señora Romero sat opposite Javier, where Horacio should have been sitting. “Ever since his first visit, he went straight for this table. It is a nice spot, though. He always read his papers and ordered a café solo every time.” She smiled affectionately at the coffee cups on the table like they were an old friend. “Plus, he told me about Laredo. So, I wasn’t expecting another Colombian accent.”

“I’m impressed. We could’ve done with more people like you in Colombia. And I was under strict instructions to pick this table. But you’re right; it’s not like him to be late.”

There was no doubt a logical explanation for Horacio’s absence. But Javier couldn’t stop his fingers from fidgeting around the handle of his cup or his knee from bouncing under the table and causing an earthquake.

“Oh, I’m sure he’s on his way, dear. Did he go for one of his pre-breakfast runs?”

There was something comforting about Señora Romero’s familiarity with Horacio’s routines, even though Javier had never met her before. It gave them a mutual talking point and a connection beyond the usual dry small talk. “Bingo.”

“Of course! He was one of my most loyal regulars. I did miss seeing him in here after he left.”

“He’s talked about you and this place a lot. So, I’d say the feeling’s mutual.”

“Bless you, my dear. I’m glad our paths crossed. But I’ve no doubt he ended up where he belonged.”

Heat bloomed in Javier’s face and chest as Señora Romero gave him a pointed look followed by a flash of a wink. And he couldn’t help but feel sheepish that he and Horacio had ever worried about her reaction in the first place.

It took his mind off things until his gaze fell back on the clock, and he saw another five minutes had passed. Where the fuck was he? No, Javier couldn’t think like that. It was stupid and unnecessary at this stage. He just needed to focus on the pleasant conversation he was having now. So, he tried again.

This time, he asked questions about Señora Romero’s family and, during a lull in the breakfast rush, was introduced to Luisa as a friend of Horacio’s. If Luisa suspected anything, she took it in the same stride as her mother.

Next came the family photos, including plenty of Tomás, naturally. An album's worth of photos was scattered across the table, allowing Señora Romero to guide Javier through each one as though she was delivering a presentation. But as someone with a large extended family, Javier didn’t mind and even interjected with anecdotes about his own relatives.

After a tilt of his head and a sip of his coffee, Javier brought the cup down to the photo-covered table with a sense of déjà vu. It took him out of the moment and forced him to close his eyes, trying to blink away his sudden change in mood. But then, a wave of cheap perfume filled his senses. And Señora Romero’s finger pointing at the pictures was younger and manicured. The photo she placed in his hand wasn’t the many generations of the Romero family posing in front of the café; it was one of the long-lens photos of Javier and Horacio.

He blinked hard enough to see spots, allowing his vision to gradually re-focus on the safety of the photo in his hand rather than the violating one burnt into his memory. He tried not to think about those images, and for the most part, he succeeded these days. But occasionally, his brain would taunt him, reminding him how paralysed he was by the possible consequences. By the fact he put Horacio in so much danger and couldn’t even tell him about it or be with him. By the fact he and Steve were glorified puppets to the likes of Stechner whilst the CIA was up to its neck in corruption.

“These, er, these are all beautiful,” he managed to get out, hoping that the last few seconds had gone unnoticed, as unlikely as that was.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything else while you wait, dear?”

That was the next question Javier heard, but he couldn’t be sure if he had zoned out and missed a whole chunk of conversation.

"Er, no, thanks, I'm good."

Without meaning to, his eyes scanned between the clock and the door again, an irrational hope taking hold that if he stared at either long enough, he could make Horacio appear by sheer willpower alone. However, as the second hand on the clock ticked and ticked, he was back in that damn hospital bed. Waiting, waiting, waiting. That was all he could do, unable to get comfortable as each movement was a red-hot poker jabbing in his ribs. But he would take that any day over the crushing, suffocating, nauseating dread that weighed on his chest like a foreshadowing of death. Not his death, although it would have been in all but name if the pendulum of fate had swung the other way.

“Javier? Are you alright, my dear?”

Javier was back in the café, a light sheen of sweat gathering on his skin as he tried to shove whatever the fuck that was back in its box. “Er, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry.”

“Why don’t I pour us some lemonade upstairs once you’ve finished your coffee? I’ll ask Luisa to send Horacio up when he gets here.”

Javier expected his instincts to push him towards the door and back to the apartment, but they didn’t. Instead, they saw the genuine concern on Señora Romero’s face and the kindness in her gesture. They saw the glimmer of faded memories of his Mamá taking care of him, knowing this wasn’t the same, but also that it didn’t need to be. And so he did the only thing he could.

“That’d be good, thanks.”

------------------------------------------------------

Álvaro brought over two coffees from the kiosk by the park entrance to a nearby seating area of tables and chairs. The previous day’s rain still clung to the stainless steel furniture and explained why there weren’t as many people around them as on a scorching hot day. But that worked in their favour.

They sat opposite each other across a table suffering from a wobbly leg, Horacio in his jogging pants and a somewhat sweaty t-shirt, and Álvaro apparently in yesterday's suit, shirt and skewwhiff tie, if their crumpled appearance and less than fresh aroma were anything to go by. A far cry from the pristine CNP-issued uniforms and tailored suits picked out by Álvaro’s wife their last meeting saw them wearing.

As Horacio took a sip of coffee, he noticed Álvaro reach into the inside pocket of his jacket and pull out a hip flask.

Álvaro lifted the plastic lid from his cup, poured a generous measure from the flask and offered the same to Horacio.

Horacio raised his hand and shook his head. “Bit early for me.”

They made small talk, Horacio managing to be as vague as possible regarding his reasons for living here again. “Taking a break in a beautiful city” and “Catching up with old friends” were about the gist of it. But he wasn’t exactly forthcoming with information the first time, so his stunted replies weren’t out of character.

Álvaro was equally brief about the details of his life, which was out of character now Horacio thought about it. Álvaro used to talk about his family as much as his work. His wife was his rock, his kids were his pride and joy, and his brother was progressing at pace through the military ranks. But this time, he confirmed they were doing well and left it at that before getting down to business.

“An anonymous tip-off recently fell into the DEA’s lap. Lots of juicy details about Cali. The gringos are working their way through the intel, and it flagged up more links to our old friends in Galicia. There were sightings of Pacho Herrera up there, plus some of his associates are based in Madrid. So that’s opened a huge fucking can of worms.”

Horacio had a terrible time trying to stifle a reaction to the mention of a tip-off. There was nothing 'anonymous' about it from the DEA’s point of view, not even when it came to the intel's delivery.

The last time he was here, the Galician traffickers were working with Escobar. And whilst Horacio’s redeployment was conducted from behind a desk for the majority, his colleagues had chewed his ear off about various Colombian names that came up in reports or wiretaps. It didn’t surprise him in the slightest that the Spanish clans had moved on to Cali.

Álvaro lit a cigarette as he talked, offering up a second one from his almost-empty carton.

But Horacio declined, instead taking another sip of his drink. “Sounds promising. But Álvaro, Cali is a different beast to Medellín. They’re more discreet, professional, and they have powerful friends in high places.”

“I know. But we have to try, right? Look at Operación Nécora. Sooner or later, someone gets sloppy, drops the ball, turns on one of their own, or kills the wrong person. And then we win.”

Watching Álvaro chug back his Irish coffee in one hand with a smouldering cigarette perched in his other was like looking in a mirror to the past. And it wasn’t a pretty sight.

When Horacio was in the fray, it had been too easy to focus solely on the case in front of him, convincing himself it would all be over soon if he just shut down one more lab and seized one more kilo or wad of cash. Or tortured one more suspect. But it was never enough and never would be. He had been fighting a losing battle that had no likely ending in sight, even if the individuals and locations were a perpetual revolving door.

“I’m not sure there are winners in any of this,” he said, the resignation heavy in his tone.

“Shit, you really have changed.”

“Maybe.”

“Last time I saw you, you were raining fire and brimstone upon the narcos. What the fuck happened?”

“Do you know how many funerals I’ve been to, Álvaro? Or how many people I’ve killed? Because I don’t. I stopped counting. Then Escobar tried to have me killed – and nearly succeeded.”

“Woah, woah, what?”

“I took a bullet here,” Horacio gestured to his right shoulder, “and nearly bled out. The doctors said I was lucky I was brought in so fast.” Although Horacio knew a lot more than luck was involved.

“Shit, Horacio.”

“Yeah. So, it’s easy for you to keep fighting when you haven’t lost as many times as I have.”

“Because no one else could possibly have lost anything as well, right?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Sounded like it to me. And you’ve got no fucking idea.” Álvaro slammed his cup down on the table, the force of its impact splashing coffee droplets in all directions.

Horacio opted not to make a fuss but he could have sworn he saw the reflection of tears in Álvaro’s eyes as they focused on their drinks in silence. “Did something happen?”

“What gave it away?” Álvaro gestured towards himself, acknowledging his worse-for-wear state. He leaned his elbow on the table, head held in his hands, and ran his fingers through his hair. “There was another bombing. Last June. An army transporter was targeted by 40 kilos of explosives left in a parked car. My brother, Jaime, was...he was there…and didn’t make it.”

“Fuck, Álvaro. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” Except, in a roundabout way, he did have some idea. Because back in Colombia, it was Horacio who delivered such news to countless families like the Molinas.

“No, well, you wouldn’t.” He took out the hip flask again, draining whatever was left into his coffee cup and knocking it back. “Not least of all because I lied about him earlier. Sorry about that, by the way. Still not very good at this sort of thing.”

“No, of course. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“Your dad was a cop too, right? Before he…passed away.”

“Yeah, he was.”

“I remember you telling me. It was about the only thing I got out of you, come to think of it.”

Half a rebellious smile broke through Horacio’s tightly pursed lips. “Yeah, well, I guess I wasn’t very good at this sort of thing either.”

“But you are now?”

“Better than I was. Better now I’m not trying to be him. Now I realise he was as flawed as the rest of us.”

“Yeah, trying to follow in the footsteps of a high-achiever in the family will fuck you up for life. Or so I’ve heard.”

Horacio didn’t know a lot about Jaime but was aware he was 10 years older than Álvaro. From the way Álvaro talked, it was clear how much he hero-worshipped his big brother. And if anyone knew the pitfalls of such high pedestals, it was Horacio.

“Sounds familiar. As much as I’ve always missed him, I was glad he never saw me at my worst.”

“All I wanted was for Jaime to be proud of me, and I think he was.” Álvaro’s eyes lit up, and for the first time during their conversation, the wrinkles of his smile reached them. “But I’m not sure he’d even recognise me if he saw me now.”

“The paradox of grief.”

“What?”

Another smile crept over Horacio’s face. “Just something someone once said to me. Whatever you do, it’ll never feel enough now he’s gone.”

“Never thought of it like that. But it’s not just a dead man I’m letting down. My wife tried so hard with me; she really did. But…the nightmares started. They were always about trying to save Jaime, but I couldn’t. So I drank ‘til I was comatose. Then work got crazy and things spiralled. She didn’t think it was good for me to be around the kids, and well, I can’t argue with that.”

Álvaro unloaded a jumble of words in one fell swoop, catching Horacio off guard as he tried to take it all in. But it wasn’t as though it was unfamiliar territory for him. It wasn’t as though he had no experiences of his own to share, experiences he had only ever opened up to Javier about until now.

“That was my life, for a long time, without the wife and kids, obviously. But the nightmares and the drinking got bad after I...I accidentally killed someone I was sent to rescue.”

“Shit, Horacio. You never said anything when you were – wait a minute – is that why you were here in the first place?”

“Surprisingly, no.” Horacio let out a hollow laugh at the fact the death of Diana Turbay wasn’t his superiors’ red line. “I’m sure it didn’t help my cause, but the final straw came when I led a raid on a nightclub. We took down some high-level sicarios, but a bystander got caught in the crossfire.”

“Fuck. There were so many rumours about you, no one knew what to believe. I heard you took out Escobar’s cousin, but surely they wouldn’t exile a hero.”

“I’m not a fucking hero, Álvaro.”

“Ha! So, it was true.”

Horacio said nothing, his silence giving Álvaro the answer he was looking for.

“You can’t tell me you’re sorry about that.”

“I’m not. And I don’t regret everything I did.” It was the truth. He wasn’t trying to atone for some of those fuckers getting what they deserved. They weren’t why he walked away. “But you know what they say…old sins cast long shadows. These things stay with you, whether you’re the one killing or it’s the people around you being killed.”

“So, what are you saying? That it’s too late for damaged goods like us?” There was a desperate crack in Álvaro’s voice as though he was looking to Horacio to confirm his fears and put him out of his misery once and for all.

“You probably don’t want to hear it right now, but…it doesn’t always have to be like this. It’s not easy, and it takes time, but it can get better.”

“You’re right. I didn’t want to hear that.” Álvaro kept his features neutral until he caught Horacio’s eye and they both laughed, because what else could they do?

“Neither did I, for years. Because it felt impossible. But no amount of punishing yourself will bring him back or change the past.”

“There’s quite a team set up now,” Álvaro continued after a long silence, as though he hadn’t heard a single word Horacio had said. “From your end, our end, the DEA, Interpol, the SVA. You name it, we’ve got fingers in the pie. And there’s always room for more.”

Álvaro looked at Horacio with great expectation, waiting for an answer to an unspoken question until he could wait no more. “Horacio, you know what it’s like more than most dealing with these people. And you remember how it was last time. Couldn’t so much as talk about the weather without it getting back to someone up there.”

That much was true. The situation in Galicia was eerily reminiscent of Medellín. Homegrown police taking bribes left, right and centre and passing on intel to the trafficking clans. Politicians’ and judges’ integrity in tatters because they, too, turned a blind eye. The Colombian cartels made Galicia their gateway into Europe. And their success was thanks to the layer upon layer of corruption that was allowed to exist.

“No.”

“Come on, at least think about it. There’d be none of that pen-pushing bullshit this time. You could be out in the field again, it’d be just like the old days back in—”

“Álvaro, I said no.” Horacio didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to with how his steely glare and steadfast jaw framed his face. “I’m done with it for good. End of story.”

Álvaro raised his arms in surrender, his second cigarette of their meeting now burning between his fingers. “Alright, alright, I get the message. Can’t blame me for asking now I know you’re back.” He raised the cigarette to his lips, regarding Horacio with increasing intrigue through the wisps of smoke hanging between them. “So, who is it, then?”

“What?”

“Whoever’s convinced you to quit and move here. Must be serious. And don’t lie because I know there’s someone.”

“Your interrogation skills need more work, Molina. And on that note, I better be going. You’re making me late for an appointment.”

“Nice deflection there, Carrillo. I’m just saying; they must be the love of your fucking life to give it all up.”

There was a scrape of metal against the floor as Horacio rose from his chair, not dignifying Álvaro’s prying with a response, even though it was the naked truth.

“Alright, fine, fine! I can take a hint. I’ll keep my mouth shut from now on.” Álvaro brought a hand to his lips, ‘zipping’ them closed with his thumb and forefinger.

Horacio sat back down with a roll of his eyes. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it. Good for you, in fact. It’s hard enough to find someone like that in the first place, but to hold onto them and make it work? Nothing short of a fucking miracle. But you know where I am if you ever change your mind.”

“Thanks, but I won’t.”

“Thought you might say that.”

“If you ever change your mind, please think about what I said. You can’t run away from this. No matter how much you bury your head in your job. It doesn’t work like that.”

“I can’t make any promises, Horacio. You know how it is.”

Of course, he knew; that was precisely why he was saying it in the first place. But he also knew there was no point pushing it any further. “It was good to see you, Álvaro. And I am sorry about Jaime.”

“Me too. And er, thanks. For listening and everything. I really appreciate it. Although, I gotta ask, when did you get so fucking wise?”

Horacio laughed, assured there was no malice in Álvaro’s teasing, and because he had apparently accomplished what he was expecting to wait years, if not decades to do. “I’m afraid I can’t take all the credit.”

“Should’ve known. Good to see you, Horacio. Don’t leave it so long next time. And I hate to say it, but retirement already suits you.”

“Thanks, I think. Take care of yourself.”

They stood up from the table, deposited their empty cups in a nearby bin and walked back to the entrance that took them onto the main road.

After shaking hands, they went their separate ways, Horacio in one direction and Álvaro in the opposite.

It wasn’t long ago that Horacio lamented turning his back on the CNP. But as he broke into a run to mitigate his uncharacteristic lateness, he caught glimpses of familiar church spires towering over every other building. They had been a comforting backdrop to his guilt and shame, and whilst he would always carry them around for certain deeds, it wasn’t a place he ever wanted to revisit. And the next time his lapel pins found themselves between his fingers, or Trujillo still called him Colonel out of habit, he would be reminded it was okay to miss something but never want it back.

------------------------------------------------------

Javier sat stiffly on Señora Romero’s floral sofa, clenching and unclenching his fists to distract himself from the creeping sense of embarrassment setting in.

Señora Romero joined him in the neighbouring chair, a tray of lemonade and a selection of pastries from downstairs placed between them on the table.

“Have you eaten anything this morning, dear?”

“Not really, no.”

“Well, that won’t do. Here, take some. Don’t be shy.” She practically shoved the plate at Javier, stopping short of placing one of the pastries in his mouth.

“Thanks. And sorry, I don’t know where that came from.”

“From what Horacio told me, I’d say it’s understandable. For both of you.” Señora Romero gave the tall jug of lemonade a final stir, then poured it into two ice-filled tumblers, handing one to Javier and settling back in her chair.

Javier thanked her as he accepted a glass, wasting no time quenching his dry mouth.

“And it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Señora Romero continued. “My country went from the Civil War to Franco for over three decades. Not to mention the violence in the Basque region, and the bombings here, of course. People don’t like to talk about it much, but the scars are still as plain as day.”

Javier wasn’t exactly an expert in Spanish history, but he knew the basics. And hearing them listed together suddenly made his experiences seem tame by comparison. Not that he thought for a second that was Señora Romero’s intention, but it gave him a large dose of perspective.

“I never talked to anyone before Horacio, to be honest. Same for him with me, but it took me longer to get there.”

“My husband rarely told me what he’d seen and done in the war. He thought I wouldn’t understand, and maybe I didn’t. Maybe I couldn’t. But we survived the same storm in the end, even though we were sometimes in different boats.”

“It was a while ‘til we were in the same boat. Even now, sometimes we’re not,” Javier said as his mind drifted with a smile to their conflicting views and priorities over the years.

In theory, it shouldn’t have gone the way it did. They may have shared the same broad goal in Colombia, but they came at it from different angles. They weren’t supposed to trust and understand each other more than anyone else. They weren’t supposed to walk away from their all-consuming careers for each other, and they certainly weren’t supposed to fall in love. But life had a funny way of working out.

As for their current situation, they were dealing with things in their own way and in their own time. It was never going to be something they could coordinate. But even so, it frustrated Javier when he spiralled seemingly out of nowhere. Except, was it really out of nowhere? It was all a blur now.

“In my experience, sometimes you can’t be,” Señora Romero said. “And sometimes, you won’t want to be. Sometimes, you float alongside each other in your own boats. And sometimes, it’s good enough just to sail in the same direction at different paces.”

“He’s never late. And I guess it’s force of habit to assume the worst.” Javier wasn’t expecting to say that, but it was like someone had just removed their foot from his chest. It was an admission to himself as much as Señora Romero, confirmation that it hadn’t been out of nowhere at all.

Señora Romero merely nodded, giving Javier the space to continue if he wanted to.

“On the night of the ambush, Steve – my partner – and I weren’t supposed to be there. I’m not sure we were ever supposed to be in Colombia, to be honest.”

Javier stopped to let out a sceptical sneer as snippets of his encounters with Stechner replayed in his head. For all he knew, Stechner could have orchestrated his entire career, manoeuvring him around like a pawn on a chessboard.

“But we disobeyed orders and followed Horacio anyway. And then we, er…we heard gunfire and screaming over the radio. It was the longest car journey of my life.” He took another sip of his drink and a deep breath, determined to finish now he’d started. “It was the same at the hospital and after the bombing here. Always waiting, but never knowing where he was or if he was okay.”

“Oh, Javier, my dear, it makes complete sense you would think the worst. I would be the same in your shoes. But you have to remember, he’s a civilian now. He’s not a target anymore. The ETA bombings here have been directed at the Spanish authorities.”

Señora Romero leaned forwards until her hand met Javier’s. Shades of chestnut connected with cinnamon again as he squeezed as a gesture of thanks. Neither appeared fazed by this being their first meeting, perhaps finding it easier because they simultaneously didn’t know much about each other but enough to no longer be strangers.

“And for what it’s worth,” she continued, “regardless of the rights or wrongs of your government’s involvement in foreign affairs, it seems you were exactly where you were supposed to be that night.”

Touché. He couldn’t argue with that, the irony apparent of Steve previously framing Javier’s need to follow Horacio as a warning rather than a calling.

“I may have only just met you, Javier, but I know what you did for Horacio that night was a brave act of love. Wanting to help is an honourable trait, don’t ever forget that. But you might find you’re not worrying yourself sick so much once you’re focused on helping others again. And someone out there will always need it, wherever life takes you next.”

Javier scoffed before gulping down the rest of his lemonade. “I think that’s the problem.”

Señora Romero’s hosting instincts kicked in as she re-filled Javier’s glass.

“Thanks. Horacio got out a year before me and settled in working on my Pop’s ranch. Way more than I ever did.” Javier cringed at some of the memories of him in his pre-police days attempting various jobs that Horacio took to like a duck to water, whereas he had floundered.

“Is that what he wants to do?”

“I think so. Which is great; he’s a natural. It suits him.”

“But you don’t know what’s next for you?”

“Not a clue.” Not a fucking clue was more accurate, but he caught himself just in time.

“Do you need to have it figured out yet?”

“Well, no, not yet. We’re okay financially for now. But I know it can’t last forever.”

“There’s plenty of time between now and forever, Javier.” Señora Romero lowered her voice as though she was letting him in on a coveted secret. “At your age, anyway. Less so at mine, but I take each day as it comes.”

“What’s that like?”

“There are good days and bad days. And bad weeks, months and years, come to think of it. Days when my body doesn’t do what my mind tells it to do. Days when my mind is frail, and my heart is sore. But on other days, I’ll spend time with the family. Or my piononos will come out better than they did last time. Or I’ll make new friends in unusual circumstances.” She winked in Javier’s direction. “I think the bad days are just part of life’s rich tapestry. Especially where healing wounds are concerned.”

Occasional reminders of the past – or bad days – scattered amongst the simple pleasures sounded suspiciously like their time in Madrid so far. But maybe that was okay. Maybe, that was part of the process of moving on with their lives. Maybe, progress was supposed to be subtle and non-linear, almost imperceptible unless you knew what you were looking for.

No sooner had Javier got his head around that prospect than there was a knock at the door followed by a heartfelt apology, given and accepted with a look as much as words.

Of course, Señora Romero had been right, and there was no life-or-death emergency to attend to. But any embarrassment on Javier’s part was overridden by the relief his fears were unfounded, and he would gladly take an anxious mind rather than the alternative.

Pulses returned to baseline as the trio talked, albeit Horacio’s for a different reason than Javier's.

Whilst Madrid wasn’t Laredo, they couldn’t take acceptance for granted wherever they were. But as they returned downstairs, where Señora Romero removed the ‘Reserved’ sign from their corner table and offered them yet another breakfast on the house, a weight lifted from Horacio’s shoulders. Because the first real friend he made here had welcomed him and Javier into her home and business with open arms.

#Narcos fic #Narcos #Javier Peña #Horacio Carrillo #Carrillo #Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo #Pedro Pascal #Maurice Compte #Narcos fanfic #Narcos fanfiction #Narcos fan fic #My Fan Fic #My Narcos Fic

[rachi-roo]

*glomps u* Surprise Asta tickle HCs!

So, ita been a while, life has gotten in the way and well, my hobbies and interests have just died. So now I'm trying desperately to revive them! Showing some support would reeeally be appreciated so I can keep sharing my content with you guys. ❤️

Black Clover: Asta - Tickle HCs!

Look at him. The boy with his heart set on being the Wizard King. With the powerful demon Bryce Papenbrook by his side, surely he has no weaknesses! Well...

--------------{ }--------------

Lee:

Asta is small. Very small. Shorty McShort-stack. Being this short makes him seem like an easy target, but he is, in fact, one hell of an escape artist. He's a runner he's a track star. If he even thinks an attack is coming his way, he's gone or at least ready to move.

In order to catch said boy, you'll have to use tactics. Get him rambling about magic, as him about his little hyperfixation on the Wizard King. That'll distract him. That's when you attack!

Or you could challenge him to an endurance test! Make him push past his limits, seeing how long he can go without laughing or even just how long he care bare it!

Asta is a nervous giggler, as soon as he's realised you were deceiving him, he's giggling. Pleading through his laughter before it's even started. You'll have to wrestle him down, and he will put up a fight.

"Wait! Wahahait! Nononono! Y-You evil-! Hehelp!"

Despite his endless training that's made him fairly invulnerable to pain, it hasn't stopped how ticklish he is. Pretty much anywhere will get him giggling, but his tummy, knees and the front of his ribs will make him wheezy.

You'll need ear protection because holy crap. He. Is. LOUD. His laughter is big and cheerful, full chested with every bout. Super contagious too.

He gets very embarrassed by how ticklish he is, meaning you need to be nice. Compliment him, tell him how strong and brave he is. His little cheeks will heat up, red and warm.

After a short period of tickles, he'll start hiccuping too. Making him even more embarrassed. The tips of his ears will become tinted pink as he tries to hide his flustered face from view, all wriggly wormy.

He won't usually say stop until he's actually tired out, that's how you know he means it. After tickle head pats are essential. He'll probably go hide under a blanket on the couch to try regain his composure, and a little dignity.

Although he fights and fusses over being tickled, he doesn't hate it, actually he enjoys it quite a bit. An affectionate, or cheere up, poke or two occasionally will make his day. Even a hug with some wandering fingers, he loves those. Or little raspberry kisses on the neck, snuffly lovins. He's a sucker for physical touch but just can't handle the anticipation of an actual tickle attack.

Ler:

Uh ooooh, you've given Asta a reason to tickle you. Are you feeling down? Had a bad day and have been moping around? Or did you perhaps insult his pot potato recipe? Made one too many jokes about pesants or his height perhaps?

If you've had a bad day, your prayers are answered. Astas got you. He'll bring you some foodies, a nice warm drink and he'll sit with you, talking about what went wrong today, even try to see if he can help at all. That's what he does. Once he's done all he can, he'll tie the sad conversation off with some cheere up tickles.

"So, we're gonna smile the rest of the day? Riiiight~?" Incoming wriggly fingers, he's oh so gentle with you. You're sad, of course he's soft. He always comments on your anticipation grin.

"Smiling already? Damn I'm good!" He'll laugh with you as he playfully pokes at random spots all over your tummy and sides, maybe a stray unprotected footer or knee. Finishing up with some head pats and a hug, maybe another poke or two. He's such a good friend to have.

Oops. You've made him mad. You've crossed the line. Drawn the last straw. Astas coming for you. He is small, but mighty. Run if you want, but you won't get far.

Asta likes to use the element of surprise for his attacks. He'll threaten you with an attack and then not do it for hours. Just smiling brightly whenever he sees you. The anticipation is driving you mad.

He'll pounce on you from behind, without you even knowing he's there. He might attack from behind the couch or under a table. And once he's got you, that's that.

Asta LOVES teasing. He'll have a whole completely normal conversation with you whilst he's somehow got you pinned and is wrecking your shit and it's infuriating. He'll pretend your laughter is a response to his conversation or make comments about how you sound.

"Hehe, I never knew you were such a chatter box, Y/N! I love having these talks with you." Whilst you're doing nothing but laughing your ass off.

Because of his height, its easier for Asta to go for the good old 'headlock on the ankles' and attack the feet, whilst he uses his strong legs to hold your torso down. He's like an anaconda, wrapping around it's prey and squeezing. He will attack anywhere he can reach though, his nimble fingers working around each of your worst spots. He's not letting go until he wants to. Way to strong for you to fight off, unless you manage to catch him off guard and tickle him off. He enjoys a fight.

At the end of the day, he knows your limits and will stop once he's reached them. He'll apologise but make sure you've learned your lesson, in a friendly manner. Lots of hugs and shared giggling always follows.

Chaos incarnate. Asta the magic less wizard. Such a sweetheart, my boy. 😭 Although he usually is the position of the Lee, he himself enjoys both sides equally. Make sure to tickle your Asta once a day for a happy and healthy wizard 😁👍

50% Lee - 50% Ler

#black clover #asta black clover #asta #Asta tickle hc #tickling hc #sfw tickling community #asta hc #tickles #tiggles #sfw tickles

[thecassadilla]

S- Show us an example of your personal headcanon pleasee

Hi love!!! Thank you so much for sending in this ask 💕 I am so thrilled that you decided to ask me this, but also a little petrified because I feel like I started to view some of my headcanons as actual canon and blurred the lines lol oops. It actually took me forever to compile this list because I had to dig down deep inside my brain and try to separate canon from headcanon lol. But take everything listed below with a grain of salt, these headcanons are exclusive to me/my line of thinking and anyone reading this is entitled to agree or disagree to whatever extent they so choose! I also couldn't pick only one headcanon, and now that I think of it, I'm not even sure I answered this ask correctly 😅 but I hope you like my answers regardless!

S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon (prompts optional but encouraged)

I headcanon Kristoff as a Taurus. I know this is probably a divisive headcanon, but Tauruses are hardworking, stubborn, logical, loyal, and dependable, and to me, that sounds exactly like Kristoff. I personally headcanon his birthday to be April 24th, and I've kept that continuity going in several fics of mine. Plus, Tauruses mesh really well with Cancers, and Anna is a canonically Gemini/Cancer cusp sooo it works out XD

Another headcanon I have is that Anna gets motion sick fairly easily, but Kristoff is always there to comfort her/try to make her feel better. I think she does well in Sven's sleigh and on horseback, but if she had to spend a long time in a horse drawn carriage or on a boat (or on theme park rides in a modern au), she'd get sick. Kristoff would dote on her, though; rubbing her back, and getting her water and bread/crackers, and helping her clean herself up/generally feel better.

Okay this one borders on being canon (maybe from one of the books?) and I feel like it's very widely accepted in the fandom, but I totally headcanon Anna and Kristoff having a huge family. Like, at least 5 kids. And they dote on each and every one of them, giving them the attention and love that was lacking from their own respective childhoods.

This headcanon is kind of 🔥spicy🔥 so viewer discretion is advised...but I think Anna would try to playfully tease Kristoff from across the table while they're hosting a bunch of important political figures/dignitaries. Like she'll slip her shoe off, and slide her foot up his leg/thigh from across the table just to see him get all flustered/sweaty/freaked out in front of all of those important people and increase the tension between them knowing that it will take hours for that tension to be released lol. Anna loves to watch him squirm, but Kristoff finds creative ways to get back at her and make her equally flustered/frustrated/tense in front of all of their guests lol (I have more specific ideas for this, but my brain short-circuited while answering this ask and I couldn't think of them off the top of my head...come back at a later date for more info XD or maybe I'll turn this into a fic somewhere down the line lol who knows)

Another headcanon I have is that Anna steals all of Kristoff's clothes for herself because they smell like him and she likes how big and cozy they are compared to her clothes lol. But Kristoff doesn't mind because he likes how she looks in his clothes ;)

Okay the last headcanon I have (for this ask, because this is all I can think of at the moment lol) is that I totally think that both Anna and Kristoff share physical touch as their primary love language, and quality time as their secondary love language. Like, in my head, they just want to be around each other and loving on each other all the time. When they're around other people, the PDA is kept to a minimum (see headcanon #4 for a sneaky way around this lol), but they're always finding little ways to touch the other - whether their hands/feet are brushing together at the table, or they're holding hands while walking from one meeting to another, or one of them has their hand on their others arm when they're sitting together. And then in private, they just can't keep their hands off each other lol they're always hugging, kissing, laying on top of each other, combing the others hair with their fingers - they're just constantly doing whatever they can do to be close to one another and show the other how much they love them.

Thank you SO MUCH for this ask!!!! 💕💕💕 I know I went a little overboard, and didn't really include any prompts. Do you have any personal headcanons that you'd like to share?

#answered asks #kristanna #headcanons #kristanna headcanons

[friendly-rat-king]

2023 Books

In October I decided to start writing short tumblr posts in response to each book I read. Did I follow through with this decision? Absolutely not! Here's a half-assed list of books I read in 2023, assembled way after the fact:

Fingersmith by Sarah Waters (4/5)

I enjoyed comparing/contrasting it with The Handmaiden (aka Park Chan-wook's 2016 film adaptation, which shifts the setting from Dickensian England to Japanese-ruled Korea and dramatically changes the ending). As with The Handmaiden, which I watched first, I feel like if I cut the story into pieces and Frankenstein-ed it together into two separate stories, I would end up with one of my favorite books and one of my least favorite books.

Why I read it: in the process of reading Sarah Waters' entire bibliography.

2. Bunny by Mona Awad (2/5)

This book sucked, BUT there was a really funny scene about 1/3 of the way in where the narrator's high school crush inexplicably shows up and dances with her. It might be worth reading just for that scene (you can stop reading immediately afterwards).

If a book is supposed to be a satire about wealthy women attending graduate school, its not a great sign when it seems like the author has never met a rich person, a woman, or a graduate student. This is even stranger because the author, a woman, attended an Ivy and got a graduate degree in creative writing. I'd love to read the book this is trying to be, but this isn't it.

Why I read it: my sister-in-law recommended it to me specifically (yikes) and I felt obligated to finish it.

3. Infamous by Lex Croucher (5/5)

In the summer of 1816, 18-year-old Mary Shelley famously stayed at the Lake Geneva villa of noted jackass Lord Byron. Trapped inside by shitty weather, Byron's guests competed to see who could write the best ghost story (the winning entry was, of course, "Frankenstein"). Lex Croucher obviously thought this setting in itself was a great book premise, and was absolutely correct.

I was expecting the basic shape of this novel after reading the back cover, and my assumptions about the plot were basically correct. I was NOT expecting even the most minor characters to feel three-dimensional and complicated or to be hit so hard by - well, I can't tell you without spoiling it, but three different conflictto s that are simultaneously of their time and cut very, very close to home. I also wasn't expecting to laugh as hard as I did.

Why I read it: people on my dash kept recommending Gwen & Art Are Not In Love but I didn't want to read YA.

4. The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco (4/5)

It took me forever to finish this one because I kept finding myself pausing to design a digital glossary to accompany the book. What if, as you read through the description of the garden, the glossary's map of the monastery was suddenly filled in with all of the herbs mentioned, and as you hovered over each illustration (drawn in a pseudo-medieval style, of course) you could learn about the purported and actual properties of each herb? What if I illustrated the intricately carved portal and thoroughly researched the symbolism and history behind each of its components?

Anyway, I was lukewarm enough about the actual ending that I gave up on the project. It would probably be impossible for any ending to live up to a beginning this ambitious, to be fair.

Why I read it: I read that it was an inspiration for Pentiment (a game I still haven't finished, oops).

5. The Bell by Iris Murdoch (4/5)

I might try reading this one again -- there was obviously a ton of cool symbolic symmetry going on that I never quite got the significance of. What I did enjoy was Dora's POV. There's this really wonderful scene near the beginning where Dora spends several paragraphs internally justifying why she shouldn't give up her seat on the train for an old woman. Then, the moment the old woman asks, she impulsively gives up the seat without even thinking of it. Dora spends the rest of the story stumbling haphazardly between moments of grace, never quite aware of why she does any of the things she does, in a way that's simultaneously alien and yet completely plausible.

Why I read it: @conven1encestorewoman mentioned it was one of her favorite books.

6. Either/Or by Elif Batuman (5/5)

I would read anything she wrote. Fingers crossed she makes this into a four-part series.

Why I read it: I loved The Idiot. (Shout-out to @a-rhombus to loaning me her copy.)

7 + 8. A Free Man of Color & Fever Season by Barbara Hambly (5/5)

The book that made me love murder mysteries. The author obviously did a ton of research on 1830's New Orleans and I do love great historical fiction, but what really made it shine was that the "red herrings" weren't dead ends -- each one was essential to the themes of the novel. Highly recommend.

Why I read it: I think @sea-changed mentioned that it was good, I added it to my library queue, and then didn't think about it again until I was notified it was ready to checkout.

9. Tender is the Flesh by Agustina Bazterrica (2/5)

Mehhhhh. All (attempts at) shock, very little substance.

Why I read it: my baby sister recommended it.

10. Geek Love by Katherin Dunn (5/5)

"Geek" as in "circus geek," a performed who bites the heads off of live chickens. Tender is the Flesh fuckin wishes it had what Geek Love has. (I have reached the point in this post where I realize I'm not even at the halfway mark and decide to hurry up -- sorry Geek Love, you deserved better.)

Why I read it: @mylestoyne mentioned there were some cool parallels to The Tempest and I decided to check it out.

11. The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson (5/5)

Absolutely lived up to the hype.

Why I read it: the hype.

12. The Turn of the Screw by Henry James (4/5)

The rare book I consumed in audiobook format -- reading James' prose was very difficult for me, and filtering it through an actor helped. I don't know that I enjoyed the process of listening to it, but I really enjoyed thinking about it afterwards.

Why I read it: the prologue of The Haunting of Hill House name-dropped it.

13. The Tempest by William Shakespeare (3/5)

Look, I bumped it up to 3 stars because I felt like I couldn't give Shakespeare anything lower than a 3-star rating, but I really disliked this. Part of is is that I was already familiar with the highlights, and putting them in context diminished them. Ariel's song is way less interesting when you know for a fact that the man supposedly undergoing a sea-change is completely fine; Prospero's final monologue feels less like it's tying together broader themes and more like Shakespeare thought it would be cool to break the fourth wall at the last minute.

Idk, maybe I'm just an idiot. I immediately sought out a series of lectures on youtube about the play + texted people I know who love this play to elaborate on their opinions so they could correct my incorrect opinion, but so far, no dice.

Why I read it: because of the Geek Love parallels.

14. What the Dog Saw by Malcolm Gladwell (2/5)

Bad, as previously discussed.

Why I read it: someone at by brother's wedding said the essay on ketchup was worth reading (it wasn't).

15. A Wizard of Earthsea by Ursula K Le Guin (4.5/5)

Why I read it: because I wanted to read the sequel.

16. Man's Search for Meaning by Viktor E Frankl (4/5)

Discussed previously.

17. A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles (4/5)

(Already reviewed this on Goodreads so I can just copy-paste, hurray!) An enjoyable read. The pacing was great, the scene composition reminded me of a Wes Anderson film, and the footnotes were a very effective way of shifting the POV from third person limited to omniscient and back again. I checked the author's Wikipedia page midway through and was unsurprised to learn that he is an investment banker from New York; after all, the villain is the only character who refers to Rostov as "Comrade" (everyone else continues to deferentially call him "the Count") and he doesn't even know his wine pairings! The idyllic representation of pre-revolutionary Russia partially undermines the author's ability to convey the horrors of Soviet Russia. That being said, the tone of the novel is mostly light, and I was able to have fun in spite of this.

Why I read it: my older sister mentioned it was the last book she tried to read before she had kids and they took over her life. So I guess I tried to... symbolically finish it on her behalf? Who knows.

18. Fever Dream by Samanta Schweblin (5/5)

No idea how to describe this one, so I'm just screenshot-ing the first page:

Why I read it: an @a-rhombus recommendation.

19. The Merry Spinster by Daniel Lavery [reread] (5/5)

Extremely effective horror retellings of fairy tales. Impossible to pick a favorite.

Why I (re)read it: because I read a bunch of other good horror fiction this year (not my usual genre) and it reminded me how much I love this collection.

20. The Mask of Apollo by Mary Renault (5/5)

Set during a failed attempt to make Plato's Republic a reality (a historical event I somehow didn't know about but that is Highly Relevant to my interests), told from the perspective of an artist (the most interesting viewpoint Renault could have chosen). The descriptions of places made me desperately want to hike across Greece when I get the chance.

Why I read it: @catilinas posted an excerpt that compelled me.

21. The Once and Future Sex by Eleanor Janega (3/5)

Spends a lot of time proving a thesis about modern women I basically already agree with when what I really wanted was more historical details. My fault for not taking the blurb at its word.

Why I read it: a friend I play D&D with recommended it.

22. The Tombs of Atuan by Ursula K Le Guin (6/5)

Ok it's almost midnight and I don't want to fuck up one of my New Year's resolutions (10 minutes of yoga/day) when I'm only three days into the year. Real summary coming soon (hopefully. maybe).

Why I read it: one of my favorite worldbuilding youtube channels mentioned it was in her top 5 books.

23. Borne by Jeff VanderMeer (3/5)

The thing about giant flying bears is that they're just kinda silly.

Why I read it: the Southern Reach Trilogy was so good.

24. Some Desperate Glory by Emily Tesh (4/5)

Very strong start -- strong enough for the four-star rating -- but the final act pulls way too many punches.

Why I read it: I heard emilyenrose was publishing original fiction.

#xor reads

[stevecoven]

heyyyyy for that request prompt list thingy, Murph picking an eyelash from Steve’s face, and their hearts are both beating like crazy please?

Thanks so much for the request!! (Taken from this list here if anyone else wants to send one in, or make up your own!) This (of course) ended up being way longer than I initially planned and also a tiny bit angsty oops

“Morning, bud. You look suitably horrendous for this time of day.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve hardly had time to put my make up on this morning.”

Steve flops down next to Murph and gestures out over the rocky ridge where they’d set up their camp. The moon was still huge in the sky and the sun had yet to make an appearance. It was what-the-fuck-o’clock in the morning, and the two of them had drawn the short straws when it came to the rebels’ plan to ambush the Emperor’s Coven supply train that was due to run through this mountain pass just around sunrise. It had made the most sense to head out here the night before, get a lay of the land, and at least try and snatch a few hours of fitful sleep before the show began. Try being the operative word.

“You’ve got shmutz all over your face.” Murph gestures at the crust of sleep-gunk under his eyes. At least he’d managed to sleep.

Steve, still cloudy-eyed and yawning, wipes a clumsy hand over his face and completely misses all of it. Murph clicks their tongue and sighs.

“C’mere, I’ll do it.”

Before Steve can say anything Murph takes his chin in one gloved hand and holds his head steady as they wipe the detritus from his cheeks with the other. Murph’s eyes strain a little in the insufficient light of the moon, and they lean in a little closer to make sure they’ve gotten it all. They plant their hand on the side of his face and turn him this way and that to inspect. Steve is perfectly still and silent, staring up at them with wide eyes.

Glancing down at their huge, glove-clad hands and the ragged, worn leather, Murph realises they’re probably holding him too roughly, and the material is too scratchy on his skin. Their Abomination arms are powerful, for sure, but almost completely inert when it comes to sensory input and Murph often forgets the strength they give them. They flinch their hand away, loosening their grip, but to their surprise Steve follows the motion and presses his cheek back into their palm, like a dog who’s not quite done having his ears scratched. His eyes have fluttered shut and his mouth has fallen open just a fraction. He’s still just sleepy, they guess.

They can’t feel anything through the gloves save for a vague sense of presence, of a weight being pressed against their hand, and not for the first time in recent months Murph feels a pang of sadness. Of loss. They stare down at Steve and dimly wonder if his face still has that peach-fuzz softness and the rubbery squishiness in his cheeks that he had when they were kids. They want to touch that again. They want to know what his stubble feels like.

You can still find out, said the dumb animal part of their brain, the part that was quick but stupid. You’ve got other skin that still works.

That was true, at least. There were barely a few inches between the two of them and it would be so easy to just pitch forward, rub their cheek up against his, bury their face against his neck, nuzzle his hair, take in all his textures and his warmth and get drunk on it. Something under their skin aches.

Don’t you dare, Hearthstone. Just a few more days.

The smarter part of their brain has finally caught up and they snap back into reality. They don’t know if they’ve been here for seconds, or minutes, or maybe even hours, but to their horror they realise their faces are an awful lot closer than when they’d started, and that at some point Steve’s eyes had opened again. Maybe they’re just imagining it, but it almost looks like he’d tilted his face up towards theirs just a little. And maybe it’s the moonlight that’s making his eyes look extra blue, or maybe they’re just being poetic about it. His gaze darts away as soon as theirs meets it, but a fraction too slow, and he shudders out a deep breath like he’d been holding it. 

“Did you get it all?” His voice is hushed, as if they weren’t the only two people on the whole damn mountain right now. 

“Oh. Uh,” Murph frantically brushes their hands over his face, pretending to give him a final once-over. Their heart is hammering so loud it makes their ears thrum. They can faintly feel a pulse through their fingers too; was that Steve’s? Murph hopes the fierce blush in their face will fade before the sunrise comes. A dark fragment of something just below his eye catches their attention and they gently pick it up.

“Eyelash.” They hold it up for him to see, balanced neatly on the tip of their glove. “Make a wish.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “A wish?”

“It’s a human thing, apparently.”

To his credit, Steve doesn’t even question it. He squeezes his eyes tight shut and his nose crinkles up, the way it always used to at school when he concentrated on something. Murph’s heart, still lodged in their throat, does a sad, longing little tumble turn. Steve’s eyes pop back open and he grins at them. 

“Your turn?”

Murph isn’t sure if that’s how it’s supposed to work, but they figure they might as well. With only a handful of days left until the Day of Unity, anything was worth a shot at this point. They close their eyes for just a second, willing their heartbeat to shut up so they can concentrate. There’s no thought process involved. They know what they want to ask for. 

They open their eyes again and with a short sharp puff of air they send the lash flying into the wind, the way they’d seen Luz do it. They pretend to watch it go but in reality they can’t bring themselves to look at Steve right now.

“C’mon. We should get going.” Steve reaches out and puts a gentle hand on their bare shoulder, still good skin that remembers how to feel. It tingles and fizzes under his touch and Murph clamps down on their lower lip so that they don’t make some kind of awful noise.

The sun hasn’t quite made it over the horizon yet but the bloom of pink and orange across the sky herald its imminent arrival. Almost showtime. 

They pack up in silence - not an awkward one, a professional, efficient one - and after one final check of the map Steve stole from the coven barracks, they head back down the ridge to lie in wait for the supply train. Neither of them ask what the other wished for; even witches knew that was bad luck. But secretly and silently, both of them were hoping that the other had wished for the same thing as them.

#replies #fic #the owl house #toh steve #steve tholomule #steve #murph #toh oc #sturphy #I've messed with the timeline a bit so Steve is with the CATTs for more than a few days before the DoU #he and Murph do lots of missions together and reconnect after years of being apart #Murph is literally dying of touch starvation they're gonna eat that man

[kiarazuri]

Cover Appreciation: A Spider's Mate Trilogy by Tiffany Roberts

He’s spent years as a hunter, but now he’s the one ensnared in a creature’s trap. Ketahn did not want a mate. Fate has a different plan for him. When the queen he despises declares her intention to claim him, he retreats into the jungle. What he finds there changes his world. Small, delicate, and pale skinned, Ivy Foster is nothing like the females Ketahn has known. She’s not of his kind at all. Yet the moment he sees her, he knows the truth in his soul—she is his heartsthread. And now that he has her, he won’t let anything take her away. Not the jungle, not the gods, not the queen and her warriors. Whether Ivy agrees or not, their webs are entangled. No one will ever sever those threads.

(Ensnared, Amazon)

The gorgeous artwork on these covers tells you EVERYTHING you need to know:

The genre (Fantasy [technically Fantasy and Sci-fi] Romance)

That the series follows a single couple. Which is rare among Romance novels (although I've seen quite a few recently while looking for new books to read. I have to be extra careful now since I prefer serieses of standalones with an overarching plot, so being able to tell just by the covers is incredibly helpful.)

The couple’s specieses (human and spider (Oops! Silly me, he’s obviously a Vrix)

What type of monster’s getting fucked (there's literally no getting around that Ketahn's a spider. Not a spidertaur/coptaur/arachnetaur where the upper-half's human and the bottom-half's spider oh no, a full on top and bottom spider with a little big of humanoidness sprinkled in as a treat)

At least one of their genders.

What they look like (the best part of illustrated covers is that they can actually show what the characters look like... unlike a lot of stock photo covers which almost always leave me with a feeling of "that doesn't match the descriptions in the book" )

Their dynamic (big/small, dom/sub; Ketahn's obviously the one in control, look at that body language! In addition to their sexual dynamic being on display you can also see that they get closer and more comfortable with each other with each book. [Ivy's definitely looking up with heart-eyes on Enthralled])

Even the webs in the back change too, becoming more cohesive and put together with each cover. Her outfits also help tell the story, changing from the human clothes she had while on the ship into dresses made from Ketahn's own silk.

I only have a few criticisms. And the biggest one is about the last book. To get straight to it: “Bound” feels… odd. I would have probably named it something like Entangled or Enamored or something. And the reason is simply because it breaks pattern--and instead of putting a flourish on the bottom of the N they chose the top of the U... why? It just bothers me.

Now my next criticism is more so for the trilogy "box"(?) set cover.

It's gorgeous and really embodies their dynamic… except, there is something to be said about the white/black innocent/dangerous dynamic that it gives off that is very watered down in the individual covers. The webs in this one are drawn so that Ketahn's looks like a puppeteer and Ivy's his puppet which is very sinister.

While the Vrix aren’t necessarily Black coded, they ARE coded as non-white and indigenous (possibly Asian). They’re also more “primitive” (🤢) than the humans and the dark/light dichotomy does make me a bit uncomfy. If the other books (Roberts intends to write books about Ketahn's friends and their human mates) continue with the same pattern, ill become much more concerned (I'm especially nervous about what the Japanese girl’s [who's meek and shy personality is already a red flag] book cover's going to have on it).

I checked Goodreads to see if there were any alternate covers and found that only the first book (Ensnared) has one.

I do like this cover, and I wonder if Roberts will make matching covers for the other two as well. The only problem with this cover is that it's... more Horror- than Romance-oriented. That doesn’t mean I don’t like it, but it definitely doesn’t look like a Romance, especially since it doesn’t say “A Spider’s Mate” on it and instead has a very threatening tagline 😂 (having read the books, I think the tagline is great but it really does feed the whole horror-thing this cover’s got going on) as a cover it’s obviously beautiful; the black, purple, green, and white an absolutely gorgeous combination.

As a final note I wanna point out that when I first saw this cover I thought the spider was gonna be asexual because he’s got the ace-flag colors on him.

That is not the case 😅 (though I would love to use that sort of color symbolism in a story someday)

#cover appreciation #cover appreciations #cover appreciation post #tiffany roberts #book covers #book cover appreciation #romance books #romance book covers #me #mine #a spider's mate by tiffany roberts #a spider's mate cover appreciation post #cover appreciation: a spider's mate by tiffany roberts #cover appreciation posts

[boyakishantriage]

She'd drawn her sword, well she didn't really remember how any times she'd done it. A fluid motion, grasp, tilt, pull then push and SLAM.

The practice sword snapped, cracking as it struck the ground once more.

"... Y'know, when I gave you a section of the dojo to use, I wasn't really expecting you to leave practice swords in my roof."

Her friend quipped, several practice swords stabbed into the roof panel, the hole from the first successful trick still un patched as the various panels around her lay, swords and props broken.

"Yeah, well you weren't expecting me to use party tricks when we fight so..."

She shrugged, kicking a sword into her hand before breaking the wooden panel to her right.

"What exactly do you hope to achieve here? How exactly does any of this help with your fighting?"

His lips pursed, a smirk on the man's tousled head. Teasing. She'd wipe that grin off his face.

This was the location the official suggested, asking around it seemed most people at least knew of this Eleanor. Or Ellie, strange considering she weren't anyone of high anything, a generalist who's business was apparently "life saving" but also "a waste of space." Seems she were controversial.

The two held blades, training ones, she'd worn five with three smaller ones whereas he carried only four. A new fighting style, dual wielding, where blades could be swapped. Rapid switching of lengths leaving the target confounded, a school he took the credit even though he was the first student of the craft. Not the creator.

"Still don't get how you're not encumbered."

"Practice."

Simple. As always, hands held to her back and at her hip. A diagonal slash probably. He held his, holding hilts before she'd rushed forward.

Blades smacking against the ground, angling the wood to sharpen the tip of the edge.

Glancing in mild surprise, holding firm before drawing weapons.

The two swords clashed against one another, wood against wood. While stronger, her footing and leverage for the energy he exerted made up for any strength he'd push.

"Not bad."

Then she'd kicked up, flicking the lower sword under her leg into the air, pushing the opposing sword down. Before cartwheeling one foot into his surprised chin, lowered arms and the sword into her other hand as she landed on her feet.

"Party tricks."

The sword stabbed into the wooden panel, as a pair of hands clapped.

And almost immediately, the glass window shattered beside the alien, wooden blade sliding barely under a truck.

"ELLIE."

"oop, sorry. Reflexes!"

He glared at her, before complaining about having to repair another window.

She simply shrugged at the snap. Promising to pay for the pane.

"... So what style is that?"

"Oh its-"

She glared at him, as she closed her mouth shut.

"Gavin,-"

"WHERE?"

He'd jumped into the dojo, tripping onto his side. "-new sword style."

"... Y'know I think we're missing something."

After helping the alien up, tall lanky, and looked like that that dude from that pansexual dad Tumblr voice actor dad... Cosmic Wonders? Became a mildly successful series or something?? That thing, the thin lanky purple tinted alien with green eyes got to his feet. Albeit sheepish.

She glanced at the woman then the male.

"... Ellie?"

Ellie glanced at her twink friend.

"No. That's Amber."

"... The male?"

"I'm a twink actually."

"... Twink?"

"Do you know what pegging is?"

After traumatizing a delegate for a planet, he'd shaken his head of such thought.

"Righto, so. Who're ya and why are you here?"

"... I-"

She appeared to be in flux, wait.

"... Does your gender like. Switch? Ambo?"

"... Yeah, I was wondering if it was just me."

The alien looked at the two as the back door opened.

"Hey Amber... Who's this?"

"Quincy, out."

"Why he-"

"Quincy, you can ask to get fucked when we're done. For now, go unpack your shit."

"I don't-"

The woman raised her wrist, pushing buttons before beginning to read out.

"Hd porn comics-"

"Alright fine."

"... Uhhh."

"Quincy's an alien fucker."

"... Oh, wait."

I raised my hands.

"You have those too?"

"..."

The two Terrans and Quincy froze, turning to look at the alien.

"excuse me?"

Began Amber.

After a sufficient amount of fucking around, I'd dragged the rest of the broken gear into the end of the truck, closing the end as my passenger looked at the garbage.

"... Why didn't you just-"

"The dump pays for this, I can make twenty bucks by dumping my sorted trash to them."

"... Dump?"

The human waved her hand, before closing into a fist.

"BONK"

She smacked her truck before continuing.

"Short answer, it's a garbage collection. Y'know. Recycling."

"... Recyling?"

"... Get in, I'll explain on the way there."

"and I drove. Nothing too interesting there, but uhh. Well we'd figured out a way to suck out carbon and stuff and there were these legal passes that let countries or people to pay to drive with fuel and stuff. Basically I pay to be able to pay to get my own fuel and stuff."

She'd ignored my question, as she continued.

"m'kay, so generally I assume ya know what waste is right?"

"... Yes."

"m'kay, so- huh red."

The car stopped, seatbelt against his frame as she continued.

"well, some of the waste could be reusable and stuff ya?"

"... Pardon?"

"..."

Her lip raised, she gave it some thought.

"You see that metal box over there?"

She pointed at the workshop.

"yes?"

"wood working right?"

"... Yes?"

"y'know what saw dust is?"

"yes."

"Y'know what we do with unusable wood?"

"... Oh."

She smiled, for a moment. Filling the cabin with bright before she returned to a blank stare.

They drove, turns out he was from a plains planet, with tundra to the edges and a savannah to the centre. Plains, with three or four tectonic plates (something about an oceanic ridge) that makes borders.

"... So, I take it you're a scholarly knight?"

"... I suppose I am. Huh?"

"mmm, and it's not doubt strange a human is able to guess and... Articulate such points so... Effectively?"

"... Yeah, it's. Strange to say the least."

"... I'll also make a wild guess and assume that you're mildly perturbed. Disturbed. By the fact I'm capable of guessing so succinctly. Or easily. And wondering if other humans can do so?"

"... How-"

She laughed, the confused alien then came to a jolt.

"no. Most humans are nowhere near as brilliant as mwah, but a lot are close."

She opened the door, the engine turning itself off as she hopped out.

"Ait! Hey, mate! I've got junk!"

Waving her arms, Ignoring the flustered sputtering alien.

#tag #Triage #Humans are space orcs #humans are space orcs 1 #1 #Aura #Lore stuff #Lore shit

[sulky-valkyrie]

Happy DADWC Friday! You already filled a prompt for me last week that has been living rent free in my brain but... could I get another? 🥺 From the enemies to lovers list: you’ve been wounded, your face is all bruised up, your enemy puts a finger under your chin, bringing your eyes to theirs, asking: “who did this to you?” when you don’t answer, they ask again “who did this to you?” For Fenders or anyone with Anders?

For @dadrunkwriting but it's not Friday, because oops.

The thought sprang fully formed and here we are.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If not for the lyrium, Anders would probably never have noticed.  Well, if not for Justice.  And the lyrium.  Fenris was remarkably stealthy for a man with a greatsword nearly as long as he was tall, but the spirit was as drawn to lyrium as a moth was to a flame.  With rather similar rates of injury, too.

The mage sighed as he rolled out of bed and slipped just his coat back on before padding out to the front room.  No doubt the elf had been caught up in some stupid gang fight and was raiding his too-meager clinic to waste his too-meager supplies on stopping the bleeding of some stupid scratch when he could just ask for healing like a normal person, but noooooo, magic is stain on his life and he can’t possibly care that mana at least regenerates when dried elfroot doesn’t.  He paused at the door to listen and make sure the stubborn fool wasn’t in immediate magical fisting range if he walked in too quickly.  He could barely hear Fenris moving around, and if not for Justice’s insistence, would have chalked up what he could make out as simply the ambient noises of Darktown.

A soft hiss and the clang of metal against stone caught his attention .  He pushed the door open slowly to make sure the hinge squeaked.  “We have to stop meeting like this.”

Fenris spun around, already glowing and teeth bared in a wordless snarl.  One eye was swollen shut and his hair was matted and dark from blood.  He relaxed instantly and stopped phasing as soon as he recognized the mage, a fact that Anders decided to evaluate later.  “It’s you.”

“How many sewer mages do you know?”  Anders rushed forward to catch Fenris as he teetered, almost drunkenly.  The contact always sent a jolt of tingles through him, regardless of whether the lyrium was activated.  Now that he thought about it, though, he wasn’t sure if he ever had touched Fenris when the lyrium was truly singing - Justice, hush, he thought at the spirit.

The elf put a careful hand on Anders’ shoulder.  “Not enough.”

“What does that even - no, not important.  Let’s get you cleaned up and you can tell me what happened.”  He helped Fenris to the nearest cot and waved a hand at the nearest lantern so he could get a better look at his reluctant patient.  “Maker, did you fall under a damn minecart?”

“I wish.”  The elf winced as Anders helped him slide his tunic off.  His chest was mottled with scrapes and bruises.  “It would feel less personal, at least.”  

That gave Anders pause.  “Slavers?”

He shook his head as he tugged his leggings down over one hip, revealing far more than the deep on his thigh, and Anders coughed as Justice averted his eyes.  Calm down, this is healing, not seduction.  He grabbed a small bowl, filled it with water, and started wiping the blood and dirt away from Fenris’ face.  The elf closed his eyes - well, eye - and leaned into Anders’ touch.  The head wound was much more shallow than the mage feared, and the eye socket wasn’t fractured, just badly bruised.  Ander sighed and started to wipe down the elf’s chest.  He was unfairly attractive, and the horror of how the lyrium had ended up in his skin did little to counteract how striking it made him.

Anders hated himself a little for even thinking about Fenris that way, not just because the elf was an example of everything that could go wrong with magic, but because he was just so. Blasted Vicious.  About magic, about the dangers of it, everything that Anders was, Fenris hated.  And I apparently hate myself just as much for still wondering if - a warning rumble thrummed inside his head - fine Justice, fine.  I don’t hate myself, I just don’t know what to do with me about . . . him.  He cleared his throat.  “So who did this to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.  They’re dead now.”  

Anders tossed the rag back in the water.  “Fine.  I’m going to heal you now.”  He paused.  “I assume that’s okay?”

Fenris spat some blood on the floor.  “It will have to be.”

“Look, I know I live in a sewer, but that’s just disgusting.”

“As if that is the worst that has happened on your floor.”

Anders didn’t argue as he started channeling the proper spells to soothe inflammation and knit split skin and blood vessels.  “You’ll probably want to rinse your hair before you leave,” he said.  “Darktown and Lowtown may ignore a lot, but an elf wandering through Hightown covered in blood is going to -”

“I’m not leaving.”  Fenris looked up, meeting Anders’ gaze.  “Not tonight at least.”

Justice tamped down his urge to laugh hysterically, but the spirit never could keep him from saying stupid shit.  “Are you coming on to me?”

“It’s not safe out there.”  Fenris touched Anders’ hand.  “For you.”

“Never has been; I’m a mage, remember?”  The mage’s heart thudded in his chest as he finished healing the elf’s face and chest before moving on to the wound on his thigh.  The usual spells hadn’t seemed to affect it, but that wasn’t entirely uncommon, particularly when the muscle was damaged, but as he pressed a hand against it, a familiar oily numbing sensation crawled up his hand.  He recoiled instantly, shaking his entire arm to try to dislodge the feeling of fucking magebane.  Justice surged up, taking his voice.  “Who poisoned you?”

Fenris stared at him in confusion before looking down at his own torn flesh.  “Templars.”  He prodded the gash in his leg.  “They thought - they wanted me to trick you.  They thought I would jump at the chance to send you to the Gallows.”  He smiled fiercely.  “They were wrong.”

#fenders #fanfic writing #dragon age #da drunk writing circle #anders #fenris #prompt fills