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horrorhot-line · 1 year

Text

drapetomani

(n). an overwhelming desire to run away

➵ pairing: saiki kusuo/female! reader

➵ word count: 3.9k

➵ genre: smut, just smut (slight angst?)

➵ warnings: public sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, risky situations

➵ summary: for the first time in all his teenage years, saiki gets morning wood. to his disdain, he realises every time he’s near you, you make it even worse. Or, saiki’s acting weird and you try to get to the bottom of it- things don’t go as planned. you take each other’s virginity.

➵ masterlist (requests are open)

➵previous part - fika

I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WORK BEING POSTED BY ANYONE ELSE ON ANY PLATFORM

before you read:

‘saiki telepathically communicating with reader.’

‘reader thinking or interacting with saiki through thoughts.’

“saiki talking without moving his mouth.”

“saiki talking using his mouth.”

notes: originally this was supposed to be a oneshot, but i thought it’d tie well into my series so here we are, this lovely idea came from a request from dear anon, found here, grab a glass of water, dive in and don’t forget to touch grass afterwards. enjoy!!!

also: note this is after saiki’s birthday in august, in his third year at highschool (making him 18).

SAIKI IS 18-19 IN THIS SMUT, WATCH SEASON 2 EP 13, I REPEAT SAIKI IS 18-19 IN THIS SMUT.

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Saiki had no idea how he had found himself in this position, you underneath him, tears pricking your eyes, pleading him to do something. Anything.

The cold surface of the desk beneath his palm was a stark contrast to your warmth. With one hand on your hip, his voice came out strained.

"It's all your fault." He stated. But that couldn't have possibly been him talking, could it? "If you had just left it alone..." Saiki couldn't for the life of him understand what he was feeling. There was a hot pit inside his stomach, and his nerve endings felt like they were on fire.

He felt himself furrow his eyebrows, and clench his jaw, but at the same time, it didn't feel like he was doing those things. It felt like he was astral projecting, but he wasn't. Where the hell was he, and how had he ended up here- with you under him?

The sound of your voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "Please," You begged, and Saiki couldn't wrap his head around what on god's green earth was going on. It was only then when his eyes looked down between the two of you, that he realised the gravity of the situation. Was that...? No, no way.

Saiki would never admit it, but the soft sound that left you before you clasped your hand on your mouth to muffle the noise did things to him. Fuck...

Saiki shot his head back, his grip on the edge of the desk tightening as he moved forward to feel your body against his.

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Saiki had a disastrous life- that much was a fact. Another day meant another nuisance, regardless of whether it was his classmates trying to steal his precious time, an end-of-the-world disaster or someone trying to catch his attention. There always had to be something. The last thing he expected was the issue this time to be his own body refusing to listen to him.

When he abruptly woke up, drenched in sweat, his heart beating out of his chest, his mind went at a million miles per hour. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, the sound of your voice fresh in his mind proved only one thing. He had a wet dream. About you, of all people.

Him? Saiki? The man who had prided himself on being in control at all times? It couldn't have been him. Had it been a premonition? Impossible. He would never let something like that happen in a million years.

He had no intention of making any moves on you. Yet. He knew of your feelings for him, and he chose to take his time. So of course, he wouldn't skip multiple chapters and fuck you. No way in hell. He refused to stoop to the likes of Toritsuka. Saiki was no pervert.

He acted as if he hadn't dreamt of you in his arms, or having sex with you, pretending like it hadn't affected him. Even though he couldn't shake the thought of you in a vulnerable position under him.

Saiki sighed, if he didn't get up soon he would end up being late for school. He moved to take the covers off him only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw what was in between his legs. A boner. He silently gazed at it, horrified.

Saiki felt like he had been swallowed up by some black hole, his brain short-circuited. No no no no no. This could not be happening. Not to him. He had never had a boner in his life! In all his teenage years, he prided himself on not letting something as preposterous as hormones get to him. The boy had never lusted over anyone in his entire life except maybe you, so why now?

'Why does god hate me?' He thought to himself.

Saiki wanted to disappear, teleport to the nearest abandoned galaxy and waste away. Saner heads prevailed, though. He would go to the bathroom and have a cold shower to get rid of this abomination.

After a long session of drenching himself in freezing water, cursing himself out for the whole situation and questioning his reality, Saiki used his powers to dry himself off before putting his uniform on. He was so lost in thought that he hadn't seen you coming until he heard the doorbell ring.

His expression darkened, and he teleported downstairs to where Mrs Saiki was, still preparing breakfast. "Tell her I'm already at school." Not wanting to stay around for extensive questioning from his mother, knowing her well enough to predict she'd grill him and then force him to walk to school with you.

He was gone in a flash, leaving Mrs Saiki dumbfounded. Her, “Ku!” Had fallen on deaf ears.

His boner was back.

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Saiki had been avoiding you all day, and as much as you didn't want to admit it, it hurt you. The fucking bastard dodged you at every turn. Is this how Yumehara felt that first week you joined PK academy when she tried getting his attention?

Probably not, since you were sure she thought the universe was keeping them apart. You on the other hand knew he was using telepathy to keep his distance from you, and you couldn't understand why. Had you done something?

The last time you saw Saiki was the day before and everything was fine. He didn't act any different and yet today he steering clear of you, even going out of his way to use his powers, risking getting caught just to avoid you.

You scowled, thinking back to the previous events that took place. You had shown up at his house only for Mrs Saiki to tell you he had already left for school. As if the two of you didn't walk to school every day together- which you did, with no exceptions.

At that point in time, you had thought it was weird. It wasn't like Saiki to forget. You reasoned that maybe he was going to stop a disaster, or something had come up, telling yourself you'd ask him when you saw him at school.

When you tried to say good morning to him in class, he got out of his seat and walked out of the classroom, Nendou following in tow to ask him if he wanted to get ramen after school. You stood frozen in place, wondering what you had done.

Was it something you had said? Thought? Had you made him uncomfortable somehow? You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, why did it hurt so much? Maybe he was keeping his distance because of Teruhashi? That had to be it.

'Kusuo?' You'd ask him just to make sure. When no reply came back, the sinking feeling in your gut worsened. The rest of the day went by with Saiki rushing off every time you tried to talk to him. In between classes, he'd disappear just so he could avoid you. During classes, he didn't look your way or talk to you once.

You were sure then that it was something you had done. The man you were in love with was ignoring you and stung. Your mind was a mess and you tried to run through every time you had interacted with him before today to pinpoint where you had made a mistake.

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Truth be told, Saiki felt bad. No, he felt worse than that. In trying to avoid you, he had created a misunderstanding, inadvertently hurting you. He sat through classes hearing your thoughts, fully aware that you were blaming yourself when it wasn't your fault, to begin with.

How was he supposed to tell you he woke up this morning with a boner because of you and now his penis seemingly had a mind of its own? He'd rather die than do that, he would never be able to live with the humiliation. Saiki shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying not to act suspicious as he once again used his psychokinesis to move his pants so his boner wouldn't be visible.

He sighed inwardly, 'Good grief', he thought to himself.

Saiki had realised that his situation would get worse any time he was around you. Every time you were in his vicinity, blood would rush to his dick and the boner he tried so hard to get to rid of would pop back up.

Saiki agonised over wanting to tell you that you hadn't done anything wrong and stopping his dream from becoming reality. Big mistake. A huge one, because the warm pit in his stomach managed to spread at the memory of this morning.

Saiki clenched his jaw for what felt like the hundredth time that day and raised his hand at the teacher, trying to keep his voice steady as he excused himself to go to the bathroom yet again.

The psychic knew what masturbation was but had never tried it himself in his life. There was no need to, until today. No harm in trying. He sighed, hoping no one would walk in as he undid his belt and sat down on the toilet seat. Wrapping his hand around his dick, he tugged at it experimentally, hissing when he felt how sensitive he was.

After a few minutes, his condition not getting any better, he decided this was all so stupid. Absurd. Ridiculous.

Even masturbation wasn't helping and to make matters worse, he couldn't help but think about you. He felt dirty. Saiki wordlessly pulled his pants back up, grinding his teeth at all the confusing emotions he felt. The most powerful being in the universe, bested by human anatomy? The situation was almost laughable.

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By the end of the day, you had one goal in mind. You were going to get Saiki to fess up. The bastard was supposed to be your boyfriend? best friend, and yet he made every effort to dodge you like you were some venereal disease. You huffed in annoyance, clicking your pen impatiently, as you watched the hand of the clock slowly move. It was torture.

When the alarm sounded at the end of the school day and chimed throughout the building, you didn't even bother packing up your stuff. You walked to Saiki's desk and stood in front of it. You knew he wouldn't teleport with half the class still around. If he did try, your hand on his arm would make sure you'd get teleported with him.

After the class had cleared out, you cleared your throat. "Kusuo." No reply. Saiki had made it his life's mission not to make eye contact with you and it only infuriated you further. The least he could do was look at you after treating you like a ghost all day. You wouldn't let him escape this time.

"Kusuo, we need to talk." You stated, watching him closely. What the fuck was his issue today? He wouldn't talk or look at you. You furrowed your eyebrows, exasperated at the whole situation. A moment of silence washed over the two of you and you observed as Saiki shifted, trying to step away from you.

Your grip only tightened, not willing to let him slip through your fingers again. "Let go." Was the only thing he said and you felt like you had been slapped in the face. You were beyond furious now, how could he act like this when a few weeks ago he said he'd think about the two of you? You gave him time so why was he being like this?

"No. Tell me why you've been ignoring me first." You said sternly, not budging. You were hurt, and it turned to anger mixed with frustration. Why was he being so difficult? Did he change his mind and decide he didn't want anything to do with you? He should have at least had the balls to say it to your face.

Saiki, still not looking at you, turned his head to stare off into the distance, "Let go. Please." His voice was hoarse, and you hated the butterflies that went crazy inside your stomach because now was not the time! He sounded hot. Curse your inability to control your hormones. You didn't move, too shocked that the prideful man in front of you had just begged you, and he sounded so fucking good while doing it.

Out of nowhere, you felt the ground shift below your feet. Your vision blurred, everything moved so fast and when you could finally see clearly, you realised you were pinned on the row of desks neatly placed next to each other at the back of the class next to the windows, with Saiki towering over you.

His hand was placed next to the side of your head, the other holding your wrist. He was between your legs, finally looking at you now. That's when you saw it, the fact that Saiki was flushed. You had never seen the man blush like this before, not to mention his breathing sounded heavy. His eyebrows were scrunched and his eyes were hazy.

You were gobsmacked not understanding what the hell was happening. Why were you pinned, first of all? And why did Saiki look like he was struggling? Worry crept on you until he shifted against you- that's when you felt it. It was like you had been doused with water, frozen in shock.

There was no way, no fucking way. Because unless you knew better you could swear you felt something hard pressed against you. Saiki groaned above you when you tried to move, his grip on your wrist tightening as he screwed his eyes shut.

"Stop moving, you're making it worse." You looked up at him, confused as hell because the guy in front of you was miles from the Saiki you were used to.

The guy had the expressive capabilities of a rock and yet here he was acting like he had been switched out with an alien. You didn't even to question the problems he had in his pants. It was your turn to flush red, and you were sure the colour covered you head to toe.

Your head was spinning, trying to connect dots and grasp at straws only to come up empty-handed. You waited, wondering if you should even voice your questions. "...Kusuo, why is your dick hard?" That seemed to make it worse because he only clenched his jaw as hard as he could.

You shifted again experimentally because how could anyone expect you not to when the man who owned your heart was doing exactly what you had dreamt of for months? You'd be lying if you said you weren't turned on. You were acquainted with the feeling of drenched underwear.

You didn't realise when your mind wandered to all the scenarios you had thought of before today, snapping out of it when you realised it was affecting Saiki. He groaned again- you swore you felt him twitch against you and fuck did it do things to you. You rolled your hips against his, not being able to hold yourself back and when he moaned, the warm feeling between your legs increased.

You couldn't help but peer between the two of you, your skirt hiked up slightly. You tried to relax, bringing your free hand to touch his chest and it didn't make it any better for the psychic. His breath shook as if he was trying with every fibre of his being to control himself. You watched as his temple and sharp jawline shifted, no doubt because he was clenching it again.

Your lips parted and you lowered your hand down his chest, enjoying watching the effect it had on him. He shivered under your touch. What a confidence boost it was to watch the guy who refused to show his emotions to anyone, become putty in your hands. Take that, Teruhashi!

"Do you want this?" You jolted when he spoke up, causing him to hiss. His hand shot to your hip, gripping it tightly. It took a moment to register what he had said. "Wha- where is this coming from?" His face scrunched at your answer, exhaling through his nose. "Fuck, before I lose all reason- Do you want this or not. Hurry."

Saiki’s only solution to this whole thing was to get his release, here and now- he knew his issue wouldn’t go away until he did something. It was a rational decision.

When you met his gaze, hooded and hazy, all reason went out the window. Of course you did, was that even a question? You had wanted him from the moment you started falling for him, you wanted him to make you, his. Mark you up until everyone knew you belonged to him. It didn't matter if it was in a classroom or on your bedroom floor, anywhere was fine as long as it was Saiki.

His breathing turned heavier and you realised he could hear your thoughts. "We-well, yeah. I do-" Saiki didn't waste a second, moving back to unbuckle his pants. You watched him, and when he was done, he caught you off guard. He leaned forward to kiss you, and you let out a squeak in surprise.

Your hands unconsciously found purchase around his neck as you closed your eyes, practically melting into him. When his tongue pushed against your lips you parted them. He moved your skirt up and you lifted yourself slightly off the desk to make it easier for him.

When he broke the kiss to stare down at you, you were panting. Fuck, you could never get enough of this man. He owned your heart and now he was going to own your body. He kissed you again and when you felt his dick line up with you and he thrusted into you, all you could do was moan into his mouth and tug at his pink locks- careful as to not knock out his control devices.

Tears pricked your vision, it didn't hurt as much as you had thought it would. Your heart swelled knowing your first time had been with Saiki, even though you hadn't seen it coming. He broke away from you to look between the two of you and you did the same. "It's all your fault." He stated, his pink brows still furrowed.

Words could not describe how fucking hot he looked. Sweat beading down his ivory skin, cheeks flushed, brows furrowed and hooded eyes clouded with arousal. All you could do was stay silent, not fully registering the fact that Saiki was now all yours. You wanted to etch yourself onto his skin so no one would ever dare look at him again. "Please," You begged him to move and he groaned yet again.

"If you had just left it alone." He continued, before jerking his hips forward until he was buried inside of you. You moaned, slapping your hand on your mouth as you screwed your eyes shut at the feeling. God forbid anyone lurking around the school heard the two of you.

When you opened them, you watched Saiki throw his head back in pleasure. He swore when he felt you tighten around him before he leaned down so he was against you. There was a pause and you knew it was him waiting for you to get used to his size.

You were sure you stopped breathing, he wasn't extremely big but fuck did he hit all the right spots. You wanted to cry- bawl your eyes out because you loved this man with all your heart and you just didn't know how to show it. With how deep your feelings were, would you ever be able to? You wanted him to move and make a mess of you. Make you his over and over again.

He did just that, he held nothing back as he relentlessly pushed in and out of you. Your fingers tangled themselves in his hair yet again, pulling at them. You welcomed his kiss, his tongue brushing against yours as he fucked into you.

He held your hips down as he tried to get as deep inside of you as he could, not taking any breaks. When he slowed down you whined, only for him to roll his hips against yours to see how you'd react. When you got louder, Saiki knew he was doing something right, and continued until he saw your eyes roll back.

When he went back to relentlessly thrusting into you and you gazed at him through hooded lashes, you jolted at the feeling of his thumb brushing against your clit. You cried out, so incredibly sensitive and turned on. You tightened around him yet again and he groaned at the feeling, all while rubbing slow circles into you. You wrapped your legs tightly around the small of his waist.

Tears fell from your eyes, overstimulated and touch-starved to the point where you'd felt you'd cum if he continued. You tried to tell him to stop but he shut you up with another kiss, his hand grabbing the one you reached out to stop him with, pinning it down above your head. "Cum for me, Y/n. I want you to cum." You begged helplessly, for what you had no idea.

Your eyes shot open when you felt the familiar feeling of your release coming. You met Saiki's concentrated gaze, his other hand squeezing your wrist. You cried out his name over and over again as you came around him, wailing at the feeling of being so full.

He panted, following you as he fucked his release into you, pumping you full of his cum and not stopping until he was sure there was nothing left. Sweat covered your back and you tried to control your breathing. Saiki leaned forward, placing his hand on either side of your head on the desk. You opened your mouth to tell him that the two of you should clean up, but he spoke before you could.

"Again."

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bonus:

After Saiki had fucked you until he was satisfied 6 times in total, he vanished from your sight. You covered your lower half, making sure his cum didn't leak out and drip onto the classroom floor. He reappeared as quickly as he left with a towel, a water bottle and a pill sachet which you found out was plan b.

You had to give it to him, he was thoughtful. After he had cleaned you first, and then himself, he didn't waste a second. He grabbed you before you could say anything, picking you up bridal style before he teleported you both to his room. You were spent, completely drained.

He gave you that look he always did when he was feeling guilty and you reassured him that you were fine. "I enjoyed it, so stop feeling bad, idiot." You stated as you rested on his bed, too tired to move.

That's when you remembered why you had stopped him, to begin with. You stared at him as he placed himself on his chair next to his desk. "Why were you ignoring me?" You asked softly, having had all the annoyance fucked out of you earlier.

You tried to control your shock when Saiki told you why. "I had a premonition we'd end up having sexual intercourse and every time you came near me, my penis would get hard." Typical Saiki, blunt as always. You decided against teasing him over the fact that his ears were red or the fact that he wouldn’t look at you. Who knew he was shy?

“I am not.”

Before you could quiz him more, Mrs Saiki walked into the room. When her eyes landed on you and she scanned your body, she gave you a knowing smile. "You can stay the night, Y/n." You were so confused but decided not to question it. Saiki's expression darkened when Mrs Saiki spoke before she closed the door.

"Stay safe, you two." Your mind went blank because you knew what her words meant. How the hell did she find out?!

"What a bother. You have hickeys all over you Y/n... and so do I."

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next part - lethargy

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if you want to be tagged, let me know!

#saiki x reader #saiki k x reader #saiki kusuo x reader #saiki kusuo #Nendou Riki #saiki kurumi #saiki k #saiki #Saiki Kusuo no PSI Nan #the disaster of psi kusuo saiki #saiki kusuo no ψ nan #saiki smut #smut

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regulusrules · 1 year

Note

Hi! Okay so you seem like a very well-read person and I’d love to know if you have a list of your favorite Merlin fics. I just bookmarked all the ones you recommended in relation to the 10 best episodes and now I need more! I’m going on a training camp and would love to have something fairly long to download to my kindle so I can read on flights and when I don’t have data 🥰

Thanks so much in advance!

(Also, I LOVE your writing, I’m so glad to be part of this fandom with talented people like you!)

Hey! Thank you so much for your kind words! OF COURSEE I'd love to recommend you some fics! Likewise— the creativity of this fandom never ceases to amaze me :)

*cracks knuckles and pretends my eyes aren't lighting up rn because my time has finally come*

Long fic recs (50K-100K+)

1. to the world that never let you be by ImperialMint. Look. I'll hand out my own throat so willingly to any scar reveal fic. The trope is just so dear to my heart, and this one in particular was something else. It broadly covered every single feeling you might be looking for in a Merlin fic, and its characterization of both Arthur and Merlin was top tier. I basically sell my soul to any fic that does justice to their characterization, and this one did so much more than that.

2. What I'd Have Done by @flight-of-fantasy. I solemnly swear you will never read something like this fic. I read it in one day from how on edge I was all the time. I had to recount it to my friends in the timespan of three hours because of how much screaming and dramatic pauses there was. Simply, the brilliance of plot here is unmatched. Arthur's characterization as a strategist shook my innards, and Merlin's unapologetic nature was chef's kiss. It's so hard not to give away the plot while recommending this so just.. just read it.

3. Redemption by flakedice, Zerda. Soon, you will find a parallel post to the best 10 episodes with the worst 10, featuring first and foremost The Disir. Honest to God, I could literally go on ages ranting about how much agony this episode brought me. It was the blow that awoke my eyes to the possibility of fuck, this show isn't going to end well. I once thought about shitting on that episode like I did with 5×13 in My heart is readily yours, but fics like these hold me back because they already gave us everything. It gave us the ending we deserved. Gold. Everything in this was gold. The world building, the character development, the fact that Arthur has been given time. Truly a fix-it that fix-ed my heart.

4. Talking about deviations from The Fucking Disir, The World I Built for You by Fulgance is a must. It was the first fic I've read from the How They Didn't Find Out (magic reveal one-shots) series, and from then on I was * s o l d *. Whichever fic you decide to read from this, I guarantee you, you will have the time of your life. Fulgance is the one author I will always recommend without a shadow of a doubt. There is not a single work of theirs that will disappoint you. They will only break you.

5. Deep In My Heart I'm Concealing by @citharaposts. True story about this fic, I squealed when I read its summary. “I'm not standing here as a king, Merlin!” was the quickest catalyst to ever make me start a fic. I specifically wrote a spoiler-free comment for the author and left it in the first chapter so that anyone who's thinking about whether or not to go into yet another 100K fic will rest assured that it's an amazing ride. Have real fun with this one.

6. It Was One Kingdom, Once by queerofthedagger. Two things, if they happen, you leave everything behind and go thank your God for blessing you with it: @queerofthedagger posting a new Merlin fic, and it being a Royal Hanahaki AU. Like so many other tropes the author has nailed, this was the best Hanahaki I've ever read (across fandoms). It's so intricate and detailed and the world building is on another level. If our world was burning and I had only one thing to save, it'll be the works of this author.

Hope I helped, and hope you have so much fun in your camp!◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕

[Short fic recs]

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cheesybadgers · 2 months

Text

Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 23)

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 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 24

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 12,675

Summary: It’s been more than a year since Madrid and even longer since the chaos of Colombia. As they settle into a new life in Laredo, their past no longer holding them back, Javier’s career change helps him reconnect with his roots whilst Horacio’s plans for the future of the farm and ranch start to take shape.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Smut (including leather/cowboy kink and power dynamics), grief, parental loss, religious themes and symbolism, discussions of period-typical prejudices/violence/politics/legislation, smoking, drinking, swearing.

Notes: Well, here we are at the final full chapter 👀 No one is more shocked than me that I've made it here tbh 😂 For so long, it felt like finishing this fic was an abstract concept, but somehow, I persevered!

I don't really know what else to say right now, other than, an epilogue will (all being well) be posted on Friday 1st March...exactly 3 years after I posted chapter 1. Don't ask me how 3 years have passed, because my brain cannot compute lol.

The epilogue will be much, much shorter than this chapter, but I think it rounds their story off nicely and I can't wait to share ❤️

Thank you once again to anyone still reading, or anyone who may read this at some point in the future. As always, comments/flailings/key smashes etc. are greatly appreciated 😊

I’ve also added to my OHDH trivia post to cover this chapter if anyone is interested (and there's plenty to choose from for this one…in fact, I had to split my trivia post into two as I ran out of space, oops lol).

Chapter 23: Desde La Frontera

As the faded blue truck pulled up in the front yard, the moon sat full and high, casting a pale glow over everything beneath it. A key turned in the lock of the sleeping cottage, the silver hue from above illuminating a convenient pathway, negating the need to switch on a light.

Javier shrugged off his boots and jacket in the kitchen with a weary sigh and deposited his keys in a dish on the table. The hand-painted ceramic bowl had been sent with love from Madrid as a housewarming gift, along with framed artwork of the city they left behind that hung above their bed, a bottle of olive oil, a small jar of saffron, and some homemade turrón.

It wasn’t easy saying goodbye to Señora Romero, the café or their apartment. For all of the unanswered questions they arrived in Spain with, it became their safe haven. Although they were under strict instructions not to leave it too long before visiting again, and who were they to turn down good company and an endless supply of hot, fresh churros?

The rustic limestone cottage had less square footage than the farmhouse next door but was over two stories rather than one. A decked porch ran along the perimeter with wooden chairs and plants at the front, facing a complex of outbuildings and stables. A swing seat big enough for two resided at the back, looking out onto a medium-sized garden with a chicken coop and the rolling farm fields and river bank lying beyond.

The front door opened into a hallway where boots, coats and hats were tidily stored – at Horacio’s insistence – which led to a spacious kitchen/dining area and an adjoining utility room with a door to the garden on the other side. A second hallway branched off the kitchen towards a lounge with a centrepiece stone fireplace and a staircase up to two bedrooms – a master and a smaller spare – and a bathroom.

Whilst the interior still needed some work, fresh coats of paint – off-white for most of the rooms with splashes of eggshell green in the kitchen – and the exposed ceiling beams restored with an oak oil stain gave the place a new lease of life.

The wall clock opposite the kitchen window ticked past 3:00am. Fuck, no wonder Javier felt so beat. He manoeuvred his way upstairs, slow and careful, to avoid the creakiest boards. They may have stripped and waxed the floors, but that apparently didn’t cure the squeaking of the well-worn wood underfoot.

He must have succeeded on this occasion, as it wasn’t until he got to the top that he was met with Luna’s wagging tail. He whispered a greeting to her and rubbed behind her ears until she returned to her sleeping spot beside Sol and Leo, who hadn’t even stirred. Sometimes, the trio would bed down for the night here. Other times, it was just Luna. Rarely, it was none of them now that they had two new rivals for Chucho’s affections next door.

Kira was a six-month-old Great Pyrenees, her thick coat a solid white with pale tan patches. Fuego, a male copper red and white Border Collie, was a couple of months older and already chomping at the bit to get amongst the cattle. Although they both still had to undergo a lot of training before they would be put to use on the ranch, Javier and Horacio got the distinct impression Chucho enjoyed being kept on his toes again.

Javier finally reached his destination but gave himself an extra few seconds to take in the view.

Horacio was nestled beneath their sheets on his stomach, his torso rising and falling in a calming rhythm that Javier was convinced could have lulled him to sleep if he wasn’t standing up.

He undressed, throwing every item of clothing straight into a rattan hamper in the corner of the room, keenly aware he needed to shower but too tired to do anything about it now.

Instead, he perched on the edge of the bed, basking in Horacio’s long eyelashes, rough stubble and unrulier-than-usual hair that was tantalisingly close to becoming a head of curls if he didn’t get it cut soon. Not that Javier was complaining.

He tried to be restrained and let Horacio sleep, but he was only human.

A faint groggy sound came from Horacio’s throat as delicate lips met his forehead, his lashes flickering until they couldn’t resist any longer.

Javier hushed as he gently crawled on the bed, draping himself over Horacio and kissing the nape of his neck. “Sorry it’s so fucking late. Just go back to sleep.”

“You’re making that difficult right now.” Horacio arched his back in response to the warm breath tickling his bare skin as Javier’s mouth worked between muscular shoulder blades.

“Shouldn’t be so irresistible.”

“Sorry about that.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No. I’m not.” Horacio twisted around far enough for Javier to slide off his back and onto the mattress, allowing them to properly embrace. And so Horacio could put his own mouth to use.

That was as far as it was going for the night, though. Horacio had an early start in the morning, and Javier didn’t want to fall asleep before they could finish.

“Did it all go okay?” Horacio asked once they had got comfortable.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, there was a delay with the paperwork, as usual. But once we were on the road, it was fine. Heavy traffic around San Antonio, but I almost had the I-35 to myself on the way home.”

“And the family?”

“Exhausted and drained, obviously. Fuck knows when their hearing will be. But at least they’re together again and safe for now.”

Javier wasn't only clueless about the date of the hearing, he couldn’t predict the outcome of it either. That wasn’t his remit. By the time the Torres Fuentes family were in front of an immigration judge, he would have helped countless more families and individuals like them. Their circumstances weren’t always the same, but their options were just as limited.

Not all days – or nights – were like this one. Sometimes, Javier would be on translation duties on the frontline of the border, triaging and directing people towards help, whether it be medical attention, food, water, toiletries, a change of clothes, a shower, or a bed for the night. Or, more than likely, access to a lawyer. His and the fleet of other aid workers for charities, not-for-profits and NGOs would be some of the first non-threatening faces new arrivals would see once the INS was finished with them, and that wasn’t a responsibility he took lightly.

Other times, he would deliver bond money to detention centres in exchange for someone's freedom, help people fill in forms and paperwork, or run community outreach sessions, reminding people of their rights. He had even hosted several families at the guesthouses for a night or two until safe transportation could be arranged for travel onward to relatives or sponsors elsewhere in the States. Flights were usually not an option for most due to a lack of papers, so the preferred method was long car journeys split between drivers like Javier. No two days were ever quite the same because no two stories were ever the same. There were commonalities, but subtle nuances and complications came with the territory of human lives.

“You did everything you could to help them.”

“I know. Just makes you realise how fucking…fragile it all is. And how fucking lucky we are.”

There was no denying luck – and money, of course – played a role in Horacio securing a visa and the Holy Grail of a green card for being an investor in the States. But Javier had also utilised an old contact at the US Embassy in Bogotá to expedite Horacio’s application. Her name was Colleen, and she had, with great reluctance, helped him secure visas for several informants in the past.

The silence over the line when Javier had uttered Horacio’s name was long, loud and awkward. But just like with his informants, she didn’t ask any questions and did him one last favour on the proviso she never heard from him again.

“We are. And I’ll never forget that.” Horacio’s palm connected with Javier’s cheek, flecks of moonlight highlighting the dark circles under his eyes. “You look exhausted, too.”

A soft chuckle filtered through the shadows. “Thanks. Sorry for waking you, though. I know you’ve gotta be up early.”

“Yeah, which is why I’m glad you did wake me. Once I’ve done the usual rounds, I’ll probably be in meetings most of the day. So, I won’t see you until late.”

“Better make the most of you now, then.”

Lingering kisses followed, but they knew it was fruitless to fight the fatigue.

“How’s everything going with the business plan?” Javier asked once he had accepted defeat.

“So far, so good. I want to go through everything with your father again before everyone arrives. Just to make sure he’s happy with it all.”

“I’ve, er, got it on pretty good authority he is.”

Horacio rolled his eyes. “I know. But it’s his money invested in this place as much as ours. And it’s not like I’m the expert.”

“Not yet. And he trusts you. They all do. You’re no longer a new face around here, remember.”

“I know. But I’m still learning the ropes, and I’m not the one in charge anymore.”

“You sure about that?”

There was a suggestive edge beneath the drowsiness in Javier’s voice. If Horacio looked hard enough through the darkness, he would have seen a quirked brow thrown his way.

“Well, I still have my moments.”

Javier mumbled a lazy hum of agreement. “I’ll say. But don’t worry about tomorrow, okay? You’ll be fine. Trust me.” He managed one last kiss for good measure, even though his eyelids were getting heavier by the second.

A muffled “I do” was pressed into the shell of Javier’s ear as he flipped his body around, his back cushioned against Horacio’s chest. Calloused fingertips weathered by hard labour nowadays rather than a trigger found their home resting on the curve of Javier’s stomach, eliciting a meditative sigh from both as they huddled down.

It didn’t matter that one of them would be up soon with the dawn chorus while the other might be called away past the midnight hour. Because they knew how lucky they were, not only after all they had been through but compared to so many who crossed the border to start a new life. And it was impossible to take that for granted.

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For all that had changed, wall-to-wall meetings and stacks of paperwork were two guaranteed constants to remain. No matter the career path Horacio chose, he was apparently destined never to escape their clutches.

The morning and most of the afternoon – with a short break for lunch – had been spent poring over business plans, maps and spreadsheets with Chucho, his accountant, Miguel, and the ranch and farm managers, Marco and Félix.

Horacio was still adjusting to being the least qualified person in the room again. But the fact that he was even privy to such meetings in the first place was a privilege not customarily afforded to ranch hands without much experience under their belts. It was hard to gauge what others thought about his…unique position here. But he was also an investor whose name, along with Javier’s, was on the title deeds of the farm. Even if people didn’t know about them, it stood to reason that he would be consulted about any development proposals.

Between his money and the safety net of his connections – whatever some may have speculated the precise nature of those were – to a well-respected ranching family, Horacio, so far, hadn’t had too many problems. Not even when shadowing or attending training courses off-site, and he was surrounded by heavy Texan drawls and the type of man who had the propensity to make his feelings clear with his fists – or a gun – if he found out a fellow rancher shared a house and bed with another man.

But the odd off-hand comment had made Horacio wonder if they knew more about his past employment than he realised. In which case, perhaps in their eyes, getting on the wrong side of the former head of Search Bloc wasn’t a wise move.

Regardless, this was what he had signed up for. And for all his investments and networking, there were no cutting corners in ranch and business management, beef production, animal science and equine studies. The Peñas were far from the only family business in the industry, and most had grown up a lot more hands-on than Javier. Horacio could never have leapfrogged over them even if he had wanted to.

By late afternoon, the meetings were done for the day – although there would be plenty more to come – leaving Horacio and Chucho to check on the pregnant heifers. The calves weren’t due until early April, another month away and just in time for Horacio’s birthday. But it was all hands on deck between now and then to ensure it went as smoothly as possible. Their main job today had been to weigh the expectant mothers, who, thankfully, all turned out to be healthy and on the right track.

Broken shards of light bounced off the ranch’s steel fences and gates as Horacio and Chucho sat on the farmhouse porch enjoying a well-earned break, the sun’s heat beginning to show glimpses of what it was capable of during the summer months. Bluebonnets blanketed the fallow fields, and the saccharine scent of yucca blossom travelled on the early spring breeze.

Chucho stirred a freshly made pot of tea and filled two cups to the brim, sliding one across a wooden table towards Horacio, who accepted with a nod of thanks.

“So, do you think it went okay today?” Horacio asked after a quenching sip of tea.

“Better than I expected, to be honest. Félix worked for Ciro and Malena for many years. I wasn’t sure he’d take to new ownership. Or if he’d even want to stay. But he seems to be on board with the idea of expansion.”

“What about the rest of the workers Ciro and Malena employed?”

“A few moved on or retired. But most don’t care who’s in charge as long as they're getting paid.”

“And what about here? Have many left or cut ties since…” Horacio trailed off, hoping he had done enough for Chucho to follow his train of thought without saying it out loud.

“Not many, no, Mijo. And only the ones I’m glad to see the back of.”

“Not many?” Horacio scoffed into his cup, sending ripples across the surface of his drink. “So, still some, then.”

“As I said…only those I don’t want the ranch to be associated with anyway. It's no loss if they can’t keep their noses out of my family’s business.”

The thing was, Horacio and Javier had everything to lose if the wrong person found out. One phone call was all it would take for the police to be banging down their cottage door. After all, that had happened to plenty of others like them in Texas. It had happened to plenty of bars and restaurants that ended up either raided or burned to the ground, the owners and patrons harassed, arrested, beaten to a bloody pulp, or worse. But Horacio couldn’t bring himself to say any of this to Chucho, so he took extra time swallowing his tea instead.

“From what I’ve heard, the majority see you’re a hard worker. You’re willing to learn the ropes. But you’re not afraid to get stuck in or take the lead if needed. You’re professional with the contractors. And you’re trusted to do a good job. That’s worth a lot around here – a lot more than gossipers. I may not know what it’s like for you both...but I do know not everyone’s like them.”

A smile reflexively spread across Horacio’s lips. “My Mamá said similar back in Manizales.”

Chucho mirrored Horacio’s expression. “She sounds like a wise woman.”

“She is.”

“And proud of you. As I’m sure your father would be. Starting over again is never easy, but what you and Javi have done here…I'm proud, too.”

“Thank you. Me too, to be honest.” Horacio let out a brief huff. “When Javier told me what he wanted to do, it was like the final piece slotted in place. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner.” He shook his head this time at how blindingly obvious it was once Javier said it out loud. “But I think he needed to leave to be able to come back again.”

Chucho hummed into his tea. “That’s the thing about the past: you can’t outrun it. And once you let it walk alongside you, I think your path becomes clearer.”

For the second time that afternoon, Horacio could scarcely believe his Mamá and Chucho hadn’t met yet. But he was looking forward to the day that would change.

“A few years ago, I never thought this could be my life. Or that I wanted it to be. But now, even though it’s not easy work, and the hours are long, and I’m starting from the bottom of the ladder again, everything just feels…” He broke off, searching for the right word.

“Simple?” Chucho supplied.

“Yes. Simple.”

After Horacio finished his tea and saddled up Coco ready to help move the herds into the barns before nightfall, he didn’t mind that his legs were stiff from all the sitting in chairs he had done today. Or that the last thing he felt like doing was wrangling contrary cattle.

He didn’t mind that it would be more of the same at the break of dawn tomorrow and a long road ahead of grafting and proving himself. He didn’t mind that he wouldn’t catch up with Javier until they shared a late dinner once Javier had driven back from Austin. He didn’t mind if complete strangers couldn’t stomach what they got up to behind closed doors as long as they were left alone to live in peace.

He didn’t mind any of it because they were exactly where they were supposed to be.

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No matter what profession he worked in, it was rare for Javier to take a weekend off. He’d accepted a long time ago he wasn’t the 9-5 type, and leaving it all at the door once he clocked off had never been an option. But a new batch of aid workers and volunteers had arrived in the last few weeks. And once Luz, his boss, got wind of an upcoming birthday in the team, she insisted Javier finally use up some vacation time.

Luz Díaz was someone Javier could call a friend as well as his boss these days, especially in light of their parallel circumstances. While Luz was an aid worker on the border, she lived with Carla Moreno, the daughter of a dairy farmer several miles to the south. However, unlike Chucho and Elena, their parents, whilst not hostile, preferred to brush their daughters' relationship under the carpet wherever possible.

When Luz accompanied Javier to the guesthouses with a new family one afternoon, she had first crossed paths with Horacio. Until then, Javier had played his cards close to his chest, never knowing whether it was safe to trust anyone. But it hadn’t taken Luz long to put two and two together – or for her to realise she could share her secret in return.

Birthdays had held no real significance for Javier since childhood. But his Pops was determined to invite him and Horacio to the farmhouse for dinner that evening. In the meantime, once Javier had escaped work by mid-afternoon, he headed home to freshen up and grab a drink. It may have been late October, but the Texan heat was a stubborn son of a bitch, and was still hitting the mid-90s several times a week.

A neatly written note was pinned to the fridge that read In corn barn, so Javier took a UTV and headed across the farm. It was quieter now the harvest was over, and the cattle from the ranch had grazed on any leftovers. The herds were back next door, allowing bales of corn stalks to be gathered up and stored ready for use as bedding for the livestock on chillier winter nights.

The latest calves had thrived since April and only had two months left before they would be weaned off their mothers. Usually, several were sold at auction, but they had kept hold of them this time due to the extra space. Now the harvest was out of the way, the next step was to clear the lower fields and build a new gate linking the ranch with the farm.

When Javier arrived at the barn, Horacio was unloading the last batch of bales off the trailer.

Horacio paused for a second when Javier came into view, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Where did you get that?”

“It was on the passenger seat.” Javier gestured to the parked UTV. “Does it suit me?” He tipped the brim of a Stetson to match the one Horacio was already wearing.

Given the similarities between their outfits, anyone would have been forgiven for thinking Javier was an employee. They both wore belted dark blue jeans – Horacio’s more mud-splattered – brown boots and plaid shirts with rolled-up sleeves – Horacio’s brown and white and Javier’s green and red. The most noticeable difference was Horacio wore a white bandana around his neck whilst Javier’s shirt collar was wide open, his neck on full display.

Horacio silently lifted the side of the trailer back up and locked it now that it was empty. He shrugged the protective gloves off his hands one by one and flung them into the cab of his truck.

He followed Javier into the barn and closed the door, but his attention was on the wall opposite. A long row of hooks was hung across it, where various pieces of equipment were kept, including overalls, brushes, and a wide range of horse tack.

On the last hook was a coiled lariat, which Horacio picked up and stood facing Javier several feet away. He threaded the rope through the Honda knot until he held a loose loop in his right hand, his hungry gaze fixed on Javier as his wrist built momentum over his head in measured circles.

Before Javier could react, the tip of the rope found its target, tightening around his waist, his feet involuntarily taking him forward as Horacio reeled him in. Even when they were chest to chest and breathing hard, Horacio didn’t let up his grip on the rope.

“You know it does,” Horacio eventually rasped at the shell of Javier's ear.

Javier shivered at the timbre of Horacio’s voice, the earthy scent of the land combining with the heady musk of sweat, remnants of mud and dust still visible on his face and arms. “Someone’s been practising.”

“Well, it is a special occasion.” Horacio tugged on the rope, pressing their bodies together until his lips found Javier’s neck, stubble scratching along his jawline, finally brushing over his mouth.

Javier took the bait, responding with a full kiss, distracting Horacio enough to drop the rope. Then it was all bets off as his hands journeyed over Horacio’s back, first dipping southwards, palming his ass through his back pockets, then northwards to remove the bandana and roam under his shirt. But something made Javier pause mid-way.

He looked at Horacio for an explanation but was met only with a coy smile.

“Happy Birthday.”

Javier’s brow quirked suggestively of its own accord. “I thought we weren’t doing presents.”

“I can take it back if you’d prefer.”

“Don’t you fucking dare. Now, shut up and drive us home.”

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No sooner were they back at their cottage than Horacio straddled Javier’s lap on the couch, teeth nipping as they grabbed handfuls of fabric or skin.

When Javier made to unbutton Horacio’s shirt, Horacio stilled his attempts. “Not yet.”

Instead, his mouth ghosted over Javier’s as his fingers slid down to his belt, unbuckling it unhurriedly and deliberately.

Their laboured breaths filled the silence, the rich scent of earth and woodsmoke heavy on their senses.

“Touch yourself,” Horacio finally said, his order clear, voice steady.

It was all Javier could do not to come on the spot. But he managed to exhale through his nose, his lips pursed as he wrestled back a semblance of control.

He let his right hand slide down to his zipper, which he knew Horacio had left closed on purpose. He gradually unfastened it, his palm disappearing out of sight.

A hitched breath and tensed thighs let Horacio know Javier had made contact even before Javier’s wrist began to twitch.

For several strokes, Horacio merely observed, drinking in every detail of Javier’s face, each jaw movement and shuddered breath, their eyes locked together as Javier took himself in hand.

Horacio couldn't hide that he was more than a little affected by the show beneath him, so he upped the ante, his fingers seeking out the buttons of his shirt, popping the top one first, then the second, third and fourth.

He stopped there, giving Javier another sneak peek of the surprise he had planned for more months than he cared to admit. He could see Javier had noticed the tantalising glimpses of brown leather drawn tightly against bare skin and could feel Javier’s motions speed up.

The remaining buttons followed, allowing the shirt to fall over the broad expanse of Horacio’s shoulders until it hit the floor.

“Fuck.” Javier’s hips spasmed, slamming against Horacio’s crotch in the process and triggering a chain reaction of panting. “Shit, Horacio. Where did you – how –”

Javier was cut off by a finger at his mouth and a soft hushing sound.

Horacio pressed a digit to Javier’s lips until it was engulfed by wet warmth. “Keep going.”

As Javier’s tongue swirled and his cheeks hollowed, he set back to work, building up friction along the shaft and over the head. It was like a switch flicked in Horacio during moments like this when he was all smoky rasps and concise commands. It was the closest Javier had ever got to experiencing Colonel Carrillo first-hand, and nothing was as intoxicating.

When Javier was being regarded and instructed so intensely, he had no choice but to submit. Anything to please the force of nature who made him come harder than he ever had done in his life. And so, he kept going, fist clenched around his cock, edging himself with each edict echoing in his ears.

Running across Horacio’s chest below his pectoral muscles was a leather strap linked to another one on either shoulder that crisscrossed over his back, his biceps restrained by matching cuffs. The leather was a worn cognac brown with intricate stitching, decorative studs and buckles like the vintage cowboy belts the harness appeared to be made from.

“You like it?”

Javier’s free hand hypnotically reached up to Horacio’s torso, fingers tracing each detail of the leather in between cupping Horacio’s pecs and tweaking his nipples.

“Beautiful,” was the only word he could muster. It was by far the best birthday present Javier had ever had. Although, if he didn’t know any better, he would have assumed Horacio was trying to make this his last one.

Horacio was conflicted between watching and needing more, so he compromised by subtly rocking against Javier’s inner thigh whilst continuing his role as a voyeur. Knowing his voice alone could get Javier off was a power trip Horacio never grew tired of, even after all these years. In fact, since his career change, it had become more arousing because being in charge was a novelty now.

He brought two fingers to Javier’s lips again, which were taken greedily without the need to be told.

“Good, that’s it, and another.”

All three digits rested on Javier’s tongue as Horacio probed back and forth with increasing vigour, leaving no doubt what he had in mind as a string of saliva connected from mouth to fingers when he finally withdrew.

Horacio transferred his glossy hand straight to his chest and across his nipples, flicking the pad of his thumb over each bud just the way Javier liked to lick them.

When Horacio looked back up, Javier was tugging in a frenzy, his breathing ragged and fraying at the seams, dangerously close to it all being over.

Horacio reached out to stop Javier’s wrist, leaning closer until his lips brushed against his ear. “Not before I’ve ridden you.”

Javier immediately extracted his hand from his jeans with a huff of frustration, resenting Horacio almost as much as wanting to be fucked. Every man had his limits, and his were rapidly being reached.

With both hands free, he alternated between hot, smooth skin, the textured leather and cool metal. He slid his fingers beneath the harness, imagining all the positions he could manoeuvre Horacio around.

His hands travelled down to Horacio’s ass, pulling him further into his lap as their mouths crashed together at long last. From glutes to thighs, Javier embraced each one until he met resistance under the denim of Horacio’s jeans.

Javier ran his fingers over it a few times. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

Javier growled as he lunged for Horacio’s belt and zipper, both men making light work of removing his jeans.

Whilst Horacio stood up, he took the opportunity to undress Javier and reach over to the drawer beneath the nearby coffee table. He rummaged around until he retrieved what he was looking for and stashed it on the sofa.

There was no holding back now as nails raked over hot skin and tongues connected, rough and harsh, their cocks jutting between their stomachs. Javier’s hands glided over and under the leather straps, descending beyond until his palms massaged Horacio’s cheeks apart, wider with each circular motion, his knuckles teasing up and down the cleft.

The tremor that ran through Horacio was enough to cause Javier’s arm to stretch across the sofa until he located the bottle of lube, expertly flipping the cap open and pouring liberally.

He alternated between his middle finger and thumb in a corkscrew motion, letting Horacio stretch around him, Horacio’s forehead dropping to Javier’s shoulder, teeth grazing flesh as he held their cocks in his fist.

It wasn’t long before Horacio lowered himself, steadily taking inch by inch. He initially held still, experimenting with nudges up and down as he braced his arms on the back of the couch.

A winded noise escaped Javier’s throat as Horacio sunk deeper with more force this time, gyrating his hips until he found a rhythm.

Javier was torn between the mass of muscle and leather at his fingertips but settled for clinging to the front of the harness, pulling Horacio further onto his cock.

A strained grunt left Horacio’s throat, prompting him to re-adjust so his feet were planted flat on the sofa cushions, the change in angle plunging him to new depths. He paused, giving them a chance to catch their breaths. And then, without further warning, Horacio squatted down.

The echo of his ass hitting Javier’s thighs was enough to make Horacio do it again. And again, over and over, the slap of skin on skin louder each time.

One of Javier’s hands scrambled aimlessly around for an anchor, eventually finding the couch’s arm where Horacio’s Stetson had landed earlier in the proceedings.

Javier snatched hold of the brim and brought it towards them, depositing it on Horacio’s head. “Keep it on.”

Horacio was powerless to refuse when it made Javier’s cock twitch and pulsate, massaging Horacio’s prostate as he bounced at just the right angle, his own length sliding up and down the plains of Javier’s chest and abdomen.

Now the hat was in place, Javier's hands sailed over Horacio’s thighs, pausing as he made contact with the leather band around his right thigh. He couldn’t believe Horacio had not only remembered their dirty talk the morning after Trujillo’s wedding but that he had brought Javier’s fantasy to life. And it was better than even his wildest dreams could have imagined.

A part of him wanted to remove the garter just so he could re-attach it. But he was mesmerised by the way the leather stretched around Horacio’s thigh as his pelvis pulsed back and forth, up and down, and round and round.

His fingers gravitated south, landing where the two men joined together. “Fuck,” Javier choked out, rubbing in circles around the wet rim, feeling the thrumming heat of his own cock, and wishing he had a better visual of them moving as one.

“Lie on the floor.” In complete contrast, Horacio’s cadence was calm and in control, like he was directing his horse.

Javier did as he was told, his body cushioned by a thick grey, black, and ivory Zapotec rug.

Without hesitation, Horacio sat atop Javier’s thighs with his back to him, presenting the perfect view as though he had read Javier’s mind. As he re-seated himself, he reached behind, spreading his cheeks wider as he sunk lower.

A strangled whimper was drawn from Javier’s chest as he raised his head for a closer look once Horacio started to move. He ignored the strain in his neck and replaced Horacio’s hands with his own, each palm cupping and squeezing, pushing forward, fingernails clawing, urging his rider to go faster.

In response, Horacio deepened the roll of his hips and balanced his hands on the rug beneath them.

They had picked it out on a trip to San Antonio the previous year, one of their first joint purchases for the cottage. And now they were finally christening it, surrounded by an array of décor and furnishings they had chosen together since. For their own home, an unthinkable notion in the not-so-distant past. Yet here they were against all odds.

Javier grasped the latest addition to their household, pulling Horacio by the harness in all directions as though he was the jinete (horseman) steering the reins rather than the steed being mounted bareback. But Horacio was the one wearing a Stetson. The one in the saddle daily, strengthening and toning his muscles even more than they already were, and Javier could already feel the difference.

He let go of the harness, his fingertips skimming Horacio’s voluptuous upper arms, rump and thighs, caressing the tight leather cuffs, pressing the sharp chill of the buckles against fiery skin until a shockwave rippled through Horacio and straight to Javier’s cock.

As Javier’s hips involuntarily bucked, their rhythm faltering in a chorus of moans, Horacio was beginning to regret not utilising a belt or one of the lariats from the barn as restraints on Javier’s wrists. But he changed his mind when he felt a crisp slap across the ass like a quirt used with overzealous force. But unlike the horses – with whom he was always gentle – Horacio had no objection to the sting left behind.

In fact, it only spurred Horacio on, his ass lifting higher with each strike, building momentum, one hand stimulating his own cock in tandem.

Javier could feel rather than see Horacio jerking off, and his pelvis began to automatically plough upwards again, trying and failing to keep in time when he was this far gone.

“Horacio,” Javier breathed out, his tone pleading, desperate and wrecked.

“Tell me what you need.” Horacio wasn’t going to make it as easy this time. If Javier wanted something, he would have to use his words.

“I need you on all fours.”

And so Horacio dismounted, willing and waiting to give Javier everything he asked for, a complete 180 in a matter of minutes.

Javier wasted no time and fell in place behind Horacio, lining himself up and propelling forwards with a rough thud, nails digging into hipbones hard enough to leave marks.

As Horacio took himself in hand once more, Javier slowed to bask in a bird's eye view of his cock disappearing and reappearing, his thumbs spreading Horacio wider to get a better look at where they became one. It would have been easy to take it for granted by this stage, but he never did, not when they had been forced apart by circumstance and geography so many times before.

Whilst Javier was distracted, Horacio threw back his hips, causing a hiss of pleasure that inspired him to do it again and again, his ass pounding against Javier’s groin.

Javier drove forward in retaliation, pulling Horacio towards him with a firm jerk on the harness, a dual wave of groans unleashing each time Javier manhandled him, the thick leather straps taut against Horacio’s clammy skin, hopefully leaving imprints from the force.

Javier yanked hard enough to raise Horacio up on his knees, cementing them back to chest, teeth, mouth and moustache going to town as Horacio craned his neck to meet the onslaught.

“Do you know how fucking good you look like this? How…fucking…beautiful?” Javier’s declaration was broken up with each thrust as he resumed movement.

“It’s all for you,” Horacio purred between lip bites. “Your own cowboy to play with.”

With a muttered “Fuck,” Javier pushed Horacio back down on all fours, toppling his Stetson to the floor, one hand gripping at the harness, the other at the nape of Horacio’s neck, his fingers fondling the gold chain that complemented the silver one at his own breast.

His hips hammered forward, no holds barred, as an all too familiar pressure built and threatened to consume him any second now. He glanced down, transfixed by his own fluid motions, entranced by how well Horacio held his cock, how Javier had tamed a once wild bronco who would have thrown off any other rider a long time ago. But not him, never him, so maybe he was more of a vaquero than he thought.

A combination of the visuals, the leather against his skin, and the tight heat squeezing and releasing around him took its toll. Javier let out a wounded gasp as though all the air had been knocked out of his lungs, his muscles tensing from head to toe as he watched his cock spasm and fill Horacio up.

As liquid warmth painted Horacio's walls, his wrist jolted and shook, sending him over the edge. He felt an extra weight on his back, the harsh scrape of teeth and words of encouragement at his ear as a hand took over from his own. Just the right pace and force, just how he liked it, just enough to make him coat Javier’s fingers, vision blurred, back arched.

They didn’t move as the room came back into focus, letting their lungs and heart rates return to baseline. Before Horacio could collapse to the floor, Javier slowly pulled out, smearing glistening fingers around Horacio’s fluttering hole, mixing it in with his own release. His tongue swirled and lapped from behind, making Horacio tremble on his knees until they buckled, and he could take no more.

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

The spark of a lighter and deep exhales of smoke were the only sounds to be heard for several minutes as they lay recovering in bed, the hard floor downstairs proving too much for their aching limbs, even with the rug for protection.

“So, are you gonna tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“Oh, come on. You know fucking well what.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

“Does it matter?”

“Well…no. I’m just curious, that’s all.”

“Surprised you haven’t guessed. In fact, I kinda thought it was you dropping a hint.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It was one of your old magazines that gave me the instructions on how to make it. And it’s not hard to get access to leather around here. The saddlers the ranch uses are well-stocked in almost everything. They don’t need to know what it’s being used for.”

Whatever Javier had been expecting to hear, it wasn’t that. When moving into the cottage, he had cleared out his old bedroom. Hidden in the depths of his wardrobe, beneath several layers of clothes, was a pile of magazines he never had the heart to throw away or burn, one of which was a Cowboy and Rodeo Special of Drummer.

Javier blew out a low chuckle as he passed their cigarette across the bed. “I wish I had been dropping a hint. Although…looks like you did fine without my influence. Always the dark horse.”

"Hey, they're your magazines, not mine."

"You read them. Cover to cover by the sounds of it."

"Just making up for lost time when I was younger."

"At least someone's getting use out of them. So, you ready for your first rodeo, now? Based on this afternoon, I'd put in a good word."

"Very funny."

Although, whilst Javier was, of course, joking, there were plenty of men like Horacio who did compete across Texas – without hiding who they were as well. He imagined Horacio would rather die in a stampede of raging bulls than partake in such a competition. But nonetheless, it was an appealing fantasy for Javier to indulge in from time to time.

His fingers traced patterns over Horacio’s thigh where the leather garter remained even after the harness and cuffs had come off, the leftover scent of sweat and semen on their skin fusing with the tobacco in the air. He had taken great pleasure and care in removing those; however, when it came to the garter, Javier placed a ring of kisses where the leather sat but left it in position.

“You liked it, then?”

Javier gave Horacio an incredulous look as though the answer spoke for itself. But there was a hint of uncertainty behind the question, and it was only fair to provide reassurance. “I loved it. A lot. I don’t really do birthdays, but you’ve certainly made this one memorable. So, thank you.”

"My pleasure," Horacio murmured mid-kiss. "And it definitely beats my birthday."

"That wouldn't be hard."

The first few hours of Horacio's birthday were spent helping deliver calves and bedding down close by the expectant mothers every night for the following two weeks. He barely saw Javier other than at meal times, and it took multiple showers to wash the pungent barn aroma out of his hair.

“Hadn’t we better shower soon?” Horacio said with reluctance once they pulled apart. “Don’t wanna keep your father waiting.”

Javier leaned over to look at the clock on the bedside table. “Yeah, we should. I’m starving now we’ve worked up an appetite.”

“Do you want to do the honours?” Horacio gestured towards his thigh.

“Keep it on.”

Horacio could tell from the wicked glint in Javier's eye he wasn’t joking. “You do know I have to work with your father? And look him in the eye.”

“Oh, come on, he won’t even notice. Not everyone checks you out as much as me, y’know. Especially not my Pops. And…” Javier sat up and swung his leg across Horacio’s thigh until he was straddling him. “It is still my birthday, remember.”

Despite such brazen tactics, Horacio met Javier’s mouth again, groaning gently as Javier’s teeth pulled on his bottom lip. “Fine. As long as you can keep your hands to yourself through dinner.”

“I’ll try my best.”

He could make no such guarantees after dinner, though.

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

It took another week for the temperature to cool by several degrees, just in time for the residents of Laredo to visit neighbouring pumpkin patches, carve out Jack-o’-lanterns and go Trick-or-Treating.

By the time Javier had finished work and picked up some groceries, Chucho was busy in the lounge blanketing a table with a white lace cloth before arranging two extra tiers on top decorated with papel picado. Nearby trays were full of items ready and waiting to be placed on the ofrenda, including a Talavera pitcher of water, pan de muerto, a plate of salt, fresh marigolds, Calaveras, and a familiar wooden box.

Chucho looked up at Javier, who stood in the doorway with a cardboard box. “Ah, Javi, good timing. Pass those here.”

Javier held out a batch of fresh buñuelos delivered straight from Desde La Frontera. “Need a hand?”

Chucho looked at Javier with pleasant surprise. “Please, Mijo.”

Between them, they transferred everything from the trays to the table, Chucho directing where each item needed to be placed.

When it came to the wooden box, Chucho sat on the sofa to open it.

Javier watched silently from a few feet away, an ache forming in his chest when he saw the photos spread out on the furniture. But he pushed past it and sat in the adjacent armchair.

He looked closer at the pictures and reached into the pocket of his leather jacket. “This needs to go on it too,” he said.

Chucho glanced up to see Javier clutching Mariana’s poetry book.

“Of course. She can tell us how much she liked Madrid. Which reminds me…”

Chucho stood up and disappeared into his bedroom before reappearing with a card in his hand. “I always keep it by my bed, but it belongs on here.”

Chucho was holding an old prayer card of La Virgen de Guadalupe. “Abuela Rosa gave it to your Mamá for her quinceañera, along with these. ” Chucho lifted a string of rosary beads from the wooden box. “I think she cherished the card as a reminder of our ancestors. Even though your Abuela disapproved, your Mamá had her own ideas about Guadalupe.” He couldn’t help but laugh and shake his head with fondness.

“How do you mean?”

“Back in the '60s, Guadalupe became the mascot for the farmers’ union protests – the ones your Mamá marched on. She liked to think of her as someone who helped those in need. Do you remember her reading stories about the Aztecs? And Guadalupe, La Malinche and La Llorona?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

Javier blinked, keeping his eyes closed for a fraction longer than was customary. The memory was fuzzy around the edges, but he could feel the warmth of his mother lying beside him on his bed, a book between them as she read aloud tales of their ancestors. Once he started getting drowsy, she would sing to him or stroke his hair and kiss him goodnight, the comforting sound of her favourite telenovelas drifting through his bedroom door as he fell into a deep sleep.

When he was even smaller and couldn’t sleep after his older cousins convinced him La Llorona had been spotted in Laredo the previous night, his Mamá soothed him with the advice she had been given by her mother to always pray a Hail Mary and an Our Father whenever near water before making a sign of the cross for protection.

However, Javier also remembered during the first few months after she was gone, he would have nightmares about La Llorona. Except in those dreams, his Mamá had taken on the appearance of the wailing spirit, and her ghost roamed along the banks of the Rio Grande, screaming for him. But no matter how hard he tried to get closer to her, she would move out of reach until he woke up screaming.

“There have been so many versions of those stories since the days of the Aztecs, who knew Guadalupe as Coatlalopeuh, Tonantzin, or Coatlicue. La Llorona as Cihuacoatl. And La Malinche as Malinalli or Malintzin, or La Chingada. Some of those stories say they are all one and the same. And that the conquistadors made Guadalupe the Madonna above the others. Your Mamá saw Guadalupe as a symbol of hope, a mediator between the Aztec and Catholic religions, uniting all the different parts of us and our roots. The light and the dark, the old world and the new, the conquered and the conqueror, the obedient and the rebellious, the eagle and the snake, the Mexican and the American.”

“Never thought of it like that when I was younger. But it’s beautiful.”

“It is.” Chucho stood up and placed the prayer card on the altar.

“D’you think it’s possible, though? To unite it all, I mean.”

“I think we have to try as much as we can. And learn to make peace with it when we can’t. But I know it’s not easy.”

“Mexico didn’t seem far enough to run when I took the DEA job, even though it was never home. So, Colombia it was.” Javier couldn’t help but laugh at his own confused logic in hindsight. “But when we were in Manizales, I kept thinking about all the stories you told me about our family history – in the US and Mexico. And it just…hit me I was needed right here on the border. So, thank you, Pops.”

“For what?”

“For reminding me of my roots.”

“Your Mamá helped out a lot here, but she always wanted to do more. And she would have done a whole lot more if she’d had the chance. She’d have fought for yours and Horacio’s rights too, I’m sure of it. I had a feeling you’d take after her one day.”

“Better late than never, right?”

“Right. She’d be so proud of you and your work, Mijo. And so am I.”

A customary exchange of nods filled the silence that had become a trademark between father and son over the years when words seemed inadequate.

Chucho cleared his throat and turned to make one final check everything was in its rightful place on the ofrenda. “I think we’re about ready if you want to get Horacio.”

Javier headed next door with his Pops’ words – and his Mamá’s – echoing in his head. He thought about all the tangled threads that had run through him his whole life like the river he grew up on the bank of. It was ironic he could walk across bridges from Laredo into Mexico and back again, a confluence of his heritage. Yet there was always a gap that wouldn’t close. A gap those who insisted on his name meaning shame with a n rather than rock with a ñ wouldn’t let him close. All of the contradictions and dualities he had tried to reconcile, assuming in the past that he was expected to pick one or the other but never feeling qualified enough, resigning himself to an eternal conflict he could never win.

He thought about the people who crossed the invisible line in the earth every day, the one that instantly changed their identity and status whether they liked it or not, dividing and flattening their humanity into stereotypes and insults. The one that caused mothers separated from their children to cry like La Llorona and be condemned for finding themselves in desperate circumstances through no fault of their own. The one that led to Operations Hold the Line and Gatekeeper building walls and deploying an army of la migra, as Border Patrol were often called, to keep people out.

Maybe it was Javier’s recalcitrance, but the more the US government tried to put up borders – despite not thinking twice about violating those belonging to other countries – the more at ease he felt without them. After all, Texas had been part of Mexico in the past, as well as its own republic, and he had spent more than enough of his life trapped by self-imposed borders and walls already.

To be in a place like Laredo was to live on the margin of two countries and cultures, not one or the other. He was Mexican American, a Tejano. He had shared his heart and bed with women and men. Horacio was a closely guarded secret and a naked truth; they lived in the shadows and in the light. He was making a difference, yet it was a drop in the ocean of an ever-expanding problem. He regretted so much of what went down in Colombia, but not that he went in the first place, not only because of Horacio but because it brought him full circle. It brought him peace. It brought him home.

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

As the clock struck midnight and welcomed in Día de los Difuntos, the ofrenda was aglow with candlelight, and the fresh scent of copal filled the farmhouse.

Horacio stood over the altar, his gaze fixed on the image of him in his Papá’s jacket, his father’s usually stern expression relaxed and…proud. He had never really allowed himself to think of that word before. But as the veladoras flickered and swayed across the photograph his Mamá had insisted he kept, he could no longer ignore it.

Beneath the photo lay the golden pendants, temporarily removed from Horacio's neck for the festivities, a glass of his Papá’s favourite rum to match the one in his hand, and a plate of tamales.

“Not bad for a Colombian.”

“I guess I had a good teacher.”

“After dealing with a son determined not to follow in my footsteps, it makes a change to find someone more willing.”

Horacio’s eyes landed back on the photograph of him and his Pops before shifting to one of Mariana in her element at a Chicano civil rights march with a toddling Javier by her side, a bittersweet smile taking hold of his lips. “Funny how it works out.”

“True. But as long as it does, that's the main thing. Even if it’s not what you expected.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

“What are we toasting?” Javier asked as he came in from the kitchen with two glasses of his Mamá’s mezcal of choice, passing one over to Chucho.

Chucho gave a nod of thanks and raised his glass. “To endings and beginnings. And reunions.”

The next couple of hours were spent telling stories, reminiscing, remembering. Welcoming the past into the present, letting it know there was still a future.

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

Chucho retreated to bed first, leaving Javier and Horacio to finish their drinks by the fire, which had burned down to its last mesquite log.

After placing their empty glasses in the kitchen, Javier stopped by the ofrenda on his way back to the sofa. His eye caught the selection of sugar skulls on display, each delicate design bearing the name of a departed loved one. Although, there were, in fact, two each for Mariana and Eduardo.

Javier traced his finger across the one which read Mariana Rosa Reyes Estrada, a pair of arms gathering tightly around his waist simultaneously.

“I never knew her with this name. She left Estrada behind in Mexico. Before she married, she was Mariana Reyes. Then she took Pops’ name ‘cos that’s the gringo way. And to make all the paperwork easier, I was just a Peña, too. But Pops likes to welcome her home with her Mexican and American names. In case she gets lost, he always says.” Javier released an affectionate chuckle at the expense of his Pops’ superstitions.

“He told me when he asked for my father’s full name.” Horacio smiled into Javier’s shoulder as he reached towards the skull that read Eduardo Horacio Carrillo Acosta.

He repeated the same motion across the shared part of his and his Papá's name. “The CNP prefer you choose one name when you enlist. So, of course, we all followed suit – Mamá included. And she left Sierra behind when she changed her papers.”

“Seems like we all have to leave parts of ourselves behind one way or another.”

“True. But if we’re lucky, we find them again somewhere down the line.”

Javier hummed in agreement as a trail of kisses soothed at his neck.

“When was the last time you did this, by the way?” Horacio asked as he traced idle patterns over Javier’s stomach.

“Día de Muertos? Fuck…I can’t even remember. When I was in Colombia, I always came home for Christmas – but not before. Pops never made a big deal out of it, but I could tell he was disappointed.”

“I’m sure he understood. And at least you’re here now.”

“I know. I think I just needed to do it in my own time.”

“Same here. So, thank you. To you and your father.”

“For what?”

“Letting me be a part of it. I think it’s something I’ve needed to do for years.”

“Horacio, of course you’re a part of it. You’re a part of the family.” Javier’s fingers found Horacio’s, lacing them together with ease above the belt of his jeans. “Tú eres mi familia.” (You’re my family)

“Y tú eres mía.” (And you’re mine)

“I was thinking about tomorrow…well, technically, later today. I, er, wondered if you wanted to watch the parade downtown. Then maybe head over to the cemetery with Pops. It's fine if it’s too much. I get it. I just thought maybe –”

“It’s okay.” Horacio cut him off, turning him around until they were face-to-face then forehead-to-forehead. “I’d love to.”

As the last embers of mesquite turned to ash, they knelt in front of the soft glow of the ofrenda, fingers connecting with their silver cross encased between their palms. A final attempt to welcome home those who had shaped so much of their children's lives, even in their absence, and sometimes in the most unexpected ways.

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Echoes of drumbeats filled downtown Laredo by late afternoon, accompanied by a rainbow of papel picado along every street and a sea of Catrinas and Catrins. Children and adults alike wore masks or calavera face paint and marigolds in their hair, the intricate details of their costumes no doubt requiring months of preparation.

Food and drink stalls had seemingly popped up overnight, selling everything from pan de muerto, pozole and tamales to alegría, gorditas, marranitos and champurrado. It was impossible not to get swept from stand to stand, and fears of Javier and Horacio being scrutinised by anyone they happened to bump into were soon allayed. The hustle and bustle of the festivities made them anonymous yet at one with the city, as they were all here for the same reason.

Floats, dancers and puppets passed through the main roads, a spectacle Javier hadn’t witnessed in years. As a teen, the last thing he felt like doing was celebrating when it came to his Mamá’s passing. She wasn’t supposed to have gone so soon. But nowadays, he could appreciate the care and respect involved in honouring the dead. He could look back on the precious memories and not feel the need to push them away. He could accept the duality of grief and love, not as contradictions but as two sides of the same coin.

As they followed the procession at the end of the parade, making their way towards the cemetery to meet Chucho, Javier caught Horacio’s eye with a silent question. One that Horacio answered with a firm nod, reassurance that they were still on the same page.

So much had changed since Horacio was last here for Día de Muertos, not least of all the fact Javier was with him this time and had since met his family. And Escobar was dead, of course. His Papá was no longer a choking force around his neck but a warm presence that sat more comfortably on his chest. Not weightless, but manageable now.

Although darkness had fallen by the time they arrived at the cemetery, a sea of candles and lanterns lit the gravesides like an endless night sky, each one guiding the way home, even if just for one day. The celebrations from earlier continued, some families singing, drinking and eating. Others prayed or sat with blankets and hot drinks, telling stories and keeping memories alive.

Chucho had been busy when it was still light, clearing out dried flower stems and polishing Mariana’s headstone. Now, fresh marigolds were arranged around the candles, their strong fragrance carrying across the cemetery.

They were greeted with pats on the back and a glass of mezcal. A lowkey toast and short prayers were all they had planned, preferring to save the rest for the privacy of home.

“I just wanted to say thank you. To both of you for coming.”

“Any time, Pops. I’d forgotten how beautiful this place looks all lit up.”

“It reminds me of Día de las Velitas back in Colombia. People light candles and lanterns at cemeteries like this. Not that I could bring myself to join them after Papá.”

“There’s still time.” Javier held Horacio’s gaze through the flickering half-light, making the most of the only gesture he could give in public.

“I know.”

“It’s quieter here usually. A nice place to think. And she’s always been a good listener. So, if you ever need some breathing space, I’m sure she’d be all ears.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Horacio mirrored Chucho’s soft smile before laying down a tasteful wreath of marigolds he’d bought from one of the street vendors on their way here.

Javier watched with a growing warmth in his chest as his past, present and future collided once again. A first meeting of sorts, even if it wasn’t how it should have been. Even if it was built on memories and traditions, on prayers and stories, it was still real.

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Slivers of silver reflected off the dark waters beyond the farm’s boundaries, the stars above shimmering like distant fireflies. Southern Texan Decembers were mild, but there was a chill to the air after sundown, especially by the river bank. However, it was nothing a blanket or two couldn’t fix.

Horacio was propped against a mesquite tree with Javier sitting between his legs, one blanket beneath them and the other draped over them. Coco stood watch nearby, her reins looped around a branch as she chomped on her favourite treat of apple slices – a reward for tonight’s extra work.

They shared a flask of Manizales’ finest coffee between Horacio lightly massaging Javier’s scalp and temples. It had been a hectic few days, from Chucho roping them into Las Posadas preparations to the farm being short-staffed in the past week due to seasonal colds and flu and the border seeing a higher influx of crossings in the build-up to the holidays.

Apart from a Christmas dinner or two, they weren’t expecting to take much time off over the festive period, but tonight was all about them. They had miraculously managed to escape work on time before driving to Desde La Frontera for a meal that was starting to become an anniversary tradition.

Javier played with Horacio’s hands, pressing kisses into his knuckles and pausing over his left wrist. “You like it, then?”

“Very much.”

“I know it’s not quite a garter or harness, but…” Javier trailed off, his shoulders and abdomen shaking in tandem.

“The strap’s the same colour, though.” One of Horacio’s hands snaked along Javier’s form, tickling at the waistband of his jeans enough to make him squirm.

“Oh really? Hadn’t noticed.”

“Liar.”

“Maybe. But it does suit you.”

Of course, Javier was banged to rights. He had spent considerable time picking out the watch, knowing Horacio preferred something digital – for pinpoint accuracy – and practical. Horacio had never got around to replacing his old one that was stopped by the ambush, so it was a long overdue replacement.

But if it also happened to be a gentle reminder of certain escapades every time he looked down at it, well...that was an added bonus. As was the thought of Horacio wearing Javier’s gift buckled around his wrist every day, the strap tight enough to leave a mark on his sun-kissed skin.

“Likewise with your present.”

“I dunno about that. I think you wear it better.”

“You’re the homegrown Texan boy, not me.”

“You’re the fucking cowboy, not me.”

Horacio’s fingers on his right hand took a firmer hold of Javier’s hair, coaxing him to turn around and abandon the flask he had just brought to his lips. “Technically…you own part of the ranch and farm. So, it’s about time you had a Stetson.”

Their lips met over Javier’s shoulder, still warm and tingling from the coffee.

“Fair point.” Javier picked up the flask again and downed whatever was left before it went cold. “We got any more of this, by the way?”

“Not ‘til next week. I told Alejandra to bring as much as she can fit in her luggage.”

“Well, there’ll be plenty of suitcases to choose from.”

“I know. I’m not sure your father knows what he’s let himself in for.”

“Oh, don’t worry, he knows from when my cousins and I were kids. And he gets to play host, so he’ll be in his element.”

“He’s already given me a list of groceries to pick up on the way back from the livestock auction in Hondo.”

“When’s that again?”

“The day before my family arrives. Not ideal timing, but couldn’t really say no to more experience.”

“You still shadowing Gus Montoya?”

“Yeah, he’s been in the trade since he was 16, and he’s one of the best in the business now. I thought I should be involved before we start buying the new Santa Gertrudis and Longhorns for this place next year.”

“The paddocks are gonna be in these lower fields here, right?” Javier gestured towards a recently cleared stretch of land with the newly installed gate separating it from the ranch next door.

“Yes. It’ll be easier to move everything back and forth without disturbing the other fields. Then, once the new herd’s settled in, we can expand the stables, get in some more Morgans and Quarter Horses. Maybe diversify the cover crops for next winter.”

“Sounds good.” An unseen smile had spread across Javier’s face, the novelty of listening to Horacio talk ranch business not having worn off yet. All those years he tuned out whenever his Pops did the same, yet he never tired of hearing Horacio’s plans.

“It keeps me out of trouble.”

“Shame.”

“That’s not until next year, though…” Horacio trailed off, his lips devouring Javier’s neck, nibbling until Javier wriggled in his hold.

“Well, we better make the most of this before your family arrives.”

Horacio hummed in agreement, his mouth still buried in Javier’s shoulder. “Especially as there’s a quick turnaround before New Year’s.”

“True. I take it Felipe and Juana are still okay to come?”

“I forgot to tell you – I spoke to him earlier. Juana’s feeling much better now the morning sickness has passed. And with Cali gone and FARC taking up more and more CNP resources in the jungle, it’s mostly turf wars between the smaller gangs in Medellín. So, Martínez authorised his leave, and they’re flying out on the 30th.”

“Glad to hear it. It’s all good on the Miami front as well. They arrive the same day, late afternoon, once Connie’s finished her shift and Steve’s picked Olivia up from his parents’ house.”

“Okay, good. So, everything’s sorted then.”

“Not quite…I still need to clean out the guesthouses. Don’t think our old one’s been done since the Navarro Vega family left.”

“At least it’s still getting used since we moved out.”

“Yeah, well, I guess someone always needs it. Especially with IIRIRA coming into force. So many more fucking deportations. So many people taking bigger risks ‘cos they've got no choice.” Javier exhaled harshly through his nose.

He ran his fingers over his moustache and chin, pressing his thumb into his jaw and resting his face in his hand. “It’s starting to feel like the old days again.”

“But it’s not, Javier. You’re on the other side of it all this time.”

“It’s not just the border, though, is it?”

“What isn’t?”

“Legislation that could have us arrested for fucking in the privacy of our own home.”

“We’ve always been careful.”

“We thought we were careful back in Colombia, Horacio. And look where that got us.”

Javier didn’t think about those days much anymore if he could help it. Neither man did, except on specific dates or bad days if they were unlucky. But it was hard to shake the sense of paranoia in light of what the laws of his own state had to say about his sex life. It wasn’t far-fetched to imagine someone like Mia Domínguez spying on them through a long lens, waiting to catch them out.

“True. There’ll always be a risk. But people like us have always existed under the radar. And we’ve been here over a year now, remember. Anyone who’s got a problem with us has already made their feelings perfectly clear. The rest either don’t know or don't give a fuck. Our story doesn’t have to end like the one you showed me in The New Yorker.”

“I know.”

Javier had been in two minds about whether to share it. But Horacio insisted he was the one to be read to for a change, preferring to hear the evocative imagery of the wild American landscape from the mouth of a Texan. The parallels were undoubtedly there between the glossy magazine pages and elements of their lives – but luckily, not all of it rang true for them.

“For a start, they were sheepherders from Wyoming,” Javier added with a tone of defiance.

“Exactly. Completely different.”

“Yep.” Javier exhaled loudly, his mind already returning to his previous stubborn thought. "But it’s the same government smoke and mirrors shit all over again. The same fucking hypocrisy. If it's not chasing people down the river or letting them die in the desert, it’s drug shipments they made easier to transport here in the first place. Or you’ve got couples like us crossing over looking for safety, only to run into fucking sodomy laws. It’s never gonna stop.”

It was the same sleight of hand tactics Javier had seen before. Legislation made thousands of miles away would claim to solve a problem whilst exacerbating it on the frontline. Whether it was drugs or human beings, they proved time and time again that they couldn’t be contained by a border or a statute book. Whether it was Border Patrol or the DEA, choppers would fly over the river at night, fruitlessly chasing traffickers despite the extra budget. If the usual border crossings were out of bounds, people would risk more remote or treacherous spots to try their luck.

It wasn’t unheard of for them to emerge from clusters of trees like the one they were sitting in now, drenched and shaking from the cold and dehydration. Or for Javier to be ready and waiting with towels, a change of clothes, a hot shower, or food and drink. Some would present themselves willingly to the authorities, others would disappear, never to be seen or heard from again. If anyone ever asked, Javier had seen and knew nothing.

“And neither are you. Look at all the people you’ve helped already. You might not be able to save everyone, but you’re making the difference you always wanted to make.”

Horacio coaxed Javier to face him again, cupping his jaw and rubbing a thumb over his stubbled cheek. “Estoy orgulloso de ti.” (I’m proud of you)

Javier closed his eyes, basking in Horacio’s touch and closing the gap between them. “Y yo de ti.” (And I of you)

Easy kisses followed – the kind that were grounding and familiar, safe and timeless.

They rode back to the cottage with only the moon and stars guiding the way. Horacio clasped Coco’s reins whilst Javier held onto his waist from behind, making the most of the idyllic evening spent alone. Because even here, they knew it couldn’t always be like this. But despite all that life would throw at them in the years to come, they would be there for each other, to grow and change, to sail in the same direction, even if not always in the same boat. To make peace with the past, to live in the present, and to look to the future on their own terms.

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

Burnt oranges and yellows filled the stone fireplace, the crackling of charred mesquite wood accompanying the dulcet tones of Elvis on the turntable. A fresh pine tree stood in the corner opposite a set of bookshelves, its white lights and a row of candles on the mantlepiece casting a soft glow across the lounge.

By next year, they would have to re-think the room's layout as the shelves were almost out of space. They had transferred all of their old books, records and tapes when they moved in – two poetry books in particular taking pride of place – which now sat alongside newly purchased or gifted titles from the likes of Fernando Vallejo, E.M. Forster, John Rechy, Gloria E. Anzaldúa, Alejo Durán, Linda Ronstadt, K.D. Lang, Vicente Fernández, Walt Whitman, Pedro Almodóvar and Gregg Araki. And no doubt there would be further additions to their collection on Christmas Day.

Luna was the sole canine guest tonight, her bond with Horacio somehow stronger again since Kira’s and Fuego’s arrival. Sol and Leo had grown increasingly fond of their new playmates in the last few months, so it was often the three of them in the cottage nowadays. Horacio hadn’t discussed it with Chucho, but he hoped she would stay with them permanently – and see out her retirement years – once the new cattle were in place.

She lay in her favourite chair, fast asleep with her head on the armrest and oblivious to their return home beyond a drowsy wag of the tail, before resuming her dreams.

“You had a good day, then?” Javier asked from the comfort of Horacio’s shoulder, their arms wrapped around each other as they gently swayed to the music.

Horacio let out a contented hum of approval, burying himself against Javier’s shirt, breathing all of him in. “It was perfect.”

“It was.”

“Although…I think there’s one thing missing.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“Your present.”

Javier’s chest shook, and something that sounded remarkably like “You fucker” was sworn against the crook of Horacio’s neck, followed by a sharp nip of the teeth.

“It’s only fair.” Horacio tried to keep an authoritative edge to his tone. But it was far from convincing when he ended up laughing as much as Javier.

“Actually…it’s only fair if you wear your hat too.” Another neck bite, accompanied this time by a trail of kisses along the open collar of Horacio’s red plaid shirt, shoving the bandana aside for easier access. “Deal?”

Horacio’s back arched involuntarily, the rumble threatening to escape from his throat tempered into an elongated sigh instead. Not much of a win, but he’d take it. “Deal.”

And so Javier fetched the Stetsons from the coat hook in the hallway whilst Horacio switched records once Elvis had finished.

Javier lowered Horacio’s hat into place, encouraging Horacio to do the same with his.

“Satisfied?” Javier asked once they resumed their embrace, the cumbia beats of Lucho Bermúdez now replacing Elvis.

Horacio’s fingers slid from Javier’s waist to the belt loops of his jeans, pulling him forward until their lips met and the brims of their hats jutted together. “I am now…cowboy.”

They let another vinyl play before undressing, every movement sensual and considered as they removed boots and unbuckled belts between slow, thorough kisses. With hats relegated to the couch for now, Javier untied the silk bandana from Horacio’s neck, teasing smooth fabric along the nape and tossing it to the floor, revealing faded tan lines from the unforgiving summer months. Buttons from their plaid shirts were next, followed by jeans and underwear, chestnut lost in charcoal as they stood bare in each other’s arms but for the silver and gold pendants.

Neither felt the need to give into temptation, not yet, at least. Instead, they put on another record and danced, hand in hand, skin against skin, soul against soul. Because they were never in a rush anymore; now they had all the time in the world. Now they were home.

#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

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onomatopagu-et-cie · 8 months

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Some other theories and observations, part 2

First impressions after re-reading DGM Some theories and observations, part 3 Notes on Link, part 1 & part 2

Have a nice week!! The end of summer is right around the corner and it’s still melting me…

(SPOILERS UP TO CH248!!!!)

▶ Bookmen’s « lineage »

Why was Lavi given 49 aliases/names when Bookman has none (at least, none that we know so far)? Does the name mark the apprenticeship? How does this even work? We know there are many Bookmen or sympathizers (just like Neah, actually) in DGM’s universe and they help each other when it’s needed, but we know so little about them!

Out of all the groups in the story, be it families or clans, the Bookmen are the only ones that the story specifically qualifies as a blood relationship, unlike the others. At the beginning of volume 13, Road uses ‘chisuji/血筋’ (lineage, blood relationship, descent ; the kanji for blood, 血, is a component of the word) to define the Bookmen:

The rest of the cast is defined with a clanic/familial notion that doesn’t specifically require a blood relationship:

➔ The Noahs are defined with ‘ichizoku’/一族 (family, relatives, household: ‘zoku’/族 is the kanji for tribe, clan, band, family). ➔ The Luberrier are also described by Lavi in the manga with 一族, but also with ‘ke’/家 (house, family), just like the Chang (I couldn’t find it for the Epstein, but it might also be ‘ke’), and ‘kazoku’/家族 (family, and as ichizoku, 族 is one of its components). ➔ When Luberrier qualifies Hevlaska’s crime against her own family/tribe (it’s highly probable she is a Luberrier herself), he uses ‘douzoku’/同族 and ‘ichizoku’.

The Bookmen stand out with this sole occurrence. I wonder what this really means, because the Bookmen were introduced as a group definitely not related by blood, formed through apprenticeship. And if I’m not mistaken, Hoshino even hinted at the importance of the Bookmen ties in one of her recent ig posts… ? It might even have a connexion to Lavi’s concealed eye, who knows!

▶ « Lavi »

In ch119, Lavi and Bookman have been associated with wheat or barley, overly present in the Campbell mansion landscape.

If Hoshino really pushes the wordplay between multiple languages, « spring » also refers to the coil or screw/helical shape in english, which is interesting since the recent chapters focus on the helix magic explained by……. Past!Allen!

(Lavi could also be a reference to 'la vie' which means 'the life' in French /jk idek at this point haha)

▶ past!Allen

(I’m thinking about that ‘past!Allen was a Bookman’ theory again haha)

Somehow after transplanting Neah’s memories in him, past!Allen became in the former’s eyes « a crazy puppet », as he said in volume 21. past!Allen was someone whose affiliation to the Innocence was beyond imaginable to Neah: once Neah learns his present self wishes to be an exorcist he deems him as his enemy. This is very poor reasoning, but the only characters revealed to have ‘sided’ with the Noah in the manga are Bookmen until the present war broke out or some time before. We also know Bookman lost one (or more) successor(s) before Lavi thanks to Sheril’s threats (« you don’t want to lose another successor again, right? »).

And the « again » is accentuated in the original version (the panels on the left):

When Tyki reports to Sheril what happened and Bookman overhears it, it’s as though he had prior knowledge from an unidentified source of what would trigger the history they were meant to record as Bookmen (the panels on the upper right). « An Innocence called Apocryphos… The departure of Allen Walker… » sounds as though he’s listing off ‘early signs’ finally announcing an important event is about to occur.

Could it be that someone/something had foreseen this? Or had already experienced this before them in another timeline or world? In addition to the ‘other world’ the Noah once lived in according to Cross, dream!Bookman insisting on the fact Bookmen live outside of the world (in ch119, the last panel on the bottom right), Allen and Lenalee’s dreams and the constant imagery of the world being nothing but a stage actors play on, it’s tempting to think there’s a timeline distortion/alternate universe or whatever plot line going on in this story.

It’s also interesting to note that for an unknown reason, Wisely interrupted Bookman’s questioning and refused to reveal whatever he read in his mind (eg. Road’s relationship to Neah), as Tyki reveals it in ch225:

▶ « Howard Link »

Compared to the third generation exorcists, who began as Crows just like Link, why is Link the only Crow to have a last name? If I’m not mistaken, Hoshino doesn’t use the Japanese naming order (family then given name) eg. Allen Walker, Cross Marian. So Link’s first name would be Howard.

In Link’s flashback in volume 21, Tewaku called him « Lin-niisama » (could this hold some significance in the manga later on?):

Was his first name Lin? I don’t believe Tewaku would call him by his last name as a child. If it’s the case, why would they swap his first and last name later? Or were the Crows ordered to call each other by their last names, since the flashback seems to happen when they became Crows? Is Link’s first name important somehow?

Before becoming a Crow, was his name Lin, not Link? Or was it just an affectionate nickname given by Tewaku? Where did Howard come from?

Or did they have no name at all or no name they could remember, like Red?

I was always under the impression that Link was his first name for some reason, I was a little silly haha

Aside from Tewaku, the only moment the third generations interacted with Link was when Goushi accidentally hurt Allen. Unlike Link, who calls them by their name, Goushi here mentions Link by his full name and title in quotation marks: « Inspector Howard Link ».

I don’t really know what to make of it. The formality would be pretty normal as their functions as Crows call for it, but it still seems weird to me as the 3rd generations call each other by their name.

Perhaps some distance gradually came to form between Link and them (eg. their training as Crows that seems really harsh and impersonal, or the influence of the Akuma cells)? (It also could be that Goushi was visually impaired, and recognized Link by his voice!)

Also when Tewaku cries for help, she asks for Madarao, Tokusa, Goushi and Kiredori but not Link.

▶ Artificial Exorcists Arc parallels

The artificial exorcists were, in retrospect, pseudo-Noahs created by the hands of humanity: they were given great regenerative abilities and a predestined role, to become exorcists in this war. The Order forced on them previous existences from which they would gain the ability to synchronize. But the memories of their previous lives threatened to overwhelm them, affecting their mind and senses, the Order would then deem them as ‘failures’. With the third generation, they intended to perpetuate these abilities for generations but Alma’s hatred was too deeply rooted.

There are also visual parallels between Kanda, Alma, Mana and Red/Neah:

Allen’s current situation also parallels Kanda’s past anguish with unknown memories flooding his head and the fact that both Alma and Mana were alive was hidden to them.

▶ Influence exerted through hands (TW: child abuse and domestic violence)

(Now I’m expecting a flashback from Link’s pov of the operation to instill Crow’s ability to cast magic with this kind of hand imagery, it would be interesting)

The hand is also accentuated in two other pages when Apocryphos attempts to merge with Allen:

There were also these panels in volume 27 (my stomach churned when I searched them again for this post)… The last two panels fill me with pure disgust, I turned these pages really fast because that was too much.

Hands can convey many messages and symbols like that in the way they’re framed, the ones above are drawn by Hoshino in a way that inspires horror and abuse.

In DGM, sometimes they’re a symbol of connection (eg. Allen and Suman, Johnny and Allen), sometimes a symbol of influence, control and violence.

Violence was also represented in other ways:

-> In Lenalee's past:

When Lenalee remembers her past, the Order and the Crow’s uniform is a symbol of her suffering: the personnel’s faces are obscured, contrasting with their outfits.

It’s the same when she remembers the experiments that forced victims into Fallen Ones. Their hand grasping the boy as well as the boy’s waving her are also highlighted. The profusion of the scientists and executives’s comments and orders, represented by bubbles gradually taking all the place, desensitized and disconnected to the cruelty of the experiments we see depicted behind it.

Luberrier’s figure in the page on the right is the only face with distinctive features she remembers, concentrating her fears.

(And ironically, Lenalee’s Dark Boots feel very heavy and could be a symbol of all her fears and hatred shackling her: they empower her but at the same time weigh her down emotionally. Her scene with the head nurse giving her her boots destroyed me ;;;;;;;;;;;;;)

In the Destruction of the Black Order arc, the ghost even forgot her name, but the memory of the experiments along with (supposedly) a Luberrier dragging her by force remain.

Luberrier and Link’s introduction in the manga also represent them with their teeth highlighted:

-> The experiments on Kanda and Alma were often visually associated to the Innocence and the Crow’s silhouettes. When Kanda and Alma are chased by Crows, the focus is on their hands: they emerge from the dark to cast binding spells. Just like Lenalee remembers Luberrier, Kanda remembers the horror of the experiment with Sirlins Epstein baring menacing teeth.

-> The cage which is also mentioned in the Lost Fragment of Snow novel:

I said it in a previous post, but the manga My Hero Academia also does it and it’s gutting. Hands are represented as vectors of both violence and sympathy/love.

(SPOILERS FOR THE WHOLE MHA SERIES!!!!!)

Three character arcs illustrate this poignantly: Eri and Overhaul, Tomura and All For One (he literally embodies this image as it’s part of his character design and powers), and the Todoroki family and Endeavor.

#dgm spoilers #dgm meta #d gray man #lavi bookman #allen walker #link howard #kanda yuu #alma karma #lenalee lee #my hero academia

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thatwordybirb · 2 months

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4, 8, 10, 16, 20, and 23 for the ask game :D ‼️‼️💥💥💥

Thank you kindly! Heck, hope the one I sent you made it through. >< Alright, let's see:

4. say something nice about a ship you don't ship (it can be another ship in your fandom, a mutual's OTP, etc)

Um... hm, off to a rough start there! I'm not super aware of ships I don't sail, to be honest! I guess... after wracking my brain for five minutes, I really cannot see Hawks and Endeavor from My Hero Academia together, but I will say this: there is one dedicated animatic artist on Youtube that makes it enjoyable to watch.

8. you hope more people will come to appreciate ___ (a ship, a trope, an episode, etc)

My immediate first thought was, erm, Nezunori - as in, Nezu and Toshinori, also from My Hero Academia. >///> I think I am literally one of only two people on the internet that has even thought of that ship. In the middle of writing a novel-length fic where that is one of the (many) focal relationships, and I'm really hoping people like it once I start posting chapters, even if they don't start sailing the ship themselves. Got the first 6 chapters done!

10. a blog (mutual or one you follow) that has made your fandom experience brighter

Well... yours, honestly! Your alt is the first fandom blog I came across after my many years of not engaging with fandom at all since... well, my experience with the latter-day MLP fandom soured. Your art responses to my silly and stupid little prompts meant a lot to me, and helped make this rediscovery of a forgotten side of myself a lot more fun.

16. a tiny detail in canon that you want more people to appreciate

Oof, also a tough one. I would have to say "everything about Tom Nook." There are Redd's overtly, ~flamingly~ homosexual passwords in Wild World, of course, that hint at their relationship (another novel-length fic I'm writing, have the first 13 chapters done). A lot of folks know about that, though. What I have in mind specifically is that I don't think anyone caught onto the fact that Tom Nook gives the player advice to never, ever, loan money to a friend... and the secondary fact that his only confirmed ex-friend is Sable, whose parents died when she was young and left her destitute and struggling for a lot of her life. Which paints a very tragic picture of poverty and money destroying Tom's relationship with his childhood best friend.

20. your very first fandom!

I think it was either Halo or Pokemon? They were around the same time in my life, but I thiiink it was Pokemon. Read so much fic and even joined the FFN forums for it!

23. the fandom you're curious about because of a mutual

Rainworld! @trashmammal69, that's thanks to you~! Apologies if it wasn't okay to @ you! Still need to actually set aside time to play it, though. My life keeps being on fire. x.x

Thanks again for sending this, and if my ask I sent you never made it through, let me know!

#me talking tag #ask game #personal #fandom

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allie-campbell-bradshaw · 5 months

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Chapter 13: Wait

A/N: I can’t lie, I am not the biggest fan of this Chapter! My writing seems choppy and I was cringing the whole time I was editing this. Maybe it’s the anxiety of writing in Bradley’s POV after Friday night…I’m not sure. I thought about doing away with it, but I felt it was crucial that we start to see Bredley’s determination in wooing Allie. Please know, other chapters are much better than this one! I mention this in my notes for every chapter, but just in case you missed it– I do not give permission for my work to be re-posted without credibility. If you do want to post this story to your page, please be sure that you tag my account or at least mention its original source in your post.

Also: This story is sequential…please go back and read my other chapters, in order, for the best results!

Again, thank you for being here and I hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: Swearing

Chapter 13: Wait

BRADLEY’S POV

I cleared my throat as everyone kept their gaze on me. Even the bartenders were staring at me as they wiped down the counters. The bar wasn’t as full as it was earlier in the night during my whole act, but there was still a considerable amount of military men there.

“Holy shit” I heard an upperclassman, who was sitting at the table next to me, mutter under his breath. I walked over to the piano, grabbed my aviators, and placed them over my eyes.

“Yeah,” I muttered under my breath as I strutted my way out of there, pursing my lips as though I was about to whistle, but nothing came out. I could only imagine what everyone was now saying in there, and what people were going to be told at the Academy.

I slid into my blue ford bronco and made my way back to campus. Javy, Emmett, and Natasha had plans to play poker in the recreation area. It didn’t interest me as much as going to Mission in Acton did, and now knowing what was destined to happen to me there, I’m glad I went!

Before I knew it, I was parked in the student lot. I opted to leave Allie’s sweater in the car to avoid any other rumors. The rec. was packed with students, mainly those under 21 that were too chicken shit to get fakes. Natasha, Javy, and Emmett all had one, and normally they would be down to go out, but apparently this poker game is a big deal! The winner gets a shit ton of money and lots of favors done for them until the next tournament. I walked over to the tables of students playing. Natasha and Emmett were still in, but Javy was standing behind Natasha’s chair, obviously out.

Emmett did a double take between his cards and me, landing his eyes on my own at the third glance, obviously taken aback by the fact that I was now here.

“You’re back early.” Natasha stated. It was true, when I went out to the bar, I would be gone until 1 or 2 in the morning. Today was different. Completely different.

“And you’ve seen some action.” Javy said, eyeing me up and down. That’s when I realized how uncomfortably cold I was as my soaked clothes were drying in the intensely air conditioned room. The adrenaline that I had from talking with Allie masked how uncomfortable I was by the damp clothes up until now.

“Only a little.” I responded to him. All of them looked at each other, making it obvious that they were predicting my actions earlier in the night.

“Allie?” Emmett questioned. I didn’t say anything. Instead, I slightly smirked, turned on my heels, and made my way to the door.

I didn’t see them behind me as I continued to walk, but I did hear the sound of two hands clasping together. In my mind, Emmett and Natasha were shaking hands, as if to congratulate each other on their accomplishments. An accomplishment of getting one for their good friends laid, which hadn’t happened yet, but one could only hope.

I smirked as I exited the rec. room, feeling the stares of students as I left.

***

“Now do you understand!” I panted, frustrated with having to explain myself a second time to this nurse that just wasn’t caring enough to listen to me. It was now Sunday morning, and just an hour ago, I realized that the napkin that contained Allie’s number had been ruined when we were in the water. I figured I would just go to the hospital and see if she was working. Just my luck, she wasn’t. So here I was, explaining myself to one of her co-workers, wanting so desperately for her to understand my plea and give me Allie’s number.

It wasn’t working. This woman was more frustrating and cold than Allie was, and that was saying a lot! She had her cold eyes sinking into me. Her expression was completely stone-cold. I rolled my eyes to the back of my head and let out a deep sigh before returning my eyes to hers. Her deep complexion and light pink scrubs were piercing. I didn’t know what it would take to get me through to this woman!

“So,” I said, taking a calm approach to see if she would let up, “Is there anything you can do for me”?

She just stared at me, her expression the same as it was these past 5 minutes. I’m not even sure she blinked.

I barged into the hospital, not even waiting for the sliding glass doors to open completely before I was fully in the lobby, noticing the two women at the receptionist desk.

I looked at them and gave a wave as I made my way to the doors that led to the right wing, knowing I would have more luck talking with one of her nurse friends than them.

“Hey, you can’t do that!” I heard one of them yell, but I didn’t care. I needed to get her number and I needed it now.

There was only 1 nurse at the nurses station. She had a dark complexion and pink scrubs on. She was wearing a white coat over her pink scrub shirt. The coat had pastel bears, bottles, and binkies on them. Thank God! A nice one. Her hair was up in a bun that was directly behind her head. “Hi!” I said to her, smiling brightly.

“How can I help you?” She said, seeming less friendly than I had imagined, but she was an older nurse, and I know how burnt out they get after doing this job for decades.

“I was wondering if you could give me the phone number of one of your nurses on staff.” I said, getting straight to the point.

This caused her to sit up straight, becoming more attentive to our conversation than before. She crossed her arms and held them tight to her chest. “And who may I ask is the nurse in question?” She asked, with a real attitude.

I hesitated for a moment, knowing full well how she was going to react when I said her name, “Allie Campbell”. I let it slip out, sooner than I would have liked.

She rolled her eyes to the back of her head and let her head fall slightly, before exiting our conversation by uncrossing her arms and going back to her laptop.

“Look, you don’t understand okay.” I snapped back, reaching over and shutting the screen of the laptop. She let out a deep sigh and looked at me, not saying anything, so I knew she would at least listen for a moment, “We had an…amazing time together on Friday night. And she left her number, but it got destroyed in my pocket when we were dancing in the moonlight in the water of Acton Cove”.

She had the biggest ‘what the fuck’ look on her face, not even knowing what to say. “So,” I said, reaching over and grabbing one of the pale yellow sticky notes that was at the front of the station, taking the liberty of also grabbing a pen as well before continuing, “I was wondering if you could write it down for me and just leave it on the desk and I can indiscreetly grab it from you. I won’t tell anybody.”

I looked at her with hopeful eyes but hers were just plain, expressionless, “Boy,” she said loudly, “Are you out of your damn mind!”

This took me by surprise. I thought nurses were supposed to be the friendliest people, doing anything they can to help their patients. Me. “Yes” I finally muttered, quietly, but loud enough that I knew she would hear.

We looked at each other for a moment, neither of us daring to move, “please” I whispered, it was more of a beg than anything…like an owner getting the neighborhood together to look for their lost puppy.

She didn’t budge, but shifted her body slightly, to show that she was growing frustrated. I looked down and nodded a little before looking back at her, “Then I’ll wait here until you leave and steal her file”.

Her eyes grew wide at my threat, and I immediately sunk into my insecurities, knowing full well that that was the wrong thing to say. “Then you must think I’m a damn fool if you believe I’m going to let you out of my sight for one second”.

“You’ll leave here eventually”, I said, matching her tone.

“I am 10 minutes into a 24 hour shift. I have a record of going 8 hours straight without using the bathroom, and lucky for you, I have an aid that comes and brings me my meals which I get the ‘privilege’ to enjoy at the nursing station so I can monitor the newbees that are hired here on base, and when I’m not here there are always 2 more nurses that are monitoring the area, to make sure moronic dipshits like you don’t steal any patient information…or in this case, employee information”.

I looked down, completely put in my place. She kept her stare on me as I thought about my next move, glancing over at the empty lobby, “I guess I’ll wait then.” I said to her, as I made my way to a chair in the lobby, plopping down and looking over at the nurse whom I just had the ‘pleasure’ of getting to know. She kept her eyes on me as the beige colored doors to the wing of the hospital closed between us. 24 hours. Here we go!

After sitting in the chair for some time, lost in thought, I glanced over at the clock behind my left shoulder, “9:15”. Fuck! It had only been 30 minutes.

I resumed my thoughts, thinking about the most random of things, letting my mind drift in whatever direction it wanted to go. No matter what I was thinking about, my thoughts always went to Allie.

Around 10:30, I approached a receptionist and asked for a paper and pen, doodling at my chair, making patterns of diamonds-shading in every other one. I filled 3 more papers with random shapes and patterns until the pen ran out of ink. After noticing the looks I got from the receptionists (obviously now filled in with what me and the Black nurse talked about), I didn’t dare approach them and ask for another pen.

It was now noon, and I was starting to wander around the waiting room. A few people had now occupied some of the other chairs, watching me like I was a crazy person. After a few minutes, I started to do some pushups. My goal was to be able to do 100 by the end of the year. I got to 36, easily, when I noticed some whispers of other people in the lobby, so I aborted my plan.

At 12:45, the nurse in pink came out to the waiting room, eyebrows raised but face still emotionless. I could tell she was surprised to have seen me still there. I looked at her with a “war-like” expression, making it clear that I was not giving up. She shook her head and rolled her eyes as she grabbed some clipboards from the receptionist desk and made her way back to her nursing station.

The two women at the desk must have felt bad for me, because after sitting around doing nothing for another hour and half, they put out a box of trinkets and toys. I found a paddleball game and decided to work on my motor skills with that. After about 45 minutes, I had mastered the objective and put it back in the box.

It was then that I excused myself to take a restroom break in the bathroom on the east side of the waiting room. When I came back out, I noticed there was a plate of food and glass of milk on the table. It was from King Hall, steak, potatoes, and mixed vegetables, all covered in brown gravy. I looked over at the receptionist desk, which was empty. It took me a second, but I finally managed to put the pieces together…realizing it was from the nurse that I talked to this morning. I accepted it gratefully and ate every bite, not noticing how hungry I actually was until the contents were melting on my tongue at the first bite.

The rest of the evening was spent people-watching. One man came into the emergency room with blood gushing from an injury on his stomach. The nurse in pink was one of the ones that ran over and tended to him, looking at me and taking notice of my presence on her way.

About 20 minutes later, she came back from the left wing and looked over at me, like the way a babysitter looks at a child that comes out of their room after bedtime. I hadn’t moved, determined to do this the right way. She had a look of doubt on her face as she walked back over to her station on the right wing. She examined her area and had a shocked/impressed expression on her face when she saw that nothing had been moved or manipulated. Truly, I didn’t even notice that the nurses station was unguarded and unoccupied until just now.

I gave her a smirk as the doors closed, making us drop our gaze on each other.

The lights eventually dimmed and I pulled a chair over so I could recline my legs. Before I knew it, I was waking up from my slumber. To my surprise, I found that my head was resting on a white pillow, and a fleece navy blanket had been placed over my lap. Damn Martha (I unofficially named her)!

I looked over at the clock. It was 2:00 in the morning, only 5 more hours to go!

I drifted off again and woke up to the sunlight shining brightly on my face. The doors to the right wing of the hospital opened and ‘Martha’ came out, carrying a black purse on her shoulder. I groggily looked over at the clock and saw that it was 6:00am. “They let you off early?” I asked her in a tone that was way too friendly to match our true relationship status.

“I gotta give it to you Bradshaw, I’m impressed”.

“How did you-” I was about to ask how she knew my name before I froze, assuming the answer to my own question. I’m sure everyone in this hospital knew my name.

I rubbed my eyes, feeling the soreness and stiffness radiating from my whole body. I made a face that was a mixture of exhaustion and pain as I moved my muscles around, adjusting from the uncomfortable position I was in.

“You’re maybe a little too good,” she said, smirking at me. “I’ll let Allie know you stopped by.”

I furrowed my eyebrows, my eyes still adjusting to the light. “Well, isn’t she coming”?

“She doesn’t work today. She isn’t a full-time staff member during the school year” Martha said as she made her way to the door.

“She isn’t-” I muttered to myself, realizing what that bitch Martha had just said. “Why didn’t you say something!” I yelled to her as she made her way out the door

“Have a good day!” She yelled back from outside, smirking as she turned the corner.

Are.

You.

Fucking.

Kidding.

Me.

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chattegeorgiana · 19 days

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Hey Chatte hope all is well! I saw your special Narusakra comic and your most recent post on IG showing off the Crown of the Sun for Sakura. Can’t wait to read & see how she gets there. I saw a lot of awesome pieces for NarSaukra day so I want to thank you and the rest of the community for keeping it alive.

I have been rereading Kaika and the chapters 11-13 so far are my favorite. I’m excited to how you are going to make the aliens/gods work and to be honest you have done a better than the canon. As for everyone’s favorite snake sanin I’m interested to how he ends in the plot. While personally I didn’t care for him be a “good” guy in canon in the present. He will always be a creature of habit and self serving. So I’m excited. Also a headcannon I thought of regarding him and Shina’s Gen. He would be interested Shina the most compared to the U twins probably feed up with Uchilas in general. Also given the fact that he probably shoot’s himself for overlooking Naruto and Sakura originally for the more polished product in Sauake. Shina also looking and sharing personality with Minmato would be funny because he would take as Minmato ghost coming back and trolling him. Best part is Shina would have no idea how much his presence would be triggering for him lol.

One last point it’s a little something I wanted to share with you. So I used to live in this suburb next to Newark NJ, USA and in Newark there is this section called Forest Hills. This neighborhood is famous for two reasons one is its old fashion mansions and Branch Brooke Park, which has over 5,000 Japanese cherry blossoms trees planted there. They have their own cherry blossoms festival and everything.

Hiii dear, welcome back again to my inbox!

Glad to hear you liked the NaruSaku special and Sakura's Crown of the Sun art.

To be honest, can't wait to get there myself. I have sooo many interesting ideas about how she gets it. Too many even, lol. I finally got to understand what other writers were meaning when they said you will get to discard some ideas at some point.

In the beginning I was like naa, I won't be doing that. But with time the ideas developed so much, that I see no other way than to drop a few from the beginning or better said, reform some of them to fit the new, updated idea lol.

Also thank you for your kind words. It is my pleasure, and many other artists, I'm sure, to keep the community alive.

After all, it's just pure love for them and that's it. We're free of the shackles of canon, so yay for us!

Now, to get back to Kaika.

First of all, thank you once again for your compliments! I'm so happy to see you liked what - at least - I'm trying to do there with the Otsutsukis.

I believe that the idea with them was not bad. It's the execution that's problematic, imo. That's why I tried to take a different route with them, while still referencing the canon element. I will be referencing a lot of elements from the OG franchise, because I do like the idea. I just don't like the execution.

As for Orochimaru well... We have a here saying in my country that says the wolf changes its fur, but not its habits.

What I can say is that, that's what I'll follow. Narratively as well.

Because like you said, deep down, he's a creature of habit. Habits are our second nature. That's why it's not that easy to change one self and you first gotta change your habits.

In OG it is shown to us that Oro didn't actually changed his habits at all, he is just being let loose. Which narratively makes so little sense?

You tell me that the man who basically put in motion everything that we've been witnessing along the path of Naruto manga, is just going to be left to do whatever he wants because... he's a necessary evil?

That's not how you act with the necessary evil. You don't let it loose and just barely keep him under supervision, imo.

If anything, he's a "joker" type of character. You never know when he's gonna pop off the box to scare ya away with some machiavellian ploy.

As for your headcanon of him and Shina, well, there is a common element in there that we have. I can't say that he's fed-up with the Uchihas (after all, Uchihas were his obsession), but...

I have a certain idea in mind about the path I have with him and him overlooking Naruto & Sakura's family, generally, because well, Sakura Haruno doesn't come from any prestigious clan that could benefit his pursuits, right?

And yet, surprise-surprise, the ones you least expect are the ones who get to bring the biggest turnarounds.

The thing is, I have two routes I want to take with him in terms of his eventual demise and I'm undecided on which side to go with, lol.

One involved him and Tsunade and was kinda dramatic, and the other one involves NaruSaku family, ironically. So I really don't know which way to go.

Because all this will be happening in Kaika Shinsei's timeline, which I am yet to settle.

I guess I'll see after I finish writing Saisei how things evolve until then, so that'll probably help me decide.

And WOOW, thank you so much for sharing that piece of info with me?! I ADORE cherry blossoms.

I grew-up with them and other types of blossoms, so for me, spring blossoms, especially cherry ones, are very special.

Actually the city where I moved has some parks filled with

I dream of travelling to Japan one day and live the original cherry blossoms season experience. But until then I enjoy the wanna-be one from here haha.

ANyway, thanks once again for the ask. Hope you have an amazing rest of your time today/tonight. <3

#kaika saiseik #kaika shinsei #kaika au #narusaku #orochimaru #shinachiku

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quitefair · 19 days

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Fanfiction Writer Questions!

Was tagged by the very lovely @optiwashere some time ago, and I've only just had the chance to sit down and take a crack at this!

Not gonna tag anybody, but if you read this and want to do it, consider yourself tagged!

(Also this is talking about a lot of fics that I've written but not published because well... that's just how it's been lmao...

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

13 at the moment. I’ve deleted a few things that I’m not entirely proud of/works that I’m planning on rewriting and improving upon.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

26,031 (my WIP folder has almost 100k words, if we want any comparison)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mainly Dragon Age! Although AO3 is misleading… I’ve only got 7 fics on there for Dragon Age. But these don’t include the ones I’ve deleted and also the literal hundreds of WIP documents in my writing folder. It’s become quite a problem. I’ve also been writing for Baldur’s Gate 3 a bit more recently, but those fics are on hold because of lack of time/motivation/the fact I’ve not finished the game yet and want to do my research and understand characterisation and plot better.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. a lesson in grief (T-rated, Vi/Caitlyn from Arcane) 2. slip away (G-rated Gen-fic from Hades 2020) 3. Names (G-rated Fenris/Female Hawke from Dragon Age) 4. Anxious Grief (T-rated, Cassandra Pentaghast/Male Cadash from Dragon Age) 5. Fear and Forgiveness (G-rated, Dorian Pavus/Male Adaar from Dragon Age)

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to! Every single comment I get is like fuel to my brain so I love and appreciate each one!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I think I did toy around with a fic where I left Hawke in the Fade. The process of getting into Fenris’ headspace during that was way too painful for me to continue.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of my fics tend towards happy endings, even if they pack a lot of angst in the body of em. Of the ones I’ve got published, I’d say Names.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I haven’t, but then again I post so rarely and sporadically so people forget I even exist huhu.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

… Yes… (and that’s all im gonna say)

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I’ve not written crossovers per se, I’m more of an AU kinda guy. Though there’s definitely an ancient story I wrote back when I was like 13 that had like, every single bit of media I’d ever loved merged into one, and the excuse was that I’d just read His Dark Materials and wanted my own universe where everything I loved existed at once. COMPLETELY self-indulgent shit.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I know…

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope! At least not that I know of.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Again no… I’ve not done a lot of stuff huhu!

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

It’s the one and only. The girls that live rent free in my head. The girls that deserve everything. (It’s Josephine Montilyet/my Inquisitor from Dragon Age Inquisition)

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

It’s the Dragon Age Inquisition rewrite I’ve been complaining about for the longest time. It’s become the pet project I keep poking at whenever I have the energy to. All my Tashak/Josephine fics are set within this, and honestly at this point, instead of making one large fic, I might as well just post the disjointed chapters separately even if they don’t make sense. I’ve got WIPs in the folder from 2016. It’s out of control.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I’d like to think I’m good at descriptive writing, at drawing the reader into the scene and pulling them along with the story.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I’m so bad at dialogue it’s not even funny. Also, my writing can tend towards too much rambling – I guess that’s just because it’s the way my brain works.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

The only other language I’m fluent in is Malay, and I really can’t imagine myself writing in that unless in very specific circumstances.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Dang, I think it was probably for BIONICLE. Way back when I was like, in secondary school.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Published? Names. There’s stuff in there I still feel jealous of, even today. Unpublished – a bunch of stuff for Aforementioned Dragon Age Rewrite. I should really post stuff from there at some point LMAO…

#meera talks #my writing #WAHOO ive been in a good mood and sorting out my writing folders...... its been getting me excited to publish stuff again #whether or not if happens.... we'll see!

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boots-with-the-fur-club · 30 days

Text

Decided to post the last two chapters of The Teenage Mutant Phantom of the Opera early! Enjoy!

Chapter 8.

@daboyau

Donnie throws himself into gaining information on days that he doesn’t have performances.

He has to sneak into the Hidden City library in order to do since he got banned for having too many overdue books, but nonetheless he still does so.

His main focus is the theatre itself.

When he told Usagi that he wouldn’t fill him in until he had proof it wasn’t really because he wanted to be sure, he just knew what he’d say.

Donnie has grown very fond of Usagi in the time they’ve spent together. Telling him his friend is probably a crazy, revenge seeking homeless orphan might make him upset.

The costume getting messed up clued Donnie in on the fact that the glaring he’s been feeling aimed at him is probably Leo’s doing.

He doesn’t leave the theatre because he lives there.

That’s the most likely explanation anyways.

He’s watching them and clearly getting jealous that Usagi is able to interact with Donnie a lot more than he is with him.

Despite how sure he is about it all, Donnie still wants tangible evidence before he gets to work in getting Leo going back home with him.

On one of the days off from performing, he looks into the previous owners of the theatre. It’s a short list, just the person who built it.

It was built 13 years ago after the original building exploded.

A laboratory.

He can hardly believe what he’s reading.

It all makes perfect sense.

His father must have escaped from the lab with them and accidentally left Leo behind to be found and raised by the creator of the theatre.

It brings about the question of why it’s owned now by a renting company instead of Leo’s guardian.

The answer, as he finds, is that she died five years ago.

He feels like such a terrible person for being excited that Leo wouldn’t be taken away from some other family.

It makes it a lot easier to be able to bring him home.

The next things he looks into is the blueprint of the building. There’s several inconsistencies on it, areas that have more room than they should if nothing is built in there.

There has to be secret pathways or rooms that Leo’s been using to hide in while there’s people around.

He just needs to find them and get a picture of proof that someone lives there and he can tell Usagi everything.

Then, after that, Usagi can help sway Leo to stop acting absolutely insane and see reason.

If that doesn’t work then a cattle prod and a mutant turtle sized bag will also do the trick.

He’ll need to search for the rooms during performance days to be safe. He’s already trying to get rid of him when there’s people around, finding his secrets all alone might cause him to disappear.

There’s no way he can let that happen, he can just imagine the way Mikey would draw his missing posters instead of using a real photo.

It’s as sad of a thought as it is frustrating to know he’d avoid using technology.

Donnie starts searching before every performance while using his days off to study what Leo has done to other people in the past as the phantom.

This allows him to avoid falling backdrops, cut through floorboards, broken sharp props, and another sandbag.

That one seemed lazy considering he used that already.

He can feel the anger brewing behind the scenes of each of these attacks but it doesn’t deter him in the slightest.

It’s definitely been getting to Usagi though.

Every near miss has been building up his fears and suspicion.

He approaches him after a performance where Donnie almost got taken out by a pillar that fell towards him.

“Donnie, this is getting way too out of hand. I’m worried that you’re going to get really hurt.”

“You should stop worrying. I’ve dodged everything so far and I’m close to being able to tell you what I’ve found out.” Donnie smiles at him proudly.

Usagi frowns and holds onto his own arm.

“I think I know it already.”

“You do?” Donnie raise an eyebrow.

Usagi sighs.

“Leo is the phantom. He’s getting revenge because he thinks we both messed up things for him on purpose. I didn’t want to believe it, but it’s way too much of a coincidence that you’re being targeted. I don’t know why he isn’t coming after me too, but there’s no other suspects.”

Donnie realizes Usagi isn’t aware of either of either of their feelings towards him. That makes him feel a little better since he thought he was just purposely avoiding addressing it.

“Regardless of if that is true or not, I’m still fine no matter what the phantom does. I only need a little longer anyways to get my evidence.”

“No, I can’t let it go on like this. It’s not right. If he is doing this then he has to come back here sometime and when he does I’m going to tell him that if he doesn’t stop, we can’t be-“

Donnie quickly covers his mouth with his hand and leans in.

“Not here. Let’s go to Run of the Mill.”

Usagi stares at him in surprise until Donnie pulls himself away in embarrassment.

“I am…..never doing that again, but what I said still stands.”

Usagi is completely confused but leaves with Donnie anyways.

From up above, Leo is filled with a severe case of the Caine instinct.

At the restaurant, Usagi and Donnie sit across from each other while waiting for their pizzas.

“Okay, I’m going to need you to avoid saying anything bad about Leo or even considering leaving him alone while we’re at the theatre.”

“You think he was listening in?“

“I have no doubt at this point.”

Usagi crosses his arms over his chest.

“I can’t believe how wrong I was about him.”

“Look, if I’m not taking the murder attempts personally you shouldn’t either.”

“Why aren’t you?”

“Because as attempts on my life go his have been pretty tame.”

Usagi moves his arms, placing his elbows on the table and putting his hands over his mouth and nose almost like he’s praying.

“I’m stuck between asking why there have been ones before this out of politeness while also knowing how close both that barista and I were to it.”

Donnie’s face heats up slightly.

Cute but mean, how his heart betrays him.

“I’m going to just cut to the chase. You will mess up my plan to take my brother home if he thinks you hate him.”

Usagi moves his hands away and looks down in guilt.

“I don’t hate him. I just hate what he’s doing.”

“Frankly if I was alone for 5 years I probably would have done the same thing.”

Usagi’s eyes snap back up.

“Excuse me?”

Donnie’s eyes dart away.

“Did you ever notice that Hueso is a skeleton named bone?”

“Donnie!”

Donnie sighs and looks back at him.

“Okay okay, I’ll fill you in just a little. I’m still finding evidence to prove things, but here’s my speculation.“ He explains what he learned days ago.

Usagi messes with his hands awkwardly.

“I knew he lost someone, but I never thought…..if you’re right, then he needs help. He has to leave the theatre for that time happen.”

Donnie smirks.

“That’s exactly what I’ve been intending to make him do, as you you shouldn’t know by now. I believe I’m close.”

“Is there anything else I can do to help?”

“Once I find his room, Leo will no doubt come after me. He’ll be so angry that he’ll show himself again. I need him to be even angrier so he shows himself to everyone though.”

“Why?”

“It’ll back him into enough of a corner where the theatre isn’t safe anymore. He’ll be at the maximum amount of anger which will make him make mistakes. It’ll be the perfect time to strike.”

“Where do I come in with that plan?”

Donnie whispers his idea to him, making Usagi’s eyes widen.

“If….if that’s what I have to do to make sure you’re both okay, I will.”

Donnie smiles.

“I have high confidence it’ll work.”

Hueso places their pizzas on the table.

“Ugh, I still can’t believe you like pineapple pizza.” Donnie looks at Usagi’s order in disgust.

“I know you have pineapple scented chapstick!”

“There’s a huge difference between smell and texture.”

Usagi glances down at the squirming toppings on Donnie’s pizza.

“Right….”

They eat and talk together, then say goodbye when they leave the restaurant afterwards.

The day after next, Donnie presses his hands against the wall that the blueprint says should hold nothing.

Another day of performance is another opportunity.

He’s hoping to find some kind of crack or opening to get a grip on.

It’s possible that Leo never uses the actual latch to get in and just relies on his portals so it might be even less obvious.

“Come on…..what’s that thing Mikey says when he really wants something? Oh universe, if this is meant to be, please let me find how to open this door.”

Mikey always mentioned saying it out loud speaks it into existence and the meant to be part makes him feel better if it doesn’t happen.

Donnie remembers how often he’d be in the shrine room saying that phrase about finding their brother.

Ironic that it was Mikey’s doing that led him here.

As illogical as it might be that is also why he’s trying this method. If it worked witch something as unlikely as this then maybe-

His hand finally catches on something.

One point for the universe.

He slides the wall open to a pitch black room.

Creepy.

He pulls out his phone and turns on the flashlight before going inside.

It’s clear that he finally found the main room Leo has been using.

There’s plenty of furniture, a filled trash can, plenty of sheet music, and tons of play pages.

His light then shines on a wall and he freezes.

An entire wall of rabbit pictures that were drawn on to make them look like Usagi.

The situation is more critical than he previously thought.

Would he hurt Usagi?

He needs to get back before something happens.

First though, he rips off some of the rabbit photos and leaves the door open before rushing off back to Usagi.

“Did you find anything?” Usagi asks as he sees him.

“I definitely found…..something. He is for sure living here.”

“Then we do what we talked about.”

Donnie clicks his tongue.

“Agree, but….”

“But what?”

“I think you deserve to know, but before I show you, you have to promise to stay calm.”

“I promise.”

Donnie hesitantly hands over one of the pictures

Usagi takes it and his ears droop in a mix of fear and shock.

“N-Now I see why you said that.”

“I know this is messed up, but he’s not in a right state of mind.”

Usagi stares at the picture more before folding it up and leaving it on a nearby table.

“This…..just proves he needs help…..I’m going to need some time away from him when this is over though.”

“I don’t blame you. I’ll take care of him in the meanwhile.” Donnie insists.

Usagi takes a breath.

“Thank you. For everything. I don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t here. I really appreciate you, Donnie.”

Donnie’s heart beats fast, especially knowing what they’re about to do.

“I promise that nothing is going to happen to you as long as I’m around.”

Usagi smiles and holds out his hand.

“Does that means you’re ready?”

Donnie quickly wipes his palm on his pant leg and then takes his hand.

“Absolutely.”

They can both feel some sense of being watched with intent as they make their way together.

The opera goes on as normal until a scene that normally just ends with them holding each other takes a turn.

Audience members gasp as they see them kiss.

It takes another turn.

Leo drops down besides them and tackles Donnie to the ground.

“I’m going to make you wish you were never mutated.”

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #2018 tmnt #rise of the tmnt #tmnt 2018 #rise fanfiction #tw obsessive love #tw obsessive behavior #tw obsession #tw obsessive thoughts #tw gaslighting #tw emotional manipulation #tw manipulation #tw stalking #leoichi #donsagi #the teenage mutant phantom of the opera

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meimi-haneoka · 2 years

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Cardcaptor Sakura Clear Card Chapter 64: Comments + JP-ENG translation differences

End of the month, it's time for another blog post about the latest chapter of Cardcaptor Sakura Clear Card!!

This month we deal with a very important chapter, the 64th: as the last chapter of the future volume 13, it was expected to be particularly wild and with a tremendous cliffhanger, and I have to say that on my end it has respected those two qualities quite nicely!!

It started with a super unexpected surprise, and it ended with the promise for a quite turbulent volume 14 (possibly the last one?). On the translation side, we didn’t have anything major this month scratch that there's actually one that might cause major confusion, and alas there are several parts that need to be clarified in order to not misunderstand the characters.

Before starting, of course, we'll give a little space to our regular feature, the GIF OF THE MONTH:

Hold on tight, cause we're about to get (some) answers in this chapter! Under the cut!

The color page

Rejoice, SyaoSaku fans! You've not only been blessed with a wonderful double color page last month, where our two lovebirds wore very nice outfits, but this month as well CLAMP decided to break any unspoken rule about the color pages (once again) and propose once more Sakura and Syaoran, this time in their outfits for the play!

Of course they had to be shown sooner or later, since CLAMP are always very attentive in showing the colors of the most important outfits, and I believe in the next chapters the attention will be shifted somewhere else, so I bet it was now or never!

The background text in the JP version reads:

Alice in Clockland The performance begins!!!

Everything screams that yes, we're finally, officially in the climax!

Very serious expressions for our two kids (Syaoran got way too much in character 😆), along with the omnipresent gears and clocks. I didn't expect Sakura's costume to be black and white, the presence of light blue is very limited so it's kinda hard to tell it's an Alice dress...but I guess we have a peculiar Alice here. I also didn't expect so much gold and gray for Syaoran! All in all, another stunning illustration with our power couple!

And now, onto the chapter itself!

Come on, Alice, let’s go

We start exactly from where we left last time, with the play continuing (no, we didn’t end up in a different world yet) and we immediately find out that Syaoran is on stage out of his own will!!

My son, what got into you?? 😂 Kidding aside, Tomoyo is reminiscing of when Syaoran told her himself the reasons for changing his mind (I guess only fools don’t change it): first, because he could see that Naoko would’ve preferred for the cat to actually appear on stage and not only as an image voiced over. Then, it would’ve made things easier for his classmates too, who wouldn’t need to spend their efforts in animating an image of a cat, and could’ve used that energy in other more fitting parts of the preparations. In fact, here we find our first slight difference in translation:

ENG: “And I think it’d be a bigger help to everyone else, too” JP: “We could use everyone’s efforts on many other different things”

By the way, Syaoran sounds so casual and colloquial in this scene, I’m not sure it fits his personality of a serious kid (too serious for his own good). I get a bit of dissonance and I can’t help but raise my eyebrows at the tone they decided him to have.

Anyway, last but not least…being on stage would’ve allowed Syaoran to always stay by Alice/Sakura’s side, should something ever happen. Tomoyo is reminiscing of this convo in backstage and I love her serious expression, cause she seems to have understood this isn’t a normal play…..in fact, Naoko praises her for the outstanding costumes she has produced, and here Tomoyo breaks the fourth wall by saying it’s the first time for her to dwell so much on the design of the costumes, as she gets the feeling “Alice in Clockland” is very….special. I say she broke the fourth wall because this is basically Mokona-sensei speaking through Tomoyo, as she’s really had a hard time coming up with the designs of the costumes for the two Alice of this play (as revealed by Mokona and Ohkawa themselves during a Twitter Space some months ago). She produced lots of drafts and Ohkawa kept rejecting them!

Now, I have to once again point out how the ENG translation makes Tomoyo sound as if she never put too much thought into her designs, something that sounds really offensive towards a character who worked so hard until now to make her most beloved person happy and protected through her costumes. No, it’s just that this time it was particularly difficult for her.

ENG: “I don’t think I’ve ever put so much thought into costume design before…” JP: “This is the first time I’ve been troubled this much with a (costume) design….”

Please, don’t do dirty to our Tomoyo-chan, K-USA. Moving on~

Kero and Suppy are watching the play hidden between the trees, with the yellow beast commenting on how “the brat sure is showing off” (well, he did put on a very cool act which feels so not Syaoran 😆), and Suppy wondering if it was Sakura who asked him to come on stage to keep the situation checked for anything out of place….which Kero agrees with, since all the involved parties are gathered here (In the ENG it’s “the gang” while Kero calls them “the actors” in Japanese), and they can even feel a faint aura of magic. They know something is about to come up, and Nakuru touches Yukito’s shoulder to signal silently that he needs to be prepared.

The play proceeds, I cackled so hard at Touya’s slightly irritated face when seeing Syaoran STILL showing off all his coolness on stage 😂 The Cat introduces himself to Alice, and I’m not sure why they decided to translate “Are you the Cat?” into “Was…was that you all along?”, but anyway….

The Cat tells Alice that he will only show her the way, but the one who will decide what to do and what not, where to go and where not, will be only her. And once she decided….that will shape her world. Pause pause pause. Take a step back, get out of the story for one moment and try to appreciate the message CLAMP is sending through this scene. I think it’s really beautiful.

In the play, all the choices Alice will make will shape the world she’s going to see. The analogy is perfectly applicable in real life too, as all the choices we make, all the steps we take in this or that direction, the things we DO and even those we DON’T do, shape OUR world. And you can be perfectly sure that even from now on, the outcome of this climax will be decided by all the parties actively playing in it.

The song starts playing again in the background, as the choir calls and encourages Alice to go on her journey, and there’s a difference in translation in the latter part of the song that makes it probably hard to understand what really happened there. So from this part of the lyrics on out:

ENG “The story of her choice… A story all for her… And the cat that will lead the way to her dreams.. Alice… Oh, Alice… Carry on. But know… You can never go back” JP “The story Alice will choose A story (made) for Alice The [Cat] will guide her And Alice's wish will be waiting for her ahead Alice... Come on, Alice.... Go forward.... And YOU CAN'T GO BACK ANYMORE”

You see, I’m not really sure if it’s clear enough in the ENG version because they translated the lyrics in a way that includes the last “You can’t go back anymore” as part of the song, but it isn’t like that. In a very creepy way worthy of the best horror movie, the Ominous Voice™ decided to intrude on the song at the worst possible moment. The proof is in that “Omae” (rude way to say “you”) that’s still unchanged. They would never use that in the song. This is the Ominous Voice™ Sakura is hearing, not the kids singing the song.

Translation issues aside, I was discussing with some friends that maybe we’re giving a more negative meaning to this “You can’t go back anymore” than necessary. Because if you think about it, plain and simple, this is really what happens once you make decisions for the sake of your wish. Maybe it’s just a general statement (but we remember how they portrayed it in the anime and it is undoubtedly creepy).

The Red Queen

Guided by the Cat, Alice finds her. The other main character of this play.

We see her from behind first, and you can really tell Mokona is pushing hard on the ominous and creepy flavour of this play. Not to mention, the gears that decorate the background in this scene are straight up the same gears that appeared in Sakura’s dreams ever since the beginning. Try comparing them. The mysterious person asks her why she’s here, and Alice can only realize that being here is making her heart ache.

The other person, played by Akiho, introduces herself as the Queen of this land, but when Alice asks her what’s her name, Akiho hesitates again. Yes, I don’t think this is part of the script. Because Akiho looks really pensive (and even a bit creepy here) when she gets to that part, and this is the second time it happens. Used to interpreting Clamp’s art language, I really think something is up with Akiho’s name. They never show her eyes when she hesitates. Yeah. But please can we take a second to appreciate how absolutely stunning Akiho looks in this outfit? Heels, a dark veil covering mysteriously her face, a big rose decorating her head, a victorian dress….she’s simply amazing in this dark-ish attire they dressed her in. It’s so uncommon to see her like that, and yet I find it totally fitting for her, as let’s be honest, darkness is part of her heart too. For what she went through in her childhood, and those memories will never go away. Those scars will heal, but they will always leave a mark on her. This is what makes Akiho, too, the person she is. And she’s perfectly fine like that. ….aaand let’s not go over the fact that her dress looks a tad too much similar to the one Sakura-hime wore when everything went to hell in TRC in the Tokyo Arc. Let’s not even consider that her veil really looks like a mourning veil (with her loved one being so close to his death). Or the fact that the gear decoration on the bodice is suspiciously similar to the gear decoration on her artifact dress. Nah. We won’t see those things and just proceed forward, rejoicing in the short but appreciated appearance of our Akiho.

Alice introduces herself to the Red Queen, and reaches her on top of the stairs, Cat following her shortly behind. The background in this scene seemingly changes, but as Sakura is reaching Akiho at the door shaped like a clock, the two literally disappear.

On the Other Side

That’s it, guys. The moment we all were waiting for. Let’s get the ball rolling.

And here I have, unfortunately, to point out a translation that I didn’t like at all: Syaoran, shocked, in the ENG version says “She’s gone!”, while in the JP version there isn’t a clear subject (with only the verb “disappeared”), but it really would make more sense if he said “THEY disappeared”, including Akiho too. Come on now, I get that Sakura is his girlfriend and all, but it’s really so offensive to Syaoran’s character to make him worry only about her and discard anyone else that was with her. As a dear friend on a Discord server rightfully said, “we don’t want people to assume that’s the kind of story this is”. It’s awful, to be honest. This is not what CCS is about and yes, even a slight line like this can contribute to warping things in an unwanted direction (as if they haven’t been doing the same with Kaito since day 1).

The gang in the audience doesn’t lose time, and Yukito activates his Moon Shrine powers immediately, seemingly summoning Yue (we can see his wings) and engulfing the entire school under his protective night barrier. His eyes turn into those of Yue too. As he does that, Touya blows all of us away with a single spell:

JP: “Oh, Time. Stop.”

Yes, my friends. Touya used his super secret new power and it’s time magic. Time magic! Let that sink in for a moment…

Time stops for everyone, unaware of anything, save for Suppy and Kero, and Yukito warns Syaoran right away: (yeah, another translation difference)

ENG: “We can’t keep time frozen forever out here, you know!” JP: “Our side (we) can only stop time for a short while”

Why. What happened here, that Yukito is sounding so f*cking rude to Syaoran??? Yeah, Yuki is warning Syaoran to hurry up and go because time won’t remain frozen for too long. But he’s doing it in an infinitely kinder way than what the ENG blurted out here. I just can’t see Yukito like this. And no, it’s not an effect of half-transforming into Yue, as his speech tone didn’t change into Yue’s one. It’s still Yukito, just a bit more confident. Moreover, he’s using the “this side/that side” that’s been used by Kaito all along. The “separation” between the two sides of this ordeal, that needs to be overcome at the end of the story, to spread the message of love and understanding that Cardcaptor Sakura always stood proudly for. Moreover, it is a way for Yukito to imply that he knows “that side” (Kaito) can stop time for longer, but they (“this side”) can only do this much.

Continuing with the chapter, Touya rudely (Yes, he’s being rude 😆) tells Syaoran to hurry up and go through the “portal”, and Syaoran yells “I’ll bring her back without fail!” (I think here it might be more forgivable to say “her” and not “them” even though we have no subject in JP, because Syaoran is making a promise to Touya with something that is very much related to him, his sister). Syaoran goes and the portal closes on itself, as Yukito informs us. I have to say, this scene reminded me HUGELY of the agitated moments at the end of the first chapter of TRC, where Syaoran left for another dimension in order to save Sakura-hime, and Touyuki creating together “an opening” for him to go saving her…. Also, I loved how big brother Touya put aside his natural competition with Syaoran, to entrust his precious sister to him. It was already shown in episode 09 of the Clear Card anime, and here his behavior coherently makes no exception. He knows Syaoran loves Sakura more than his own life and he’s dead serious when he makes a promise like that.

Nakuru funnily says that stopping time is quite a cheat, but Touya tells us how things actually are. And to do that, he’s reminiscing a talk he had with his mother, some time ago (apparently, from the outfit and what she says, it’s the same day she appeared to Fujitaka and told him the story of her and Lilie). They talked about Sakura getting involved in something strange again, her powers growing at worrying speed, and how she can now see things she couldn’t see before, because apparently her own fear of ghosts and such put a cap on the development of such capability. In my opinion, this is something Sakura did at a subconscious level, though. There was no conscious effort (especially cause before the Clow Book, she didn’t know she possessed powers). Well, now that “lid” has definitely popped off, because of her huge amount of powers. And if those powers grow uncontrollably any more than this, Sakura won’t be able to govern them anymore. Touya knows their mother has been worrying about this ever since Sakura was born. So they discuss the new ability he’s developed lately: of course Nadeshiko already knows about it, which is the ability to stop time for about 2 seconds. (Note: in the ENG version they failed to understand that the line correctly translated “You can stop time” was actually said by Nadeshiko, not Touya!! Nadeshiko was merely finishing off her son’s phrase, that’s all. She isn’t saying that she can stop time, it doesn’t make sense! As I always say, when in doubt look at the multiple layers of the story, the peculiar shape of the bubble is right there to indicate that it’s Nadeshiko speaking. Just as you can well recognize when Sakura or Syaoran are acting and when they’re actually speaking normally, since CLAMP took care in using different fonts for that. I’ll never get tired to say it, you can’t read and translate Clear Card properly taking in consideration only the script)

Touya asks her mother if he could use that power should anything happen to his sister. Nadeshiko, ENG: “Yes, in her time of need. But don’t do it alone.” Nadeshiko, JP: “You’ll be able to use it for an important moment. Together with another magic power”

And that’s when we find out that when Yukito puts an entire area under the protection of his barrier, Touya’s minimal powers get enhanced greatly and he can stop time for a longer while. Isn’t this just the power couple moment I guess Touyuki fans were waiting for? 😁 It’s very lovely to think that the power of one of them can amplify the other’s….I want to believe that it’s possible thanks to their great connection and feelings they have for eachother. Nakuru is surprised but can confirm that she can feel both their powers being greatly amplified by eachother (a nuance that was totally lost in the ENG translation), but that’s when Kero completely blows his cover by yelling “SO IT IS A CHEAT!” 😂😂😂 Touya tells both Suppy and Kero to come out cause he’s known about them all along, and explains that this isn’t simply a “cheat”, they’ve been training very hard to achieve that! And this, my friends, is probably one of the scenes people were looking forward to the most, cause it was weird that they kept pretending to not know, when everything was already out in the open at the end of the previous arc! 😂 Now Touya can officially be part of the magic discussions too, if they want, and we can see how his “relationship” with the guardian beast will be! 😆

The chapter ends with a huge cliffhanger about what will happen now that the group of the “veterans” (I call them like that) has been separated, and how could we close this chapter without a translation difference?

Yukito, ENG: “Besides, it seems we can only help her on this side of the door” Yukito, ENG: “It’s all up to the Cat now” Touya, ENG: “I’m sure we didn’t stop him, after all”

Yukito, JP: "But since it seems we cannot do anything at all 'to the other side' (Kaito)..." Yukito, JP: "If the Cat won't do his best...." Touya, JP: "We won't be able to stop him".

Touya and Yukito are using the nai to + darou form here, indicating “if this doesn’t happen, then…” in future tense. To be fair, though, the Spanish translation follows the ENG interpretation, while the French one interpreted it like me. So you have both interpretations here and can keep in consideration both of them.

Syaoran needs to absolutely work his best in order to stop Kaito, because both Yukito and Touya are well aware that they cannot do that. And it’s not only a matter of mere amount of magic. I’ve always had the impression that Touya somehow knows what’s tormenting Kaito and making him act like this, so that’s why he hasn’t taken more drastic measures earlier. In view of this, both of them know they do not hold the key necessary to stop Kaito. But Syaoran might have what it takes to start destroying the walls Kaito is using to barricade himself. Understanding. A small, first step into helping him. Cause then, we all know who will be the one giving him the final blow.

This is it guys, from next chapter (the first of the future volume 14) we’ll hopefully be on the other side. Or we’ll get more flashbacks in order to collect all the puzzle pieces missing from the new character’s backstories. Regardless, we’ll proceed forward, towards the end of Cardcaptor Sakura Clear Card, hopefully answering all the questions still up in the air. Surprisingly enough, we won’t even get a break! Chapter 65 will be out as normal schedule on August 1st / July 31st for the western fandom. The schedule is as follows:

July 31st, on Bookwalker, if things get back to normal, cause this month they’re super late (digital, ENG) August 1st, on Clamp-fans and Comic-days (digital, JP and other languages) August 3rd, on Nakayoshi (paper and digital, JP) I cannot wait to see who will be on the next color page. My bet: Akiho and Kaito! These two need a long overdue color spread together! And we need to see the color of their outfits!

Thank you for reading this commentary post and see you next time!!

#Card Captor Sakura #cardcaptor sakura #Clear card arc #CLAMP #ccsakura #ccs spoilers #chapter 64 #syaosaku #translation differences

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fuzzydreamin · 9 months

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Doing the Writer Bingo thing, considering myself tagged by @theartofblossoming because they said so

I got bingo twice!

Gonna tag @new-eyes-extra-colors @bokatan and @nukanaptime if yall haven't already done it - blank template is under the cut along with me talking about my answers and writing - feel free to ignore it if you want lol.

I don't actually have any of my fics public rn because I hid all of my old ones (they were HP and thats blech now), but I had... 13 fics, including a completed multichapter amongst a bunch of oneshots and abandoned starters, lol.

So I have had a Fanfiction.net account, but I never posted fic on there. I just read fic there. I also read fic on a bunch of other old sites that don't exist anymore and haven't for many years, but didn't have profiles on them. I don't even remember their names, I know some were primarily non-english sites that just happened to have some of their fics translated - some of the best fics honestly. I've only ever posted on Ao3 because it wasn't until I was basically done with highschool that I felt confident enough to write publicly.

Never had a wattpad phase. Never even read fics on it and I honestly click away if fic links lead there. I just don't like how it's set up.

My most popular oneshots were my two hard E rated smut fics, which rivaled by multi-chapter fic for a while but got overtaken by it while I wasn't looking, hah.

Some of the earliest writing I ever did was roleplay. I joined a Warrior Cats roleplay guild on the Neopets forum as a wee child. I didn't even know what Warriors was when I joined, I just wanted to play with cats. It introduced me to the series though, which became a big part of my life with reading and art. The roleplaying was fun for a bit but... well there were issues but I guess we were all kids. Didn't help that they were all American so I had to do weird hours to join events. I don't do a lot of roleplay overall, I've dipped my toes in again here and there but never anything dedicated. It's rather intimidating honestly.

I've never beta read anything or had a beta. I work entirely alone and prefer it that way. I just do it all myself and quadruple check everything and then freak out after posting and check again and again to pick up any small spelling mistakes that might've slipped past me.

Always been a nerd for researching. Sometimes I'll be researching something by my own whimsey and that'll become part of a fic after the fact, lol. I like when authors sprinkle in little bits of knowledge, and some of my favourite fics are ones that have me highlighting terms to look them up further.

I never actually had an outline for any of my old fics. I would just start typing up whatever came to mind at the time and post it when it felt ready. It's a miracle I finished a multichapter fic at all honestly. But I'd also be manic in my writing, being that I'd blast out one or even multiple chapters a day for a while and then randomly stop and not look at any of my fics for months or even years. I did begin to start fics with some outlines and collected thoughts later on, and I'm outlining so very much with my newer fic and not writing in a manic state anymore thanks to nearly a decade spent working on my mental health. I'm writing from a better place now, but I often look back at my old works and wonder if I haven't lost something over time due to the large break I took in creating, which is something that goes for my drawing too. Overall though I have a lot more hope for my future works being more planned/thought out and far superior to anything I've put out before - though I didn't get many complains on my old stuff, just a lot of very confused watchers who got overstuffed and then left in the lurch. Sorry.

The "anxiously waits for feedback" thing I think is something pretty much everyone feels when they put any work out there. I really get it with the immediate posting and having to double and triple check that I didn't misspell anything, or get something wrong, and that what I'm trying to say comes out clearly - as if people will point it out and laugh at me or something when I know they won't / haven't even had time to read it yet even though it's public. I've found it's best to just distance myself after posting and doing my doublecheck though, like just enjoying a game or an episode of something and trying to forget about it for a bit and avoid checking it too frequently. Like meditating, but with a distraction.

I have commissioned art for fics at least twice - but neither of the fics actually made it to the point were the art could be used. Oopsy. Was still fun getting the art.

So many unfinished and unpublished fics. I could probably complete that Danse/Butch smut oneshot I was doing back at new years...

"Editing and formatting is hell", I mean... I've mentioned my tendency to quadruple-billion-times check things twice now. This makes three.

Ideas in the middle of the night are the worst. I can't type shit out on my phone, it takes too long and I get frustrated (I'm also sleeping next to my partner and he'd question wtf I'm doing with a light on), and even if I try the ideas are already escaping like very agile moths. My condolence is that ideas that come when I'm half-asleep probably actually aren't that good anyway and just seem so to my sleep-addled self.

I don't need tea to write, but it definitely helps. That or an iced mocha. ... it's totally the effect of caffeine and sugar on the ADHD... I'll be bouncing up and down while I sit there but at least my fingers will be moving over the keys.

#fuzzy.post

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cheesybadgers · 1 year

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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

Read on AO3

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.

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

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.”

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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.

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a-swiss-and-a-spaniard · 6 months

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Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks for thinking of me @yoellglia ! I had fun reading your answers and even more so trying to answer myself :)

1. How many works do you have on A03?

Jeez, should I consider both of my accounts? Let's do it, why not.

I have 12 fics in total. 7 for Tennis RPF and 5 for the DC Universe.

2. What's your total A03 word count?

37,211 words combined. Ngl, I thought it would be less than that as there are only two multi-chaptered fics and the rest are one-shots. Hopefully, I'll add some more words in the upcoming months :)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently, I only write Tennis RPF. I've been toying with a few ideas for the Good Omens fandom, but I haven't opened a new doc yet. And I used to write for the DC Universe, but I haven't done that in ages.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

(I’m gonna keep this Tennis RPF only bc this blog is tennis themed)

Waking in the Night Light: Fedal share their first kiss in a parking lot.

A New Target: Fedal have sex in the locker room.

Moonlight in Paris: Rafa goes to Roger's hotel room.

Strawberry & Dulce de Leche: Roger and Rafa get ice cream.

Somewhere or Other: Fedal phone call.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes yes yes! At least I try to. Although more often than not I get the notification, reply in my head, then forget to actually write back, and I'm too embarrassed to answer if more than a week has gone by… so apologies for that. That doesn't mean I don’t appreciate every single comment I have ever gotten, they always make my day in fact.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Mmh… perhaps Moonlight in Paris. It's not angst per se but it does have an overall sense of uncertainty.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Strawberry & Dulce de Leche, definitely. Rafa's joy at the possibility of Roger going to his birthday party is everything.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No, thankfully. I’m glad I haven't unlocked that side of fandom yet.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do, but I consider myself a newbie at it (smut writers, pls teach me your ways).

Generally speaking, I prefer it when smut has a little plot. It doesn't have to be anything complicated or serious, I just need a bit of a story behind what's happening for it to feel more organic. I also like it when the focus is on the emotional aspect of it, though descriptive can be nice as well. And I don't mind wordy smut as longs as it doesn't mess with the flow.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Nope, and I'm not a big fan of those tbh

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Story time! Yes 💀 Although it wasn't the whole thing, just a fragment. The fic in question was None but the Lonely Heart for the DCEU. And I only found out bc a lovely person left a comment on my fic, letting me know what had happened and the link to the other fic. I checked and the writer had indeed literally copied and pasted one of my scenes, they'd just changed the names of the characters. So I reached out to the AO3 team and they took care of everything.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No. Stef and I had an idea for a Fedal fic, but who knows if we'll ever get to actually write it lol

14. What's your all time favourite ship?

I don't think I have one, really. I would say my main ones/the ones I keep coming back to are Fedal (Roger Federer/Rafael Nadal) and Superbat (Superman/Batman). Though right now I've been reading almost exclusively Ineffable Husbands (Aziraphale/Crowley), so it mostly depends on my hyperfixation at the time

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oof, that might be a Superbat (long) fic set post BvS, where resurrected Clark has lost his powers (and the sun seems to actually make him sick now), so Bruce helps him to get back on his feet and of course they fall in love in the process. I have the whole thing outlined, sheets of dialogues and a couple of scenes already fleshed out, but I took a break from the fandom bc it was draining me out. Idk, maybe one day I'll get back to it. I mean, never say never and all that, but it's looking highly improbable right now

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm good at setting the tone of scenes, be it fluffy, angsty, whatever.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I tend to write in long, long sentences. Seriously, you should see my drafts, sometimes a whole paragraph can be a single sentence. I don't know if it's due to my Spanish hard-wired brain or what, but I’m working on breaking things up a bit more.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I love it! But you need to make sure readers will still get the message through context, so I think it's best to stick to single words and/or common phrases. Unless, of course, you want to leave your character (and thus your readers) feeling confused.

I do it often when I’m writing Rafa and it's part of the reason I love writing him so much.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

DC Universe

20. Favourite fic you've written?

Tough question… can I say an unpublished one? I have this sort of introspection/character study of Domi, his struggles coming back on tour after the wrist injury and dealing with all the ups and downs. There's not a story to it per se, like I'm not trying to get him from A to B. It's just a dive into his mind, where it gets kinda dark real quick, and it's unlike what I usually go for in tennis fics (fluff), so I've been enjoying the challenge of getting out of my comfort zone there

#fic writing #tag game #about me

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lgg5989 · 2 years

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MavDad: Home For Good

A/N: The next installment of MavDad! Thank you to everyone for reading! As always please leave ideas for more chapters in the comments or send me an ask (I think those are turned on?)!

MavDad Masterlist

Also on Ao3!

---

For the third time that day Mav hung up the phone after calling his CO. They had been in a back and forth for the better part of a few hours. Mav was requesting a permanent position as a test pilot since his return to Top Gun did not go over well last time. His CO wouldn’t hear of ‘grounding’ the best pilot he has on active duty.

Mav was adamant in his need to be stationed stateside, “Sir, with respect, this is about more than just me. This is about my family and the fact that I almost left Bradley without a dad, again, sir,” Mav said, reminding his CO of the close call he had almost 9 months ago.

“Well Maverick, you have a distinguished flight record, there isn’t a reason they wouldn’t want you,” he sighed, “I still can’t believe I am doing this but report to Lemoore at the end of your scheduled leave. They have something new they have been requesting a pilot for.”

“Thank you, sir,” Mav said into the phone, disbelieving that he actually got what he had been wanting.

“So long Maverick, try not to piss any more Admiral’s off, yeah?” his CO said with a friendly laugh.

Mav chuckled, “I’ll do my worst, sir.”

Everything was going according to plan, he got the new posting, he’s going to be home more, now he and Carole just had to find a way to tell Brad.

—

If Mav was being honest with himself, this conversation could have gone a bit better. His plan went to shit because he was nervous to tell Brad the news. So in Mav style, he blurted it out over dinner that night.

“I requested a change of station,” Mav almost shouted, a whole two seconds after they sat down to eat.

Carole looked at him. Mav gave her a guilty look, he should have asked her about this before doing it, “I requested to be stationed stateside, they’ve transferred me to Lemoore, to be a test pilot.”

“Why did you request the change of station?” Brad asked.

“Well after what happened on the last deployment,” he sighed deeply, “There’s just too much at stake, I can’t ask you to risk losing a dad again.”

Brad locked eyes with Mav, “We don’t want to lose you either.”

“I know buddy, I know,” Mav sighed.

Carole took a deep breath before joining the conversation, “...Anddd, you and I are going to move there to be closer to Maverick.”

This was the part they were both worried about, Brad was 13 and had made some good friends at school. Starting a new school could be hard, especially if you were about to go to high school in a few months.

Brad furrowed his brow, confused, “Okay, I assumed that we would.”

Carole and Mav were surprised. Mav looked at him, “You’re not mad that you have to start at a new school?”

“No, we all get to be together, why would I be mad about that?” Brad said seriously.

“Well alright then, we are going to move in a few weeks once we find a house,” Mav told him.

“Okay, can I help pick the house?” Brad asked with a sly smile, “I want a big room.”

“Of course!” Carole said, “We can all look together.”

They finished dinner discussing what they all wanted in a house, where Brad would be going to school, and what Maverick would get to fly. Maybe the conversation didn’t go so poorly after all, Mav thought.

—

A few weeks into the hunt for a new house they came upon the perfect one. It was a three bedroom, two and a half bathroom beauty. The outside was red brick and the small bits of siding were painted a soft pastel blue. The bedrooms and full bathrooms were located upstairs, the downstairs was an open concept with a large living room and kitchen. The garage was plenty large for Carole’s car, Goose’s old Bronco, and Mav’s Kawasaki.

Carole and Mav got the loan from the bank and put the old house on the market. As the trio were packing up the old house, they all took a few moments the reminisce on the good times had there.

As Mav was packing his stuff up, he thought back to when Goose and Carole had bought the house before Bradley was born. He remembers racing over to meet them to see his nephew for the first time. Carrying Brad up the stairs to bed when he fell asleep on the couch. How him, Goose, and Carole would watch football on the Sundays they were on leave, kicking back and drinking beer. Seeing the picture Carole had taken of him and Brad in the backyard he thinks of the newer memories, the dinners spent together, teaching Brad baseball, hearing the piano through the house for the first time in years.

Carole sat on the porch swing, a steaming mug of tea warming her hands. Looking at the peeling white paint on the swing, she thought back to the quiet afternoons spent reading to Bradley, and how much nagging it took to finally get Goose to hang the damn thing all those years ago. He almost fell off the ladder he was using to hang it, she smiles at the memory. It makes her sad to leave their home, but just because they were leaving doesn’t mean the memories couldn’t come with them.

Bradley was enjoying one last afternoon on the swing set that his dad had built him. He thought back to learning how to play catch with Mav in the yard, the birthday parties his mom threw him, and the afternoons spent playing with his mom in the sun. He was going to miss this house, but maybe some change would be good for their family.

Once the last box was packed into the moving truck, and after saying goodbye to the house for the last time. The three of them piled into Goose’s Bronco, a few boxes stacked in the back, and headed towards their new home.

---

A/N: Tomorrow’s Chapter: A New School

#top gun fanfiction #top gun #top gun maverick #rooster top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #goose bradshaw #carole bradshaw #nick goose bradshaw #maverick mitchell #pete maverick mitchell

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tahanann · 2 years

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𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮

❝ To whoever finds these letters, I hope they reach you well ❞ ✎▫✧⭒....

Fandom: Hetalia Relationship: F/M Pairing: Alfred F. Jones (America) / (Female) Reader Chapter list: 00, 01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14 Also posted on: AO3, Wattpad, Quotev

Chapter 07: " invasion of privacy " ✎▫✧⭒…

Over the course of living in the home for six months, falling in love with someone she hasn't seen before was definitely something (Y/n) didn't see coming. To her, it was equivalent to e-dating, but with actual e-dating, the two parties were communicating in real-time. In the young woman's case, the two parties were centuries apart.

There was no one to actually talk to. Whenever she responded to Jones' questions, no one actually hears it. The walls do, but the walls aren't alive. She had been talking to herself and she had picked up that habit as she lived in her house.

Another morning dawned on the horizon. When the early hour of 10 arrived, an alarm was heard. The phone sang its song, but it was rather an annoyance to the sleeping young lady. Soft groans left (Y/n)'s mouth as she reached for her phone. It had been on the other side of her bed, underneath a pillow. Pulling it out, she taps the screen to stop the noise.

Slowly, her eyelids fluttered open and her lips arched into a frown. (Y/n) pushed herself up to a sitting position and gently rubs her eyes. She had work today, unfortunately. Stumbling out of her bed, she led herself to the bathroom to start her daily routine. She arrived back in her room afterward, her hands immediately reaching for a letter underneath her bed.

She sat on the bed and delicately opened the envelope.

"Good morning Jones," (Y/n) spoke, "I hope you had a good day while writing this letter."

Good morning sweetheart, How was your morning? Have you been eating well? Surely the food back at home is giving you enough nutrients to get you through the day. Hope the meals are good too. I think I've had an okay morning so far! The food's starting to taste bland now and it's giving me a hard time. I used to think it was okay a few months ago, but I'm back to a point where I'm starting to hate it. I suppose I can deal with it. It's the only thing that's good coming from this war. How are your friends back at home? Have they been treating you well? I hope they are. In recent days, I haven't been agreeing with my friends. I've already told them that I wanted to keep our relationship secret, but they keep asking about it. I know they're concerned about me and I appreciate it, I find it intrusive and they're kind of prying into my business. In fact, I had an argument with Charles the other day. I caught him looking through my things when I came back from the night shift. He probably thought I didn't come back until later. He was messing with the box where I usually keep my letters. I usually put all of them there before I send them out whenever I was free, or whenever the government was ready to send letters. He was reading some of them. He asked me about them and they were very personal. I had an argument about it with him, which was a first. I don't normally argue with my friends. If we were to, most of our arguments would have usually been pretty light. This one was serious. Charles said I was doing so much for a bitch that never writes to me back. They don't know you like I do. They don't understand. It's hard for them to. I know you're doing your best back at home and you must be very busy, which is why you never send me letters! I must be right about that babe! So, I took offense in him calling you a bitch. He called you useless and said that you weren't worth my time. I got so fucking mad that I socked him straight in the gut. How could he call you like that? It's unbelievable! This is why I wanted to keep our relationship a secret. I knew they were going to cause a racket. Now Charles sees me as some sort of idiot or a lunatic for sending you letters. I know James and Alex are in it too, they just never like confronting me about it. They have a hidden agenda, and I can tell you they've had it for a while, I just know it. I don't know what it is, though. I don't want to know. I'm too busy worrying about fighting this damn country. I care about you. I care about us. My duty is just as important though, sweetheart, so I hope you can understand why I don't want to press further. I told them off, saying that they don't have the right to look through my things. It'll take a while for me to forgive them. Don't worry sweetheart, I'll be ok! I'm just a bit of a downer right now since Charles did that. Sorry that the letter seems a bit more emotional than the last few letters I sent back at home, but I just needed an outlet to release my feelings. I hope you understand babe. You're always in my thoughts and I would do anything to protect your name. I'll write to you whenever I can. Sincerely your amazing future husband, A. F. J

Seeing the word sweetheart wasn't anything new for her. The switch from "babe" to "sweetheart" happened a few days ago, actually. Jones said that he wanted his letters to be more romantic, so instead of using babe, he switched to sweetheart. Occasionally though he would slip up and still manage to call her babe. She didn't mind it.

But there was another thing that came up in the recent letters.

Jones was right about his letters being more emotional than usual. A week or two ago, (Y/n) had noticed a pattern in his writing. The eager soldier was still there like he promised, but his writings feel disorganized. He was paranoid about his friends, his relationship. It was highly likely that the soldier's façade was starting to crack.

Jones contradicts himself sometimes. His mind is getting strained. It's obvious that he's having a hard time picking out what's actually going on and what is a figment of his imagination.

Although his paranoia was justifiable, he didn't have evidence to suspect James and Alex. If anything, Charles was the one that was straining their relationship.

The way the mystery soldier wanted to keep his relationship with his sweetheart made the young woman think. As much as she wanted to side with Jones, Charles did have a point. The man talked about how Jones' girlfriend didn't deserve to have him.

The young soldier was sweet, caring, and a bit overprotective of his girlfriend. He was only overprotective of her because he thought that he would lose her. It was clear that Jones always tried to mask his emotions within his letters. His feelings would sometimes overspill on his letters, and most of the letters became a rambling mess. The letters to his girlfriend were clearly a way for him to vent whatever he felt. He still worried about her too, even when he had so many problems on his back.

His girlfriend never deserved him, especially since she wasn't going to give him the attention he deserved.

A frown found itself on (Y/n)'s face as she sighed. Gently she brought the letter to her lips and pressed a gentle kiss. This was a newly acquired habit. It formed ever since she accepted her love for the soldier.

"I'm sorry Jones," the (h/c) haired woman mumbled, "Surely Charles had good intentions." She knew she did, but if for whatever reason Jones' spirit was roaming around her home, she made it seem like she was siding with him.

Delicately she placed the letter back in its envelope and placed it in the drawer. The first drawer had been filled with letters, so she had assigned a new letter container. Fortunately, it was the one underneath the first compartment. This made it easier for her to remember which were opened in the first six months and the new ones.

(Y/n) grabbed her bag, keys, and made her way downstairs where she prepared her lunch. She had a few leftovers from last night's dinner. She didn't want to throw it out so she just packed it for today. She put in a few snacks that came from Matthew and Felicia. She had grown to love them. Felicia's sister, Oriana, always knew how to make good tiramisu, so it was always a pleasure to pack them for lunch.

As for Matthew's snacks, he had a few French pastries. He said that his father always had a thing for cooking and it sort of carried over. Whenever possible, the Canadian would always make his way to her house just to share his snacks. The feelings were mutual, actually, as (Y/n) would share whatever she can.

The young woman left her home with everything she needed. She eventually made her way to work and stayed there until she was called for lunch.

Who else would call out to her but Felicia?

The Italian had already approached her and hugged her. The curious curl at the side of her head bounced as she squeezed (Y/n).

"I haven't seen you in a while, (Y/n)!" Felicia whined, "How are you?"

"You know that I'm always going to say that I'm ok," (Y/n) laughed, "Felicia we literally saw each other yesterday." Lightly she pats the brunette's arm, causing her to pull away.

"Yeah but that was yesterday though," the Italian woman responded.

She grabbed (Y/n)'s hand and gently pulled it. It was a silent request that the young woman knew too well. (Y/n) nodded and smiled at her friend. Immediately after that, she was pulled into the break room, with Felicia occasionally waving to her other coworkers.

No one could separate the two ever since Felicia has developed a weird habit of gravitating towards her. (Y/n) doesn't know why she was so eager to see her all the time. Hell, she didn't even know how she managed to attract Felicia. Her company was appreciated though and she loved being near the cheerful woman.

The two found themselves drifting to their usual spot, with the Italian in a hurry to eat. She placed her container of seafood pasta and immediately started digging in. (Y/n) watched her friend as she gobbled the food, her eyes widening. No matter how many times she's seen Felicia eat, she will always be surprised by how she manages to slurp up her pasta.

"Careful, you might choke. Wouldn't want you coming back to your girlfriend dead," (Y/n) joked as she pulled out her own lunch.

"Yeah but-" Felicia replied between bites, "this food is so good though...Claire made it for me."

"You say that to everything Claire makes," the (h/c)-haired woman rolled her eyes.

The young women shared laughs as they dined together. (Y/n) was there to make sure that Felicia comes home breathing and Felicia was there to keep (Y/n) company. They enjoyed being together, but sometimes Felicia's questions could be a little personal.

"Soooo...have you got someone in mind?" Felicia asked, munching on her chocolate, "I mean, you're so young, bella, surely you've gotten someone's attention!"

"Why are we talking about this in the lunchroom," (Y/n) sighed.

"Because I haven't asked you in a while! The last time I said it was a few months ago. A lot can happen in a few months you know? And! I haven't really caught up with you! I keep talking and blabbing about myself but I rarely get to hear about your side of the world." The young Italian woman frowned. Her bright auburn eyes stared down at her friend, studying her facial features.

It seemed fair for (Y/n) to talk about some of her life. She didn't like the fact that she's been keeping stuff from her friend. Although...she wasn't sure if she wanted to talk about Jones. If word got out that she had fallen in love with a dead soldier, it would be the end of her.

"I haven't really got anyone in mind," (Y/n) lied, "I just haven't really met anyone interesting."

"I know what I can do!" Felicia grinned, "What if I hook you up with my cousin, Flavio? He's real nice, that is, if you get past all that glitz and glamor he's always talking about."

(Y/n) arched a brow. "Flavio?" She's heard about him, but she doesn't know that much. "No, I'm okay Felicia." She smiled at the Italian.

"Doesn't it feel horrible feeling lonely though? I could really talk to him for you." The brunette tilted her head to the side.

"No, really, I'm okay!" (Y/n) waved her hands, trying to dismiss her friend's idea. "I don't think I'm ready for anything like that anyway."

Lies left her mouth. Ever since she started liking Jones, all she felt was the desire to be loved. (Y/n) knew that she was ready for love. She was just asking for it from the wrong guy. She can't help it. She can't just toss away her love for Jones for another man. It'll take a while for her to throw away the little crush she has on Jones.

Felicia didn't want to press further as she didn't want to make her friend uncomfortable. (Y/n) shifted the conversation away from her love life and focused more on Felicia and Claire's relationship. The Italian rambled on and on about her girlfriend. She boasts about her all the time and praises her cooking. Their conversation lasted long enough to end their lunch.

The women were rallied over by their boss to get back to work. (Y/n) stayed in her area for the remainder of the workday. When it was time to leave, she bid her goodbye to Felicia before going home. She pulled up on her driveway and sighed.

She was home again.

For the rest of the evening, (Y/n) spent by herself. She ate dinner, did her chores, and eventually drifted to her bedroom. There she laid on her bed staring at her blank ceiling. Many thoughts surfaced and bounced around the walls. Most of them were concerned about the conversation with Felicia.

She had done the right thing, right? If she had told Felicia about Jones, it would be nonstop for her. She would ask so many questions that (Y/n) has no truthful answers for. She hated lying to her friends, so to lie to Felicia stressed her out. It was for the better.

Just like Jones, she had to hide her feelings for him. She wasn't in a relationship with the soldier, since she knew that they weren't actually together.

That didn't stop her from thinking she was his sweetheart though.

She eventually drifted off to sleep to pass the night. When morning came, the weekend arrived with it. The young woman slept until she woke up around noon. Birds chirped outside her window and the sun's glaring rays passed through her blinds. Some were hitting her face, causing her to turn away.

The young woman had been on her phone for a while. The bed was too warm for her to leave. She could already tell that it was a bit chilly in her room. Nothing would move her except for her empty stomach. (Y/n) slid off the blanket and stood up.

She was right. It was cold in her room.

As much as she regretted standing up, she needed to eat.

(Y/n) mumbled to herself as she walked off, starting the low effort parts of her routine. She came back to her bedroom and grabbed the box. A small smile appeared on her face as she looked at the different letters. There are a lot more she had to go through. She was halfway there though. Just six more months of seeing Jones.

She wonders how it'll all turn out.

Delicately did she rip the envelope's edge and grabbed the pieces of paper inside. (Y/n) hummed softly as she put its outer shell on her bed.

"Good morning soldier," (Y/n) smiled, "What will you say today."

Good morning sweetheart, How have you been? I hope you're doing okay back at home. I'm kind of doing okay over here. I sprained my ankle pretty bad so I'm out of commission for a few days. I have to stay with the medics until I make a recovery and then it's back to the action. You might be asking how I got the sprain and I can assure you it's nothing serious. I just tripped and Alex and James helped me up. I appreciate that they've helped me, but, I have a hard time knowing if they did it with good intentions. They've been talking to Charles, you know. They talk to him more than me. I can't trust him. Not after what Charles did the other day. I know they're my friends, but I can't let my guard down around them anymore. Charles went ahead of them. I guess he still has a grudge against me. I don't even know what went wrong between all three of us. I'm thinking it was the fight. Anyway, it doesn't really matter with Charles. At least my legs haven't been blown off right? Unlike some of the soldiers here. They weren't as fortunate as me yesterday. Some of them get to go home after they've been shot and others couldn't walk anymore. Some of them didn't make it. I know some of the people that went home alive and dead. They were part of my unit. I know I'm not a commanding officer but I felt like I should have helped them. I kind of feel envious of them, for some reason. Maybe it's remorse? I don't know. The medics tell me that I shouldn't worry about it. I'll try not to, of course. I'll keep my chin up since I've got a job to do. I have to ensure victory for you and my country. I know you might be worried about me right now, but trust me babe I'll be okay. If it makes you feel any better, I'm writing this letter with a smile on my face. I'll be resting for a while. Stay healthy and safe back at home. I'll send letters home whenever I can. From, your future husband, A. F. J

The paranoia was still there and she doesn't think it'll die down any time soon. The comment about the other soldiers worried her as much too. She felt her stomach twist as she read that part again. It was obvious that the decline was happening. She was wondering if it's always been like this since day one.

Was the optimism a ruse?

She doesn't have solid evidence right now. Most of the letters she's opened in the past showed his optimism. He was even somewhat optimistic to be shooting enemies down, thinking that it'll make him a hero of some sort. He viewed himself as saving people from the enemies. He was doing something for his country, it was enough to fill a patriotic man with joy.

The woman can't assume anything right now.

(Y/n)'s lips arched to a frown as she placed the letter down.

"God I hope you're okay Jones," (Y/n) mumbled. She can't guarantee that he would be. She was placing a prayer for a man that wasn't alive.

"Your friends care about you. James and Alex had good intentions...I can assure you." She just hoped that the letters showed he was safe and back at home with a new significant other.

His current significant other, the one receiving the letters, didn't deserve him at all.

(Y/n) placed the letter in the drawer and hopped off of the bed. As much as her mind was bothered by Jones' current state of health, she still had something to do. It was going to be a lazy day today, but she had no more groceries.

She continued on to the rest of her day with thoughts of the soldier in her mind.

#hetalia #hetalia x reader #reader insert #hws x reader #aph america x reader #hws america x reader #x reader #fem reader #alfred f jones x reader

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