#blue 1 piece bathing suit

[swimsuitmanaic]

[piratesfromspace]

Just Like Old Times PART 2 (Price x Reader + poly141)

Pairing: Reader x Price + Reader x 141 Rated: Explicit Word count: 4.3k Summary: Some flirting, hot springs, a cosy cottage in the snow, and lots of sex Note: This is the part 2 I promise with lots of smut, enjoy!

Content: ex-military!fem!reader, mention of food & alcohol, smoking, praise kink, heavy smut, fivesome, oral, PiV, light ass play, overstimulation, dom/sub vibes, aftercare, fluff

MASTERLIST // PART 1

It doesn’t happen this very night, but the day after. 

The men are a little bit more rested after their long trek out in the open, and they are all very enthusiastic when you suggest a short hike to reach the hot springs hidden in a small valley just east of your cottage. It’s too remote from the touristy locations for random people to show up there, or for amateur hikers to stumble upon by accident. You’ll be alone and safe. And warm - most importantly. And it’s also a convenient opportunity to see them half naked. 

The hot springs are tucked against the side of a small glade, where the snow melts to reveal rocky arrangements forming shallow pools. Steam hovers above the clear water, signaling its warmth. The afternoon is sunny enough to make the snow gleam, painting a decor so pretty even the rugged men around you remark on it.

“Gosh lass, you didn’t lie when you told us about this place” Soap’s voice shakes you out of your contemplation. 

“Hope you don’t mind but I did not bring a bathing suit for our snow trip” Gaz is already stripping down, ready to dive into the steaming water. You take a beat too long to respond, mouth open at the vision of Gaz’s very naked and very ripped chest, muscles of his back rippling as he’s trying to remove his boots as quickly as he can. 

“Don’t you worry, she’s seen a lot worse back in the days”. It’s Price who comes to your rescue, a mischievous glint in his deep blue eyes fixed on your face. Warmth pricks at your cheeks - and it’s not because of the springs. It’s true though, you’ve seen quite a lot of men in all states of undress during your previous life. Missions after missions after training sessions after stays in the infirmary, you all tend to lose any sense of modesty. A body is a body after all. Just that. You repeat yourself as you undress as well - still, you intend on keeping the two-piece bathing suit you put on under your winter gear before leaving. You also try to keep your eyes down as the men strip and sink in one of the natural pools with satisfied grunts bordering on moans. Their sinful sounds don’t help with the warmth already creeping up your face. 

The steam covering the surface and the warping of the water does a good enough job at hiding the most intimate parts of their bodies. It’s not enough to hide how massive their bodies are though. You catch the glimpse of reddish or silvery scars on a muscular back or on a corded forearm. Dark hairs are dusted on the large pectorals of Price and Soap, while Gaz and Ghost are more smooth. 

Ghost has kept his usual facemask, even though he traded the skull mask for a printed balaclava, with a wider opening, framing doe-like brown eyes looking intently at you under blond lashes. He’s the biggest of them all - and it’s saying something considering Price and the two younger soldiers are far from small men - the level of the water had visibly raised when he lowered himself into the shallow pool. He beacons you with a nod of his head, and you finally muster enough courage to remove the last of your garment - except for your bathing suit - and join them in the water. They’re nice enough to not make any comment on your choice of covering yourself while they are shameless in their nudity.

The enveloping warmth of the spring is a blessing for your body, immediately soothing the goose bumps you got from the cold. You let yourself relax until the little waves are lapping at your nape, free of the hair you carefully tied up earlier. Your whole body goes slack as you take deep breaths, and close your eyes, sun rays lazily kissing the skin of your face. On your right, Price is doing the same, and when you readjust your posture, your arm brushes against his, and then your thigh touches his leg. You don’t move away though, you both stay like that for a moment, the joyful chatting of Soap and Gaz on the other side of the pool, a surprisingly relaxing background noise. The simple contact with his skin is warming you up from the inside, the memory of the kiss he gave you last night making you unconsciously squirm against him, clenching your thighs together. You’re feeling… hot. And the temperature of the water is not the only thing to blame. 

“Stop it, love.” the warning is uttered in a low gravelly voice, that does the exact contrary of what it was intended for. Liquid heat blooms between your legs as Price pairs his remark with a solid hand catching your right knee, immobilizing your whole leg. 

“Stop it, or I will be tempted to catch on all the time we missed.” It’s still a warning, but definitely not a threat, his voice goes gentler, almost sad at the last words. Fuck. That’s what did it a decade earlier, what made you cave in to your attraction for this man, the intoxicating mix of confidence - in his skills and authority - and vulnerability - emotions and kindness just bubbling under the surface. 

You can’t let this chance slip. Not again. Last night, you stopped at kissing, even though you wanted more, and you’ve been desperately horny since. You catch his hand on your knee, guiding it higher along your thigh, until it reaches the hem of your bathing suit. “What if I don’t mind it?” you whisper back, angling your body to better face him.

You can see the internal fight on Price’s face. 

“They will see” he mumbles, looking above your shoulders to the three men chatting just a few feets away. 

“I also don’t mind that…” you answer against the side of his head, pushing the words out before you chickens out  “... do you?”.

“I did not remember you to be such a menace” he chuckles darkly, before one arm snakes around your waist and lifts you up so you’re fully braced against his side. His other hand dips under the band of your bottom to cup your cunt. Your lips part around a gasp. His skin is somehow even hotter than the water. The hand on your back climbs until it clasps on your nape, bending your head in the crook of his neck, at a not-so-successful attempt at muffling your sounds. 

The captain waits for you to settle before he dips the pads of his fingers between your folds, grazing at your entrance where they meet the sirupy evidence of your desire. The tranquil water is not enough to wash away the sticky liquid, and Price takes advantage of it to glide effortlessly up your slit until he finds your aching clit. You stifle another gasp when he starts rubbing it in slow circles. 

“Quiet love” He squeezes your neck, trying to remind you of your surroundings - and especially of your audience. You don’t dare look behind you, but you can imagine how you look. For Price’s men, it must look like he has you in a tight hug, which is telling already. But if you start moaning on top of that, it’s not gonna look like a chaste hug for long. 

It’s difficult not to though, because the length of you is plastered against his formidable body, your tits pressed on his chest, he has you straddling one of his thighs, and you can feel his hard dick pulsing against your leg. Your teeth bite into your lower lip in an attempt at staying silent, and you would be scared to draw blood if you weren’t too far gone. Price’s fingers keep their pressure on your clit while he keeps you pinned to him with nowhere to go, and you know you’re not gonna last. Not when it feels so good to be in his arms, to feel his warm skin, and underneath it the strong muscles that keep you at his mercy. Not when he remembers exactly how to touch you to make you shiver in pleasure in mere seconds. Not when his most loyal men are probably looking at you from the other side of the pool. The idea that they might actually be, that they might understand what their Captain is doing to you, that they might even get hard at the view - you feel so dirty at admitting it, but it is what really makes you go over the edge. 

You come with a silent sob, biting into Price’s shoulder, until he redirects your mouth on his own. He kisses you with a hunger, a desperate thirst, like it pains him to want you this much. You answer with your own passion, careless in your display of affection for him. Low whistles and impressed Damn, captain erupt from the three other men. You part from Price with a chuckle, still not daring to look behind you. Until you feel someone gently tugging at your wrist. 

“Don’t keep her all to yourself Captain” Gaz beautiful eyes find yours, checking if you’re okay to follow him. You’re pretty sure he’s the only one to be able to snatch something from Price’s lap without too much trouble. John grumbles something that is lost in your soft laughs as Gaz brings you back with him near Soap and Ghost. 

“Now, tell us a story from your time with our Captain, I’m sure you have some funny ones!” he offers, and you comply, not minding the fact Gaz’s hand is still on your wrist, absentmindedly drawing circles in your skin with the tips of his calloused fingers.

❄️

You get back to the cottage just before sunset. The heater is still broken, but it’s a blessing in disguise, corelling you all into the living room, where the nice warmth of the fireplace makes for a mellow atmosphere. Soap has managed to find your stash of scotch, a vice you don’t indulge often in, but you still keep a few bottles at hand, to celebrate happy occasions or cushion hard news. You guess your reunion with Price is worth bringing those bottles out. 

The evening feels like one of those too-perfect fuzzy memories, made of laughter, comfort food and enough of the brown liquorous beverage to dull the last of your awkwardness around those newfound friends. Price has procured a cigar, spicy smoke weighing heavy on your senses. Someone has chosen a vinyl from your collection and turned on the old record player. Slow tempo music with suggestive lyrics. Gaz tugs you up from the ground, has you two sway along to the song - he moves his hips with a disconcerting easiness. You don’t really know what you’re doing, but he’s happy enough you follow him. You laugh in the dance, and he gets bolder, holding you closer with each new chorus. It drives you crazy.

Your earlier release at the hand of Price is long forgotten, and your whole body has been on fire since you came back from the hot springs. You can feel how embarrassingly wet you are, every little touch to move you out of the way in the kitchen, to lead you to your seat on the couch, every time they lay a finger on your waist, your arm, or even your face to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. Everything they do to you makes you go crazy with want. Of course Price is the bolder of them all, large palms holding your hips while you step on a chair to reach something high in your kitchen, kisses stolen in the corridor, hungry eyes following your every move. 

He might be guilty of teasing you to death, but the three others are not that innocent either. And Price is letting them. He’s very clearly allowing them to flirt, watching with a small smile as they make you laugh, as they make you crave their attention. Yes, guilty, they are all guilty. And you’re their very willing victim.

Your glass is still in hand, your eyes are half closed. Ghost and Soap are sitting side by side on your couch, bodies relaxed, eyes on you and Gaz. Simon’s balaclava is bunched up on his nose, still hiding a part of his face, but allowing him to sip on his - yours actually - scotch. He’s watching you dance like you’re the prettiest girl in the club, although his hand is possessively holding Soap’s knee. You noticed they were close, but you did not expect this open display of affection. It means they trust you to some extent. It flatters your ego, makes you balance your hips more boldly.

As the song comes to an end, Gaz has you in a tight embrace with your back against his firm chest, his hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin of your neck, his lips so close from your nape, you wish he would kiss you there already. It’s not calculated, more instinct than wit, but you tilt your head ever so slightly to the side, baring your neck to his mouth. It must be instinct from his part also, because he immediately takes the bait and lays a gentle kiss on the side of your neck. You leave out a shaky exhale at the sensation and sink a little more against him. He leaves another kiss, a little lower, going down where your neck meets your shoulder. And another one. It’s not about instinct anymore, it’s deliberate, it’s a clear choice. The gentle warmth of the alcohol, the smoke of the cigar, the tiredness of the afternoon spent in the water - it all makes your body pliant and your mind happily dizzy.

“Let us thank you for the stay, lovie” Kyle murmurs against the shell of your ear, his hands solid on your hips, leaving no doubt as to how they intend to thank you. The shock of his demand forces you to use your brain for a second. You kinda knew this was coming - you wished it too. But it’s one thing to fantasize about it, and another to live up to it. Your eyes fly open to Price, searching for his opinion on this. Not hard to guess he already had his word to say in the situation, but still. 

“Don’t look at me. It’s up to you darling.” His voice is thick, thicker than usual. “You can say no. At any time.” he adds, words carefully chosen. The fire in his eyes when you nod your consent matches the fire between your legs.

Price rises from his chair while Kyle stays glued to your back, holding you upright, like an offering to his Captain. John stands in front of you, locks eyes with you and takes a long inhale on his cigar. His hand catches your chin, and he bends toward you until his mouth is a hair away from yours. You willingly part your lips to let him breathe out the smoke in your lungs. You can’t take it all, and the smoke spills out, engulfs your field of view, drowning you in the smell you have learned to recognize as his. Something rich and spicy, heavy and masculine, powerful and his, his, his- 

Price takes advantage of the way the smoke makes you even dizzier to kiss you on the lips. A hungry kiss, mirroring the one he gave you when he had you in his lap earlier in the springs. Before you close your eyes to focus on the way his tongue is licking inside your mouth, you vaguely register Ghost getting up and taking the cigar from his captain’s hand to let it drop in the ashtray. You feel his giant presence, can feel him nuzzling at the top of your head, smelling your hair, fingers ghosting over your shoulder and upper arm. It’s becoming overwhelming very quickly to be surrounded by them, and if not for Gaz holding you upright against him, you’re not sure you would still be standing up. 

Simon’s fingers find their way down your arm, until he gently takes your hand. His hold is feather-light, leaving you the opportunity to retreat. It’s a stark contrast with the raw strength you know he’s capable of. Price reluctantly stops kissing you, his large palms still holding your jaw from both sides angling your face towards his lieutenant. He wouldn't want for you to miss the show of Simon’s tongue peeking from his rosy lips to give a little lick at the pad of your fingers. Once, then twice. He groans, content with the taste of your skin. A predator confirming he caught the right prey. Without any warming he engulfs two of your fingers in his mouth, and sucks on the digits like he’s trying to get to the marrow of your bones. But instead of sharp teeths, all you get is the strange feeling of warmth and wetness, the powerful swipe of his tongue - he’s the one shoving your hand in his mouth, yet you have the intuition the big bad wolf is just a lost pet looking for a master. You press your fingers on his tongue, and down, until your flesh is flush against his teeth, and you keep pressing. He has no choice but lowering down too, unless he risks hurting you. 

The hands of Price and Gaz on your body tighten ever so slightly, when Simon finally puts his knees on the floor. With just two fingers between his lips, you have managed to make the giant kneel at your feet. He’s gazing at you with glassy eyes, the black make-up fading on his skin making his blond lashes pop. 

Simon nuzzles against your legs, and despite him being on his knees, his impulse for action is still there. He pushes his face against your crotch, his balaclava is bunching up on his nose and the bump of the fabric is providing some nice friction against your clothed cunt. Definitely not enough to quench your desire, but it’s welcome. It’s visibly an offense to Ghost that you’re still wearing clothes, so while Price is taking your attention with passionate kisses, he removes your pants and panties, until you can feel the air against your tender flesh. You’re already dripping, you can feel it against your inner thigh.

That’s when Soap, who is behind Ghost, a hand under his balaclava, fisted in his hair, pushes his face against your weeping cunt. Simon gives your folds a broad lick, and you let a heavy sigh out on Price’s lips. Ghost is lapping at you without any shame, his wicked tongue goes everywhere, no inch of the delicate skin between your legs is free from his attention. You have to grasp at Price’s shirt to steady you, because you’re squirming from the delicious wet warmth on your cunt. Gaz is still behind you, supporting you upright. His hands have found their way on your ass, he’s playing with the supple flesh, fingers inching between your cheeks. 

“Can I touch you here?” he whispers, his breath hot on the shell of your ear, and you nod your consent without second thought. He lets his broad hands wander fully between your ass cheeks, thumbs gently petting at your hole. Each sensation is not entirely new, but layered like this, happening all at the same time - it’s so much, intoxicating in the best sense. Ghost tongue in your cunt is making sinful noises, and you’re drowning in it all, body fully shivering between all of them. You feel a knot tighten in your gut with alarming speed, and you come for the first time of the night, moaning against Price’s neck. 

Price sweeps you off wobbly legs, and places you delicately on one of the mattresses. After this first orgasm, the warmth of the fire with the softness of the many blankets makes for a divine sensation. 

“All good love? Wanna keep going?” John asks, his blue eyes set on your face, looking for any sign of discomfort or hesitation.

“Yes!” you answer with a fervor that makes the men chuckle.

“Wanna taste you too, hen” it’s Soap - he lies between your legs, folds them on your chest, so he can look at your cunt like it’s the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, before starting to lick, drinking the juices from your previous orgasm. He’s eating you messily but with enthusiasm, spending some time fucking you with his toungue, his thumb pressing on your clit. Your soft moans soon fill the air. It makes him bolder, and he goes even lower, his tongue licking at your puckered hole, not searching to go in, but feasting on every patch of skin he can find between your thighs.

Ghost is kneeling again, this time next to your head. He bends at the waist to kiss your mouth, making you taste yourself on his lips. He’s disciplined in the way he kisses you. After Price’s hunger, it’s a clear contrast. He makes you submit to his rhythm and is not afraid to make you feel the scrape of his teeth on your already swollen lips. He’s precise, sharp, calculated. Unlike you, he can’t be easily overwhelmed, and if you can coax a reaction out of him, it’s only because he lets you. 

Soap has you come on his tongue, and you don’t even have the time to let your legs go down before Price hoists them on his shoulders. An undignified little yelp escapes your lips in confusion and surprise that John is quick to sooth. 

“Shhh love, I’m here, you’re ok.” his gravelly voice making you so insanely hot that it has you clench on nothing. You’re not empty for long though. He fills you up in one slow inescapable move. It burns, but in a good way, a searing warmth seizing your whole body. The stretch is a lot. It has you clamp up on him, in a vicious reaction circle. 

“Fuck, you’re… a… lot.” you whimper, eyes shut to try and focus on relaxing.

“Don’t fight it” you recognize Ghost’s voice. “You’re doing great, bonnie” Soap echoes. “Breathe, gorgeous” Gaz adds. 

You open your eyes to see the three men in various states of undress, lounging on the mattresses around you both. Their gaze is fixed on you both, eager for the show you’re offering.

“Look at me, love.” John falls on his forearms, folding you in two. He cradles your face in his big palms, demanding for your full attention - the blue of his eyes is so dark, yet they are shining, like you’re watching a night sky full of stars. 

“You’re perfect. Your body is perfect. I know you can take it.” He punctuates his affirmation with a delicious rolling thrust of his hips, that has your lips part around a soft moan. 

“So let me make you feel good”

You can’t remember a single time in your life when you felt this good. This level of passion, not only from one person, but from four men. They take turns and team up to make you feel good. There are too many fingers and tongues on your body for you to count - sucking at your tits, leaving bruising kisses on your neck, hitting the most sensitive places inside of you, rubbing at your swollen clit. They discover they love giving a spank or two to your ass to hear you cry out in surprise then laugh and groan when the gentle heat of the blow reaches your cunt. They tie your wrists with a scarf for a minute, so you won’t disturb them in the very important task of finding out which one of them can make you come the fastest.

You love what they do to you, but you also want to please - want them to feel a tenth of the pleasure they offer. You follow the trail of hair on Soap’s belly with your mouth until you reach the tip of his cock. You ride Price until the muscles of your thighs give out. You swallow every drop of Gaz’s cum. You let Ghost come on your chest. 

“you’re taking me so well” “look at you, so pretty” “there you go, just like that, perfect" "you’re so good for us" 

You bask in their encouragement, let your brain short-circuit with their heady dirty talk, let your body go floaty, your limbs grow sore, let your flesh bruise under ravenous lips, let your skin get covered in sweat and spit and cum and your own wetness. The night is not young anymore when you shatter one last time on Price’s cock. He gently lay down your legs from his shoulders where they were perched. You don’t have any strength left in you to protest when Simon sits between your open legs to lick you clean for a couple minutes, ignoring your soft whines of overstimulation. It’s Gaz who comforts you, letting you know how good you’ve been, that you need to let them clean you up. He gently pets your hair while Simon and Johnny return with a damp clean cloth and try their best at cleaning your skin, before cleaning themselves. 

They help you into a warm hoodie - it’s so oversized it obviously belongs to one of them. They feed you pieces of dried fruit, tilt a cup of water to your lips, cuddle with you in front of the fireplace. The crackling of the fire is the background to their gentle chats and laughs, and the occasional muffled moans when Ghost keeps his lips on Soap’s neck. The view is sinful - those two men, built like Greek gods, half-naked, kissing each other - it would be enough to re-ignite your desire if you weren’t feeling so sore. And yet there’s something more than lust between them, something tender you guess they don’t show often. 

You eventually drift to sleep against Price, his body solid and warm by your side. Just like old times, you think just before he gently kisses your forehead - and you fall asleep understanding that maybe love has no fixed timeline.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I have never been so disoriented by a Victorian like I was by this 1890 home in Bedford, Pennsylvania. 5bds, 3ba, & an apt. over the garage- $497,500. You have to see this.

It does have gorgeous wood and brightly colored stained glass.

But, what is going on in the hall? Wood going every which way, a patterned floor, patterned ceiling, prisms of colored glass at different heights, sharp angles, mirrors, and then the hall narrows. Is this a funhouse?

I'm told that this is a radiator set, and now I see the valves. They all look plastic, though. I've never seen anything like this, and find them kind of awkward. Maybe if they weren't blue?

Let's get out of the hall. The living room is plain by comparison, and has beautifully arched doorways. There's the colorful glass, too.

The dining room is also very plain, but there are pocket doors and some more patterned woods around the windows.

The kitchen was remodeled and is relatively small.

A home office or homework room is off the living room and also has an entrance from the hall thru beautiful double doors.

The primary bedroom has a door to the balcony out front.

A hall closet goes right into the en-suite.

The long narrow shower room has a lovely antique reproduction double sink.

The secondary bedroom is quite large.

The en-suite is a standard 3 piece bath.

The stairs continue up to another level.

I'm going to guess that this is the tower, b/c I don't see anything else.

At the back of the house is a patio, a terrace, and a lovely garden.

There's the 2 car garage with the apt. above.

The 1 bd. apt. is very nice and according to the description, brings in $1200mo. rental income.

The hall and stairs to the apt.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/308-E-Penn-St-Bedford-PA-15522/2083137425_zpid/

[respectthepetty]

Addicted Heroin (Th) Cut Scenes and Colors - Episode 1

Apparently, the version of the first episode on YouTube is the edited, and the unedited version is twelve minutes longer, so we are missing THE WHOLE PLOT in the edited version. I found the unedited version the polite way (aka legal-ish) but it's unsubbed. However, I'm going to treat those unsubbed missing scenes like I did Pit Babe and let the colors and vibes guide me, so LET'S GO!

First cut scene:

The show starts in 2025, and Hero is getting dressed for a hella fancy blue party, but because I can't understand Thai only energy, I have no idea what the party is about but Hero seems annoyed. THEN, a man in a green suit shows up, but we don't see his face (but I know who it is because of colors!) and they begin to argue because Hero keeps trying to kiss him.

The fight goes from verbal to physical and they fall into the pool.

Which brings us to the past in 2018 where Hero emerges from his bath then goes to the testing center to be a jerk and rip up his test.

Second cut scene:

Hero goes to fuck up the wedding picture of his dad and his new stepmom with PAINT, but sees someone else got there first and scratched the hell out his stepmother's image. The person pops out of hiding, and starts fighting Hero. The other person is wearing a dark green hat and mask.

The other person gets the upper hand and escapes leaving Hero to face the police who have finally shown up because of the disturbance (which is why his dad is pissed in the next scene).

Third cut scene:

Pop(py) sneaks out of his house at night because his family doesn't know he leaves for work at night, but was worried Hero would rat him out in the next scene.

Fourth cut scene:

Pop has a grandmother (so fingers crossed she stays alive), but I *think* the father accidentally dyed Pop's school uniform when he was washing clothes, but Pop had to go out and buy another shirt goes out to get the grandmother's medicine, which is where he met his mom on the road in the next scene.

Fifth cut scene:

Right before the ending credits, we see the other person in his dark green hat from the fight scene in the act of destroying the wedding picture. During the fight, Hero snatched off his mask right before the other person ran away, but the person also dropped a knife (which is why the police thought Hero vandalized the picture since the knife was found by him). However, we get to see the real culprit and it's . . . POPPY! *Pikachu face*

But it seems like Hero is piecing together the puzzle too just like me . . .

BECAUSE THE BOYS ARE COLOR-CODED!

Hero with his blue heart behind his back is a Blue Boy and Pop with his green pencil and green pencil bag is a Green Guy, so it was obvious that the man in the green hat was Pop.

I already knew Tiger was a Yellow Yal because of his yellow watch and Only was a Pink Person because of his pink headphones.

Only even has a pink water bottle, so good for the youths staying hydrated, and the girl who likes him gives him a card with pink polka dots on it.

But Hero only writes with a blue pen.

And just like Only with his pink headphones, Hero left behind his blue headphones hanging on his computer screen and a blue chair when he ran away from home.

He even left a blue sticky note on his model hand that was flipping off his father when he left.

But maybe he gets his attitude because he was so loyal to his Blue Beauty mother who is wearing blue in the portrait in his room where she is holding him as a baby.

Even the product placement that Hero ends up buying is on his (blue) side.

It's not as easy to see as Hero's blueness, but Pop is a Green Guy because he has a green bracelet that Hero's eyes linger on.

And to add to @dribs-and-drabbles' simple joys in life, the soles of the shoes Hero buys him are green.

So although the boys hate each other, they are already unintentionally mixing their colors (the blue and green paint brushes in the jar of water).

As if the universe is trying to bring them together despite their differences.

I doubt I'll really get pink = love in the next episode, but the way these cut scenes took out entire pieces of the story, who knows what shenanigans I'm in for?!

And Pop already appeared in front of the pink bottles when Hero heard him singing his mom's song, so maybe Hero fell in love at that exact moment.

But as usual, I'll be here all season to track my color-coded boys in love because there is only one Green Guy Hero would push into a pool at a fancy blue party seven years after falling in love with him.

[beansprean]

beach episode when???

....you can really tell we're in hiatus, huh.

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Full body of the whole household standing on the beach at night. From left to right we have: Colin Robinson, dressed in a beige speedo, striped brown bucket hat, white socks, and leather sandals, smiling and holding the Nadja doll in the crook of his elbow. He is completely hairless. Dolly, Nadja, and Laszlo are dressed in matching vintage bathing suits, a black one piece with red polka dots at booty short length with a sweetheart neckline and thin shoulder straps. They also all have matching wedge shoes in the same color. Dolly has all her hair pulled up in a high bun with a pink flower tucked on the left side and is wearing a pink coverup. She is smiling easily in Colin's arms with her hinged knees pulled up daintily. Nadja stands with her hair in the same style, dark leg hair free to the wind, holding a clear green inner tube under her right arm and her left hand laced with Laszlo's. She looks excited to be back on a beach and is smiling, peeking over at her husband from the corner of her eye. Laszlo peeks back with a grin of his own, twirling a lacy parasol over his shoulder with his free hand. The neckline of his swimsuit shows off some moderate chest hair. His hair is up in a bun and he has a red kerchief tied gayly around his neck. Standing slightly in front is Nandor, hands on his hips, wearing what looks like either a wrestler's leotard or an extremely skimpy one piece swimsuit. Brick red, cut high in the leg and low at the chest to show off maximum body hair, of which there is a relative forest. He also has the same ring necklace and leather arm brace he wore to the gym along with knee high leather boots. On the far end is Guillermo, dressed in flipflops, plain blue swim trunks, and a white tee shirt. He has a soft cooler strapped over his shoulder and is holding an ornate long-handled feather fan in both hands, which he is flapping continuously by the side of Nandor's head. Nandor has a vaguely annoyed expression, hair blowing around and into his face, and says, "That is enough fanning, now, Guillermo." Guillermo, who is tomato-red and nervously looking everywhere except at his housemates, doesn't seem to hear.

2. Nandor, soaking wet and leaning over to squeeze out his hair with both hands, steps up next to Guillermo to ask "Guillermo, will you not get in the water?" He is surrounded by sparkles and Guillermo looks away with red cheeks and a pained smile, holding his hand up as if warding off the shine. He replies, "No, thank you. I'm good."

3a. Nandor shouts, "Nonsense!" and with a big fangy grin he tosses Guillermo up in the air, spinning towards the ocean. Guillermo, upside down in midair, looks understandably shocked. 3b. Close up on a big sploosh in the sea as Guillermo makes his landing, Nandor standing on the beach in the background with a big grin, hands proudly on his hips.

4a. Close up on Guillermo as he breaches the sea with a gasp, standing up in the waist-high water with his arms spread out in surprise, eyes wide and angry as he catches his breath. His white shirt is now see through and plastered to the skin of his belly and chest, dark nipples visible through the fabric. He shouts, "Nandor, what the fuck!!" 4b. Close up on Nandor in profile as he watches Guillermo heatedly from the beach, biting his lip with a small smile as his cheeks flush purple. Offscreen, Guillermo shouts "Wha- my glasses, where are my glasses?!" In the background, Nadja and Laszlo are reclined together on a towel under the parasol, watching Guillermo with mild interest. Laszlo has dug out a pair of opera glasses to see better. At their feet, Dolly is buried to her neck in sand with two large bucket-shaped sand boobs above her chest. On their far side is Colin, sitting cross-legged on the sand and slathering sunscreen uselessly over every exposed bit of skin. He grins over toward Guillermo and shouts back, "Looking good, Gizmo!" /end ID

[zuzuelectricbugaloo]

Crepic: Letters

Synopsis: What if Cross’s ‘secret admirer’ was none other than Epic, a scientist attempting to establish communication with alternate universes?

Rating: Teen (just in case because of swearing and the characters’ backstories)

Pairing: Cross/Epic

Word Count: 1,567

Chapter One: Dear Stranger,

There was a letter on Sans’s desk.

He paused at the sight of it. He usually didn’t get letters, most of the mail directed to XGaster from the King and Queen. The letters he did receive were usually from Frisk, the human prince. Frisk was his childhood best friend and would often write to him either for playdates or for casual conversation. Usually the latter consisted of him gushing endlessly over the spider monster in the Guard, Muffet.

Sans thought his obvious crush was adorable, and couldn’t help the twang of pity he felt for his human friend who remained in the body of a young child even as the monsters around him shed their stripes, unable to receive anything other than rejection for his apparent youth.

Addressed to “Anyone On The Other Side”. Quickly inspecting the letter and flipping it over with an inquisitive hum.

What a strange term. ‘Anyone on the other side’ of what? The fence? An allude to the ever classic joke of the chicken crossing the road?

Or…

Sans gasped.

Wowie! Could it be? He finally received his first fan mail as part of the Guard?!

He knew he looked too cool in his badass armor, and with this letter he (potentially) held within his hands definitive proof! At last, he would bathe in the shower of magnificent affection he deserved!

Any recognition of his character would always brighten his day. Especially when his father, XGaster, gave so little of it…

Sans eagerly and carefully began the meticulous process of removing his armor, dismantling the pieces one by one until they were nice and clean. Gingerly hanging it into its suit container in his closet, he picked up the letter and sat down, ripping it open with a phalange and slipping out the singular piece of paper from the inside. A small blue square the size of his thumb metacarpal slipped out of the envelope as well, falling onto his desktop with a tiny clink.

He dismissed the strange tile after a quick once over ensured it was not some kind of bug or malignant spyware and turned his attention back to the paper. Unfolding it, his eyelights began to read.

Testing, testing, 1 2 3

…Huh?

That was certainly an interesting choice for a starter sentence, though Sans had to admit it got brownie points from him for its ingenuity.

Whelp, here we go! Hopefully this spooky action at a distance doesn’t get me ghosted. It would really lift my spirits if this actually reached somebody, and if somebody wrote back.

Sans chuckled. Although he wasn’t sure what the writer meant by ‘spooky action’, he did appreciate solid puns and clever jokes.

Theoretically, if my math mathed right, this should arrive in an alternate re—

Written in black penned ink, whatever the other had written was scribbled out.

—whoops, can’t say that. If I am right then I’d kick off some kind of butterfly effect, knowing my rotten luck. Can’t have that. Anywho, if somebody does get this, do me a solid and write a letter back. Put the pod, the little thingy I’m sending over, inside the envelope when you’re done after you push the tiny button in the middle. And hopefully this’ll be a two-way trip and send it back.

If not, oh well. I tried. Ya miss all the shots you don’t take, amiright?

…My name’s not Frank, but I’ll be real with ya pal, I really do hope this works.

Laters gators, A Friendly, Far-Off Neighborhood Bruh

Sans flipped the letter over just to be sure that was it, and let out a small, perplexed noise. No further writings or any other strange devices. He picked up the pod and dangled it across his black-gloved fingers and gently tapped the letter in his other hand.

It wasn’t a letter of admiration he’d been hoping for, but it was a letter that had him no less intrigued. The casual, almost informal way the sender wrote, the purposeful witholdance of a name or address. All this, including the odd device he was currently running across his digits, he should probably take it to father and let him inspect it for himself before Sans did anything.

He felt himself whither a little inside after that contemplation. He could already picture the quiet, sullen disinterest. Maybe leaving with a curt remark that he is busy, or needs to resume his work. No, Sans should be a good soldier son and leave his father be while he thought about how to address his impromptu pen pal.

For starters with a pen or pencil, he thought, snickering at his internal quip. What would be the harm? He’d greet the mysterious author back, perhaps make his own joke, and hope the letter successfully reaches them since they implied it might not.

Sans couldn’t help but hope that it did work.

Frisk had been…distant, for quite some time now. The Royal Guardsman wasn’t sure what had happened, only knowing that ever since they were kids, there’s been this sadness in the human’s eyes, a contradiction of both sullen resignation and steely determination. The moments of time they spent together in joy farther and farther in between.

He missed his best friend.

He missed having a friend.

Mind made up, he opened his drawer up and searched for his favorite pen with the tacos decal that Papyrus had got him for his birthday and a piece of paper and unused envelope. Uncorking the cap, he set to work, pen scratching along the paper as he hastily wrote his reply, the scritches filling the silence of his empty room.

Elsewhere, the co-Royal Scientist idly spun around in his swivel chair, languidly kicking his feet in and out to repeat the cycle whenever his momentum slowed. The clock ticking by behind him echoing in the otherwise empty room. Machines of various designs hummed with electricity. The others had already gone home for the day, long discouraged by the same unsatisfactory experiments depicting the same depressive results.

The Barrier was unbreakable. No one monster, let alone all of Monsterkind, could escape.

While the others including his dear old man (ugh, gross, just jokingly saying that gave him the ick) sought the comfort of whatever idle fancy they desired outside of work, Sans preferred anywhere that wasn’t there. Under the same roof with the same cold, aloof man he had the sincere displeasure of calling ‘father’.

And he couldn’t help but stay and hope that his gambit paid off. He didn’t care all too much about saving the Underground. Gaster’s metaphorical heart was as dark and cold as the prison all of monsterkind found themselves entrapped in. He’d fought long and hard his entire life to make sure none of that darkness ever put out the bright light of his younger brother.

If he was right, if this worked, he could get him and his brother onto the Surface. And potentially, eventually, all of the Underground.

A soft buzzing hum of static. Probably one of the appliances, he mused. When did they last get that fridge checked out? He’d make a note of it.

Instead of trying to get everybody out all at once and failing, Sans would do it one by one and succeed.

If this worked, that is.

It had been months. Who knew if he was even successful?

Then again, who knew if time was constant for every individual universe? For all he knew, his message could’ve gotten lost in the stone ages. Although it would be the coolest thing ever if he could ride a T-Rex, Flintstones style.

He spins around, practically slouching completely back onto the swivel chair. There’s the wall again. The fridge. Gaster’s creepy as all hell determination extraction machine. The wall. His desk. Fridge. Wall. Creepy doohickey. Wall. Letter on his desk—

Wait. Letter?

Sans sat up so fast he fell up and over his chair with a yelp. Landed flat on his face with his legs and lab coat over his head. Ever grateful no one was around to witness his embarrassing tumble he quickly stood back up to grab the envelope and rip it open with slightly trembling phalanges.

Dear Mystery Writer,

Receiving your letter was quite the pleasant surprise! I’m not sure what you meant by ‘spooky action at a distance’, but don’t worry, I don’t have any intention of leaving you at a dead end, and if you are open to it, would like to continue these messages. From what I’ve heard, nothing lifts the spirits like clever wordplay over the grave-vine.

Sans chuckled, tentative grin widening further. So they liked jokes too, huh?

If so, I can promise I’m not too boo-ring of a conversationalist.

Another small buff of laughter. Well, they sure did uphold their word. His crummy mood was all but gone now.

What do you say, mystery writer? Fr—

Scribbled out blurb for the rest of the word and the sentence continued.

Penpals?

Sincerely, A Magnificently Friendly Neighborhood Dude

Sans couldn’t believe it. He was right. He was right.

He’d successfully established communication with another universe. With someone from that alternate reality.

Holy multiversal theory, Batman!

Sans’s soul pounded in his Soul like a drum, joy unrestrained as he scoured his messy desk for an unused envelope and a blank piece of paper. He had a letter to write.

And a penpal to befriend.

[phantasmagorianfantasy]

Freak Next Door: Part 1

Read Part 2

Read Part 3

18+ only! Josh x OFC

Some Jon Bernthal goodness for a character I don't see a lot of fanfiction about. Sharp Stick was quite a movie, and those scenes now live rent free in my mind forever. Even if Josh was a loser.

Warnings: masturbation, voyeurism

@grippingbeskar This is YOUR fault. I am working on two different pieces right now, and you have been a muse. Thanks!

This is the first part I have written for a Sharp Stick fanfiction which will be inspired by this post by @chellestrash. I think Josh is pretty much a fuckboy of a character, but I would love to see someone torture him. In the fun ways. More to come ASAP - just getting my sea legs.

Comments welcome! Thank you!

Updated June 22nd

Josh stared open-mouthed out of the window. He had been doing this for days now - he'd wake up, say goodbye to his wife before she took the kids to daycare and climb back into the guest-room bed, sitting up against the headboard.

This window gave Josh a perfect view into his neighbor's bedroom. A room with a view, he mused.

After his last stunt with the babysitter, he was still in the dog house, and he had been relegated to the extra room on the opposite side of their home. Married, but in the same purgatory he had found himself in previously. Josh felt his heart clench as he thought about how that last affair had ended.

That wasn't his fault, though. There had been a lot of pressure on him, and with Heather the way she was... Still. He really hadn't meant for any of that to happen.

How long had it been? It must have been two years now.

Such a fuck up...he thought to himself, guilt filling every sense. In this moment, he even considered stopping, not going through with his new ritual, saving some sort of semblance of honor and decency for the mother of his children. But the memory of their first meeting always tugged him back into the filth and away from any honorable thought or intention.

Josh had first met her at a community barbecue down the street. He swallowed hard, running a hand lazily along his chest as he remembered her in that checkered blue and white bathing suit top, still wet from the pool. She had a smile that could dazzle, and he loved how her eyes crinkled at the sides when she threw her head back when she laughed. Josh remembered how he had unconsciously eyed the fabric clinging to her body, to every single curve.

Josh closed his eyes, thinking of the sweat that languidly dripped down her neck into the valley of her breasts as the sun shone gold through the wisps of her blond hair. He imagined himself running a tongue through that trail and a shudder ran through him.

Josh groaned, the self-depricating thoughts at war with the growing arousal in his stomach. That day... he remembered that woman's delicate fingers picking up a strawberry from the buffet table and sinking it in between her lips in a way he felt was meant for him. Her eyes were boring into him, this tight 30-year-old shamelessly making eye contact with him as her red lips pursed against the curve of the berry. Her eyes fluttered, rolling back as her teeth sank into the fruit. A small trail of juice had eeked out of the corner of her mouth. He had been halfway through raising a beer to his lips, and Yuri was blabbing away about his current hot piece, but that had stopped him in his tracks too.

'I said goddamn Josh, was she lookin' at you or me?' Yuri had nearly gasped these words out beside him. Josh hadn't known the answer.

His mind flipped back and forth from memory to reality, and Josh licked his lips, the memory of that damn barbecue sending an electric shock through his body. He pulled off his shirt, throwing it unceremoniously into a ball near the hamper. He bit his lip, waiting with trepedation and a little bit of guilt as he looked through the window into her bedroom.

From here, he could see her golden curls splayed on the sheets, her legs twisted in them. Josh dragged his hand from his neck down his own chest, his eyes closed for a moment, imagining her delicate hands following this very trail. His throat was so fucking dry as he tried to create what he imagined she would do...his finger tips barely putting pressure on his skin, alternating from petting to a slow, light draw of fingernails.

Josh felt his phone vibrate as the 10am alarm sounded. His eyes opened lazily as he sent the alarm into oblivion. She'd be waking up any second now. His eyes darted back, praising whatever diety allowed the bedroom a view straight into her bed.

His breath caught in his chest as he saw a pair of legs slide up. She was awake. He was thankful that the curtains allowed this small space where he could see her in bed. That woman always slept naked, and seeing her legs emerge sent a jolt straight to his growing arousal. He could see her hand lazily playing with the inside of her legs, and he imagined the murmurs she might make if his hands replaced hers. Josh stiffened, watching her sit up in bed. They were nearly facing one another, the distance seeming paradoxically close and yet so so far as he watched her fingers squeeze around her breast and then trail down her stomach to the curls below. He wondered if she tasted sweet like that strawberry, wondered how it would feel to have her grinding herself into his mouth as he cleaned the juices from her. He groaned softly, his hips rising slightly at the thought of being in between those legs, gripping her thick thighs.

Another whsipered moan escaped his lips, all thoughts of resistance chased away in a moment. He jerked his sweatpants down just above his knees and streched out his legs. He spat into his hand, pumping his length lazily a few times before turning his eyes back to her, who was mirroring him now, her back against her headboard and fingers slipping in and out of her.

He choked as his length pulsed, seeing her slowly raise her hips to meet her hand. He hoped that her eyes were closed, afraid of the consequences of her realizing his little fantasy. But Josh wanted nothing more than see her gaze cutting into him, burning him, making him squirm. His grip tightened, and he released a breath he had been holding in earnest.

Her lips were curled into a smile though slightly parted, and he watched her hand circling her clit. He moaned softly, watching her alternate between her clit and sliding a finger into her own folds. He could tell she was moaning from the way her chest rose and fell, by how her hips rose off the bed.

He looked down at himself for a moment, considering how it would look to have her fingers wrapped around his length. His grip tightened, and the pleasure was double edged. He continued to slide his hand in time with her motions, and his mouth hung open as he saw her plunge two fingers into herself. He could see everything, and the pressure building within him made his stomach tight. His grip was firm and deliberate. He was not rushing, yet.

God, she was beautiful. He praised her in his mind, his eyes locked on her hands and how her hips rose as she pumped her fingers. He felt his release on the horizon, and moaned softly as she continued her assault.

Josh felt his end approaching, the pre-cum leaking and mixing with his spit as his speed increased. He imagined what those breathy moans would sound like if he were the one sinking his digits into her, the one licking up and down her slit before taking her clit between is lips and sucking gently. He groaned again, his speed increasing as his eyes locked on her face.

He moved away from the headboard, his legs hanging off the side of the bed as he ached to get a closer look at her as he came. He felt a shot of panic run through him as their eyes made contact. He was unsure if she'd actually seen him until she too began to scoot away from her headboard and closer to the window, knees up and legs perched at the edge of the bed as she fucked herself for his eyes only. Her eyes were alternating from her own body to him, and her other hand slipping a pair of fingers into her mouth.

Josh gasped, imagining the filthy sounds he imagined she would make. His minstrations became erratic as the woman next door laid on her back, her hips bucking up as she fucked herself for him. He watched his cock jump, his hands tightening and releasing pressure as he considered how she would feel under him, panting and mewling. When his eyes returned to the window, she was leaning back on her elbows, looking straight back at him. Her fingers were still plunged inside her, and he watched as she pumped them quickly before her other hand joined in order to rub quickly against her bud. The quiet of the morning allowed the muffled sounds of her moans to drift into the room, and Josh groaned again, his insides twisting with pleasure. He watched as she threw her head back, thrusting into herself as her hips jumped forward.

He gasped, an "Oh fuck" escaped his lips before he threw his head back. He moaned as his cock throbbed in his hands, cumming over his own stomach. He felt his cum as it landed on the sweated sheen of his chest. He couldn't stop the grip of his hand, unrelenting as he came hard, even as the orgasm began to abate. He felt a little pathetic, hearing his own breathy moans as he fucked himself life a teenager. As he finished, he did feel the knots in his stomach release just slightly. Josh's eyes were momentarily fixed on the mess on himself, a feeling of slight shame and nervousness as he thought of how his eyes had locked with hers.

He didn't know if he should move, hide the evidence of what he had been doing as he watched her. He bit his lip and chanced a peek back up. She was looking straight at him, her mouth opened with a look of gasping elation.

Josh slowly threw his legs over the side of the guest bed and walked to the window, unable to take his eyes off the quivering mess in that beautiful woman's hands. He swallowed hard seeing the look in her eyes.

She didn't look completely satisfied, and the idea both thrilled and terrified him. He still hoped in the back of his mind that he was imagining her eyes boring into his. Perhaps she was just staring into space, overcome with pleasure like he had been.

However, his breath caught when she slowly slid off the bed and approached her window. The space between the houses couldn't be more than 30 feet, and he groaned as she raised a hand to wave, a playful grin spreading across her face.

Oh fuck.

[twisted-turtels]

Crossed Paths (Pt.7)

Author's note: My fingers hurt. Also if you say anything bad about my picture you're anti-black. I didn't make the rules. Also please ignore the amount of times i misspelled venetia. I though i had messed so i fixed it but to come to find out i was spelling it right the whole time lol.

5310 words

Crossed Paths

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Jordan slowly wakes up as she feels a light tap on her shoulder.

“Jordannn. Wake up,” she hears a soft voice whisper. God?

A Jordan lies, still hoping the person will leave; she feels an even more aggressive tap on her shoulder. 

“Jordan, get up. I brought you breakfast since you slept in late,” Farleigh laughs. With an annoyed groan, Jordan flips over to see Farleigh standing by her bed with a teasing grin. 

“Your food is on the nightstand. Also, change into a bathing suit when you’re done and meet us outside,” Farleigh states.

Jordan reaches over to grab her breakfast, noticing Farleigh still standing by her bed. 

“Why are you still here,” Jordan narrows her eyes playfully at Farleigh, taking a bite of her eggs.

Farleigh joins Jordan on her bed, “No reason,” he shrugs. Jordan nods her, “Mmm.”

She reaches up to touch Farleigh’s hair, “Braids look good. Did the durag stay on all night?”

“Nah, it was off by the time I woke up,” Farleigh laughs, “My head doesn’t hurt as bad as I thought it would, though.”

Jordan nods her head in understanding, “Yeah, I didn’t braid them as tight as I could, but I didn’t know how you would handle them though,” she takes a bite of her food, “If we’re going to be in a pool though you should put it back on.”

Farleigh looks at her with faux disgust, “Can you chew your food before you continue talking?” 

Jordan swallows her food before laughing, “My bad. Anyways, I’m done,” Jordan puts her food down as she begins to stand up, “I’ll see you at the pool?”

Farleigh stands to leave, “Yeah. Wear something cute,” he leaves before Jordan can throw her pillow at him. Jordan chuckles, shaking her head at Farleigh’s antics. I’ll wear something cute, alright. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jordan walks the halls, earbuds in her ear, pool bag in tow. As she’s walking, she also sees Oliver standing in the hallway. Jordan approaches Oliver, her tone neutral as she addresses him, “Oliver,” she yells out. Oliver turns around, noticing Jordan’s baby blue two-piece, “Hey, Jor-”

“Where’s the pool,” she asks, her expression showing little warmth towards him. 

“Well, Felix said we were meeting at the field,” Oliver points through one of the many large windows in the house, “over there.” Oliver continues to stare at Jordan with interest. Jordan nods in acknowledgement, before noticing him staring at her, “Do you like what you see, Ollie?” She quips, raising an eyebrow challengingly. Oliver silently nods as Jordan walks closer to him. She lightly touches one of the buttons on his shirt, a mischievous glint in her eyes. She places her hand on his chest, “Why is your heart beating so fast,” she asks with an innocent tilt of her head. 

Before Oliver can respond, she pulls away, “Lead the way,” she throws her hand out, indicating for him to proceed. 

Jordan follows behind Oliver as they make their way towards the field. Jordan listens to her music as she walks behind Oliver, not paying much attention to her surroundings; she looks up and notices Oliver speaking towards her, so she takes out an earbud, “What did you say,” she asks in confusion. 

“I was just asking how you like Saltburn,” Oliver states. Jordan thinks before answering, “I’m having fun,” she answers, “What about you,” she asks. Oliver is interrupted again as Jordan hears a familiar voice yell as they walk into a field, “Guys! Over here!” Felix yells. 

Jordan squints her eyes to see Felix, Venitia, and Farleigh lying in the tall grass. 

Her eyes widen in surprise, “Are y’all naked!” The group laughs, “We’re sunbathing,” They yell together. Jordan and Oliver walk closer to the group before Farleigh stops them, “No swimsuits allowed in the field,” he states. 

Jordan shrugs her shoulders and walks in front of Oliver, “Okay,” she yells before stripping off her clothes and skipping towards Farleigh. 

Damn, she looks good, they all think. Jordan lays next to Farleigh, book in hand, before taking a sip out of his bottle of wine, “Didn’t know you had an ass on you,” she jokingly states. 

“Yeah, the same can be said about you,” he replies. They both watch, amused, as Oliver takes his trunks off. Farleigh looks over his sunglasses as Jordan laughs in surprise.

“Well, well, well,” Farleigh states.

“Leave him alone,” Felix scolds. Farleigh points at Oliver, “But look at him. Good for you, Ollie,” he continues. 

He looks towards Jordan, “What a twist,” Farleigh states with a sly grin.

Oliver puts on his sunglasses and walks to the group with a confident smirk.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As days turned into weeks, Jordan quickly settled into life at Saltburn. Having no choice but to be around him, she has learned to tolerate Oliver’s presence. 

The group lounges at the pond, Jordan and Farleigh share a lounge chair together, Farleigh stroking his fingers through her braids while reading ‘Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows.’

“Do you think Harry, Hermione, and Ron all have threesomes,” Felix asks.

Jordan lightly laughs, “Oh, for sure.”

“Without a fucking doubt,” Farleigh agrees.

“You think they all fuck,” Felix wonders.

“They’re missing out if they don’t,” Farleigh quipped.

One such evening, they watched “The Ring” with the rest of the family. 

“Oh my god,” Venitia screams with fright. Jordan laughs as she watches the TV, unable to take the movie seriously. She throws herself on Oliver’s shoulder as they laugh at the scene before them. Farleigh shifts his gaze to them, jealously evident in his eyes. 

“Why is she wet,” Elspeth asks.

“Because she’s been down a well, Mum,” Felix yells in disbelief.

Jordan even got a chance to show off her tennis skills.

“No, I want Jordan on my team,” Farleigh complains, “You have Oliver,” he yells across the court.

Jordan looks up from her bottle of wine with wide eyes at the sound of her name.

“Why can’t I have her,” Venitia complains, sounding like a defeated child, “She was on your team last time.”

Jordan runs over and holds her hands to calm the group down, “Calm down. Calm down. There’s enough of me to go around,” She goes to Venitia’s side of the court, “But it is Venitia’s turn now,” Jordan shrugs.

“You have Oliver,” Jordan lightly pushes Oliver to Farleigh’s side of the court. Farleigh looks unamused as he throws his head back in protest.

“Oh, stop being a baby, Farleigh,” Oliver laughs while walking to his side of the court. 

“Shut up,” Farleigh retorts, voice laced with annoyance. 

“And remember, if you miss, you drink,” Jordan shouts as she takes a drag of her blunt.

“Keep score, Felix!”

And guess who won?

“Farleigh, love, you’re heavy. I can’t carry you,” Jordan says as she struggles to drag a drunk Farleigh to his room, “Help me out here,” she grunts. 

Farleigh responds with a drunken giggle, offering little assistance as he slings his arm around Jordan’s.

“Love? You’re not British, Jordy,” Farleigh states matter-of-factly.

Jordan rolls her eyes, “Should’ve made Felix bring you.” They make it to Farleigh’s room, and Jordan throws him on the bed with a grunt. Farleigh lays still before Jordan taps him, “Nuh-uh. Get up. Change into your PJs first before you go to sleep,” she commands. 

Farleigh complies with her command, albeit with some reluctance and a few drunken grumbles. He manages to change into his pajamas with Jordan’s assistance, stumbling slightly. Farleigh finally settles into bed, eyes dropping in exhaustion. 

“Thanks, Jordy,” Farleigh mumbles. 

“No problem, hun,” Jordan states before kissing Farleigh on the head and walking out the door. Jordan walks towards the kitchen to grab a snack before heading to her room, noticing Oliver also standing in the kitchen. 

“Hey, Oliver,” Jordan says out of courtesy, “I’m surprised you’re not as drunk as Farleigh was,” she lightly chuckles to herself. 

Oliver chuckles, “Yeah, I can handle my alcohol better than some,” he watches intently as Jordan walks over to the freezer to grab a pint of ice cream. As Jordan bends over to grab the ice cream, he admires her movements and how her braids fall over her shoulder. He clears his throat, trying to distract himself from his wandering thoughts.

Jordan goes to sit on one of the kitchen counters, “How are you doing…You know, ever since your dad died,” she asks bluntly while looking up at him. Oliver’s expression flickers momentarily, surprised by her sudden question, “Oh, I’m doing fine.”

Jordan nods, though her gaze remains probing, “Mmm. You sure? Losing a parent can’t be easy,” she presses, tone gently yet persistent. Oliver offers a casual shrug, his eyes carefully avoiding Jordan’s penetrating gaze. “Yeah, well, you know. Life goes on,” he says, attempting to brush off the topic. 

But Jordan doesn’t seem satisfied with his evasive response, “Right,” she says, her tone tinged with skepticism. “You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you, Ollie?” 

“Why would I lie about my dad being dead, Jordan?” Oliver challenges. Jordan hops off the kitchen counter and saunters towards Oliver. She tilts her head slightly to meet his eyes, “I don’t know, Oliver,” she replies evenly, voice unwavering, “But you seem to have a knack for keeping secrets,” she shrugs before continuing, “How is it that a random scholarship boy like you somehow manages to weasel his way into staying at Saltburn,” she shakes her head. 

Oliver’s jaw tightens, expression slightly darkening, “I’m not keeping any secrets. Jordan,” his eyes narrow slightly as he meets her gaze, “And maybe I got lucky. Or someone saw potential in me.”

Jordan scoffs, “Potential? Please. You’re just another one of Felix’s pity projects,” she moves back from Oliver, “Shame.”

Oliver’s expression tightens, further, frustration simmering beneath the surface, “That’s not true. Felix didn’t bring me here out of pity. I earned my place here,” he answers defensively. 

Jordan’s skepticism remains unyielding as she meets Oliver’s gaze head-on, “Earned,” she challenges, “You give a random man your bike on a Monday, and now all of a sudden, you’re besties. You give people a sob story, and suddenly you’re part of an elite crowd. Please spare me,” she rolls her eyes. 

With a final dismissive glance, Jordan turned on her heel and strode away, leaving Oliver standing in the kitchen. He watches her walk out with a mixture of annoyance and admiration. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The days following Jordan’s conversation with Oliver were filled with glances exchanged between them, each one laden with tension and unspoken suspicion. Despite the unease, Jordan and Farleigh found solace in the simple pleasure of lounging in the pool. 

“My mom called me,” Jordan interrupts the comfortable silence. 

Farleigh lifts his head in interest, “Hm? About what,” he asks.

“Just to talk. She was asking about my summer and whatnot. When I’m gonna start studying for the LSAT, blah blah,” Jordan laughs, “When’s the last time you talked to your mom,” she asks.

Farleigh scoffs, “Let me think...exam day, I think.” 

Jordan looks at Farleigh in disbelief, “Damn, that was almost two months ago.”

Farleigh nods before focusing back on the book on his lap. Jordan notices his shift in attitude, “Touchy subject?” Jordan’s question hangs in the moment before Farleigh responds, his voice tinged with resignation, “Yeah, you could say that,” he looks towards Jordan, “She’s just annoying sometimes, but that’s my mom. Love her.”

Jordan nods her head in understanding before hopping off her floaty and going to grab her towel, “What are you doing later tonight,” she asks Farleigh. 

“Nothing. Why,” Farleigh asks with skepticism. 

“Well, we’ve been in the pool all day. I can wash your hair and put it in some braids for you. Only if you want,” Jordan asks. 

Farleigh briefly considers Jordan’s offer before a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips, “Sure, that sounds nice, actually.”

Jordan grins, relieved to see Farleigh’s mood-lifting, “Great! I’ll meet you in your room in, like, two hours?”

Farleigh agrees, “Yeah, I’ll see you then.” 

Two hours later

“Stop moving,” Jordan commands as she moves Farleigh head back under the running water. 

“But you’re getting shampoo in my eye,” he whines. 

“You are a grown man. Stop whining. And look, we’re done anyways,” Jordan says, finally turning off the water. She grabs a towel before tossing it to Farleigh, allowing him to dry his hair. 

“Come sit down when you’re finished,” Jordan says while gesturing to the floor before his bed. Farleigh nods and quickly dries his hair before sitting between Jordan’s legs. 

As Jordan starts to braid, the two fall into a comfortable conversation. 

“Honestly, you can take these braids out tomorrow morning, and your hair would be so curly. I think it would be cute. You always have your afro, but the curls would be a bit more uniform,” Jordan states while focusing on a braid. 

“Is there something wrong with my hair now,” Farleigh asks, consciously touching his hair before Jordan smacks his hand away. 

“I never said that, did I,” she quips. 

Fareleigh jokingly argues you back, “I’m just trying to figure out what you’re insinuating. If you think my hair is bad, just say some-” Farleigh stops talking, eyes widening in shock. Jordan’s eyebrow furrowed in confusion, “What?”

Farleigh gets up to sit on the window ledge. “Look,” he says, pointing to the field.

Jordan follows, “What are you talking about-” Her eyes widen. On a bench, she sees Oliver kneeling under Venitia’s nightgown. Is he?

Jordan’s mouth dropped in shock before she took out her phone. “I’m so telling Felix,” she said with determination. 

Farleigh nods in agreement, his gaze still fixed on the field, “You stupid little boy,” he mutters under his breath, his voice laced with contempt. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jordan and Farleigh sit beside each other outside while the family enjoys breakfast. They both exchange glances as they notice the looks Oliver and Venetia exchange with each other. Felix walks up to the table sulkily before sitting down. 

“Morning. You sleep well,” Oliver asks.

“Not really, mate, no,” Felix replies with an attitude. 

Sir James continues speaking, “We’re thirty for dinner tomorrow. Stopford Sackville has cried off.”

“Oh, what a shame,” Elspeth answers sarcastically. Venetia, Farleigh, and Felix audibly groan.

In confusion, Jordan looks at the table, “I thought we liked dinner time?”

“No, we dont,” Venitia mumbles with her hand in her head in annoyance. 

“Wait, who is coming to dinner again,” Farleigh asks while taking a drag of his cigarette. 

“The Henrys,” Venitia mutters while biting her croissant. 

“Who are the Henrys,” Oliver asks, curiosity laced in his tone. 

“Dad’s friends. They’re all called Henry,” Venetia answers. 

“Not all of them, Just most…” Sir James trails off. 

“It’ll be fun,” Elspeth exclaims while patting Jordan’s shoulder, smiling. 

“It’ll be being molested by Henry,” Venetia turns to her father, “You know which one!”

“I’ll put you next to Oliver! He can molest you instead,” Elspeth says casually. 

Jordan chokes on her tea as she watches the conversation unfold. She coughs and sputters, trying to regain her composure as Farleigh pats her back. 

“Jordan. Are you okay, darling,” Elspeth asks, voice laced with concern. 

Jordan nods, “Yes, ma’am. I’m fine. You can continue,” she dismisses. 

“Oh, Oliver, I was going to say we should do something fun for your birthday. A proper party! No Henrys! Something actually fun,” Elspeth speaks excitedly as she turns to Sir James, “What do you think, darling?”

“If Oliver would like it, I think it’s a splendid idea,” Sir James agrees.

“I think Oliver looks like he’d rather throw himself out of a window,” Farleigh says, lip twitching into a slight smirk. Jordan laughs as she stares at Oliver in amusement. Oliver turns towards Elspeth, “What kind of party?”

Elspeth shrugs, “I don’t know, whatever you want. What do you think? About a hundred people?”

Oliver stares at her in shock, “A hundred?”

“Or two. You can invite whoever you want. All your friends,” Elspeth continues.

“What friends,” Jordan mutters while taking a bite of her pancake. Oliver quickly glances at her before desperately looking at Felix, lightly tapping the boy playfully but watching as he shifts his body away from him. Venetia gets up from the table with a huff as the group watches her stomp away. 

“We could have a theme! How about Midsummer Night’s Dream,” Elspeth suggests. 

Jordan nods her head in agreement, already planning out her outfit. 

“Bring on the slutty fairies,” Farleigh says with disinterest. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Farleigh couldn’t help but stare at Jordan as she entered the busy dining room. She’s conversing with one of the Henrys’ wives, her charm and grace evident in every gesture. He takes a sip of his drink before walking over to her. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Farleigh says. 

The two women stop their conversation before noticing Farleigh’s approach. Jordan offers him a warm smile as he joins them while Henry’s wife looks at him expectantly, “Hello, Farleigh. How are you, love?” the older woman exclaims.

“I’m doing good, ma’am,” Farleigh answers charmfully. Jordan smiles at Farleigh’s response, appreciating his polite demeanor. “I was just telling her how great my time here has been,” she says, turning back to the Henrys’ wife. Farleigh nods, feigning interest in the conversation. Jordan bids the woman farewell before following Farleigh to sit in their assigned seats at the long table. 

“Look at you, Ms. Houston,” Farleigh teases. 

Jordan nudges his shoulder, “Listen. I’m trying to network. Okay?”

Farleigh holds his hands up in protest, “Hey, I’m not judging,” he laughs. “You know we’re doing Karaoke later,” Farleigh asks while eating. 

“Oh, I love Karaoke! I can’t wait,” Jordan exclaims excitedly. I love her smile. 

Much later into the evening, everyone gathered in the great hall. Farleigh sits next to Oliver on the couch as he watches one of the Henrys drunkenly yell the lyrics to “Low.” He turns his head to see Jordan laughing with Felix and Venetia. He lightly smiles before turning his attention back to Oliver.

Farleigh leans closer to Oliver, “Fuck, chuck, or marry: Richard III, Henry VII, or Henry XIII. You know. I think I’d fuck Richard III. He’s so insecure, so you know he’d do the work, right?”

They chuckle. Oliver looks him in the eyes, “Or you could just fuck me instead,” he says casually, tension builds up in the air between them, “Why did you and Jordan tell Felix about me and Venitia?”

Farleigh smiles innocently, “Well, we didn’t think he’d react that badly,” Yes, we did.

“Yes, you did,” Oliver objected.

“Yes, I did,” Farleigh confirms. Oliver shifts closer to Farleigh, “You know, if you ever want someone to talk to, you can always tell me, Farleigh,” Oliver whispers. Why would I do that?

“What do you mean,” Farleigh asks.

“Well, I know you’re having a hard time at home. I know how that feels. When things are so precarious, it’s terrifying. And lonely. And it must be so fucking weird having to ask them for everything.” He nods his head towards the Cattons, “And I know it seems like Jordan is way out of your league,” Farleigh eyebrows twitch in slight anger, “And I know you fucking hate me-” Oliver rants before he’s interrupted. 

“I…I don’t hate you,” Farleigh begins; Oliver continues,”- but if you ever want me to talk to them. If I can help in any way, just ask.”

Farleigh offers Oliver a faux smile before being interrupted by Henry’s terrible singing. 

“Alright. I think I’m gonna go put him out of his misery.” Farleigh stands up to take the microphone out of Henry’s hand and select a song. 

“Alrighhht. Well done, Henry, that was great. Round of applause for Henry,” Farleigh smiles mischievously as he picks a song, “Now it’s time to take things up a notch. We have someone here who is a very talented singer.” The speakers blare the intro to “Rent” by The Pet Shop Boys. 

“He’s your best friend and mine,” he says sarcastically, “Oliver Quick!”

Jordan and the Cattons cheer loudly in the back of the room. Farleigh grabs Oliver’s hand to force him to the front of the room. Oliver reluctantly makes his way to the front of the room, feeling a knot of apprehension tightening in his stomach. His gaze flickers to Farleigh, who watches him with a knowing smirk.

“Don’t be shy, Ollie,” Farleigh teases.

“The words are on the screen, Ollie. Go crazy,” Jordan yells mischievously. The music starts, and Oliver begins to sing, his voice shaky and uncertain. Jordan watches from the sidelines, her expression unreadable as she observes Oliver’s performance. She notices him starting to slightly loosen up. Farleigh leans against the wall with Jordan, a smug grin playing on his lips, cigarette in hand, as he watches Oliver.  

You bring me food. I need it. You give me love. I feed it.

Felix and Venetia look at Farleigh and Jordan, noticing the amusement on their faces. 

I love you. You pay my rent. 

Silence takes over the room. The audience now understands why the song was chosen. 

Jordan and Farleigh cheer from the back of the room, “Whooo! You tell ’em, baby,” Jordan exclaims. 

Felix exclaims furiously, “Guys!”

Oliver smiles through the humiliation, “This is your song as well, Farleigh. Come finish it,” he says slyly. 

Farleigh leaps up, “Only if you insist,” he walks to Oliver. He grabs the mic confidently, “You took me to a restaurant off Broadway. To show me who-” 

Oliver glares intensely at Farleigh, his eyes boring into Farleigh’s with an unsettling intensity. Fareligh, undeterred by Oliver’s intimidating gaze, continues to sing, his voice strong and unwavering, spurred by the crowd’s cheers. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jordan stumbles slightly as she holds on to Farleigh’s arm, Felix and Venetia trailing behind them. 

“Did you see his face? He looked absolutely mortified,” she laughs.

Farleigh chuckles in agreement, his arm steadying Jordan as they continue walking down the hallway, “Yeah, it was priceless,” he replies, a smirk playing on his lips. Felix’s jaw tightens as he glares at the back of their heads, “Why did you do that, Farleigh,” he asks, frustration evident in his voice. 

Farleigh turns his head, taking notice of Felix’s disapproving tone. Farleigh shrugs nonchalantly, “Do what,” he asks innocently. 

“Lighten up, Felix,” Jordan chimes in, her tone teasing. “It was funny, no?”

“No,” Felix deadpans. Jordan rolls her eyes.

“This isn’t a joke, Jordan,” his tone stern. “You two need to stop antagonizing Oliver.”

Jordan’s frustration bubbles to the surface as she confronts Felix, “Oh my god. It’s always about Oliver. He’s a big boy, you know? He doesn’t need you to protect him,” Jordan groans. 

Felix’s eyebrows knit together in disbelief at Jordan’s reaction, “What the fuck is your problem with him?” He asks, taken aback by her sudden outburst. 

Jordan stops in her tracks, her eyes blazing in intensity as she meets Felix’s gaze, “First of all. Don’t ever curse at me again,” she warns, voice firm, “Secondly, he doesn’t belong here,” she argues.

Felix’s expression shifts from surprise to frustration as he tries to make sense of Jordan’s frustration, “What do you mean he doesn’t belong here,” he presses, his tone demanding an explanation.

“What I just said, Felix,” Jordan challenges.

Felix scoffs, “And you think you do?”

Farleigh and Venetia watch from the sidelines as the scene unfolds in front of them. 

“What’s that supposed to mean,” Jordan asks.

“You’re just some random exchange student. Do you think you’re better than him,” Felix questions, voice heavy with anger.

Jordan laughs in disbelief, “Oh, that’s how you think of me? I never said I was better than anyone, but at least I don’t try to act like someone I’m not.”

Farleigh exchanges a glance with Venetia, concern evident in his eyes as he watches the argument between Jordan and Felix escalate.

Venetia steps forward, her voice calm yet authoritative, “Felix, that’s enough,” she interjects, her voice firm, “You’re drunk. You don’t mean that.” 

Felix rolls his eyes before storming towards his room, Venetia following him. Farleigh looks at Jordan in disbelief, “Where the fuck did that come from?”

Jordan barges into her room. Farleigh follows closely behind, catching her arm and turning her around to face him, “You need to calm down,” he instructs, “You’re drunk.”

Jordan rolls her eyes before throwing his hand off her arms, “I’m not that drunk. I meant everything I said,” she huffs as she sits down on her bed.

Farleigh’s brows furrow in concern as he takes a step closer, “What’s going on,” he asks, voice laced with concern.

Jordan rubs her hands down her face in exhaustion before sighing, “I had talked to Oliver the other night. Asked him how he felt about his dad dying.”

Farleigh’s expression softens as he sits beside Jordan, “And?”

“He just seemed so nonchalant about it. Too nonchalant. Obviously, everyone’s grieving journey is different, but that was more than acceptance; that was indifference,” Jordan looks at Farleigh with concerned eyes, “It just doesn’t sit right with me, you know?” 

Farleigh nods his head in understanding, “I get you. I also talked with him,” Jordan looks at him, intrigued, “What did he say?”

“He said, ‘If I ever need to talk, I can always go to him,’ Farleigh says in a high-pitched voice. 

“Why would he say that?” Jordan asks.

“I think he overheard a conversation between me and Felix,” Farleigh rolls his eyes, “Because there’s no other way he would know that information.”

“See! He’s a snake,” Jordan pauses “…What did you and Felix talk about?” 

Farleigh sighs before throwing his head back, “My mom is not the richest in the family,” he begins reluctantly, his expression reflecting a mix of frustration and vulnerability. 

“She’s been struggling for a while now with her money, and the only way I can attend school here is because of my Uncle,” he continues. 

“What were you and Felix arguing about then,” Jordan asks. 

“He claims my uncle doesn’t want to enable my mother anymore. Even though they have no problem throwing a party for a stranger, they’ve only known for two months,” Farleigh asks, frustration evident in his voice. 

“That’s stupid, and Felix has no business speaking for his dad,” Jordan says bitterly. 

Farleigh nods and shrugs his shoulder, “It is what it is, I guess,” he states before lying in Jordan’s bed. Jordan notices his eyes drooping, “You don’t want to get any clothes to change into?”

“I probably should, huh… You’re letting me sleep in here.” Farleigh teasingly asks.

Jordan narrows her eyes playfully, “Yeah, dont push it,” she retorts with a smirk, “And hurry up before I change my mind.”

Jordan chuckles as she watches Farleigh rush off to grab his clothes. Ten minutes later, Farleigh darts back into the room, durag in hand, “Can you put this on for me?” 

“No, you got an afro right now,” Jordan digs in one of her drawers and takes out a black bonnet, “Put this on instead,” she tosses the bonnet towards Farleigh. Farleigh puts the bonnet on and looks at Jordan with a cunning grin. 

She lets out a surprised yelp as Farleigh playfully throws her onto the bed. She lands with a thud, laughing as she looks up at him, “You’re on top of me,” she states matter-of-factly.

Farleigh’s playful grin widens as he looks down at Jordan, his eyes sparkling with mischief, “Is it a problem?” he teases, leaning a little closer. Jordan’s laughter continues, but there’s a hint of something else in her expression as she meets Farleigh’s gaze. “Depends on what you plan on doing up there,” she replies, gaze lingering. Farleigh licks his lips, a hint of anticipation in his eyes as he leans closer to Jordan, “What do you want, Jordan,” Farleigh asks, voice low. 

As Jordan’s lips brush against Farleigh’s chin, a surge of electricity courses through him. His heart quickens as he inhales sharply at the sensation. 

Jordan pulls back slightly, her eyes locked with Farleigh’s, “What do I want?” she echoes, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Farleigh’s breath catches in his throat, his gaze fixed on Jordan’s lips, longing for more. “I want…” he begins, his voice husky with desire, but his words trail off as he leans closer, closing the distance between them, lips meeting in a passionate kiss. 

Farleigh’s hands find their way to Jordan’s waist, pulling her closer as he deepens the kiss, his heart racing in anticipation. Jordan grabs Fareligh’s hair, her breath mingling with his. Their kiss is intense, fueled by longing and unspoken emotions. Farleigh’s breath hitches in response to Jordan’s touch, a soft moan escaping his lips. 

As they pull away, their eyes meet. Jordan smiles slightly and says, “How long have you wanted to do that?”

Farleigh gazes into Jordan’s eyes, his eyes filled with a mix of adoration and desire. He brushes a braid out of her face, “For longer than I would like to admit.”

Jordan’s smile widens, “Well, I’m glad you finally did,” she says softly, her voice laced with affection. Farleigh leans in to gently kiss Jordan’s forehead before settling next to her. Jordan wraps her arms around Farleigh, pulling him close, “It was good, wasn’t it,” she asks jokingly. 

Farleigh rolls his eyes, wrapping his arm around Jordan’s waist as he pulls her closer. “Don’t let it go to your head,” he teases, his tone playful as they settle into the comfort of each other. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The room is dimly lit, shadows dancing on the walls. The only sound is the sound of Jordan’s light snores. Farleigh lies asleep in bed, his breathing steady and calm. Jordan is next to him, sleeping soundly. 

Suddenly, Farleigh fills a heavy weight on top of him, and before he can react, he feels a hand cover his mouth. Farleigh’s eyes widen in alarm as he realizes the danger he’s in. He tries to move, but Oliver’s weight holds him down, pinning him to the bed.

Farleigh whispers angrily, “What the fuck are you doing?” he whispers furiously, his voice barely audible beneath Oliver’s hand.

Oliver’s gaze meets Farleigh’s with a chilling intensity. “What do you think I’m doing?” he retorts, his voice dripping with malice. 

“I think you got the wrong fucking room,” Farleigh whispers fiercely.

Oliver leans closer, his breath hot on Farleigh’s face, “And I think you don’t belong here. Both of you.”

Oliver looks at Jordan before glancing at Farleigh, “Jordan’s been getting too nosy, Farleigh. Asking too many questions.”

Farleigh’s heart races as he feels the weight of Oliver’s threat bearing down on him.

Farleigh’s eyebrows furrow in anger, “Leave her alone.”

Oliver grins down at him menacingly, “Ah, Ah. Nothing will happen to her. If you behave.”

Farleigh’s fear is palpable as Oliver’s words hang heavy in the air. He knows he’s in danger, and Jordan’s presence beside him only adds to his unease.

“Are you going to behave, Farleigh?” 

Farleigh heart pounds in his chest as he weighs his options, “Yes… I’ll behave,” he answers reluctantly. 

Oliver’s grin widens, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “Good. Sleep well.”

Oliver gets off Farleigh and slips away into the darkness, leaving Farleigh shaken. The room is silent once more, but the threat lingers. Farleigh looks over at Jordan, still sleeping soundly beside him, unaware of the danger that lurks in the shadows. 

[buckevantommy]

re: BuckTommy Coffee Date Song Choice

Okay, so I really can’t stand the song choice for the coffee date scene. I made a supercut of their scenes so far, but every time I get to the cafe I feel the urge to mute it. So, I wanna fix it. 

While watching this scene I couldn’t help but think a Nick Drake song would’ve been a better choice. I don’t know how it works with music rights etc. but I do think the music editor dropped the ball hard on this scene because the song they chose is drab, too slow, and a poor lyrical match (imho). I’ve chosen 4 different Nick Drake songs which I think are a far better match, and I’ve done my best to overlay them. 

[I tried filtering out that background song best i could, but some of the vocals underlying the dialogue were sneaky and stayed behind, so apologies for their presence in the audio. I’m not a pro, just a fan with some spare time and a mac.]

1. Pink Moon - obviously my first choice. The vibe is mellow but not too slow as to drag down the scene. There’s a perfectly timed piano intro as Tommy explains Evan has nothing to apologise for, the change in instrument lining up with the insight. The melody builds as Buck says he wants something with Tommy, the lyrics (imho) giving this feeling of acknowledging this new and beautiful thing and how it’s almost here, he almost has it but not quite (he’s still learning and wants to experience it). We get a bit of instrumental over them discussing the wedding. The lyrics suit Buck’s bi awakening, and bonus points for the mention of ‘pink’ because i just think that’s cute. The song is actually about 20 seconds too short so i had to double it up, but the lyrics still match well and it ends on the mention of ‘pink moon gonna get you all’ with ‘pink moon’ fading out into the wedding scene, which is so cute. 

2. Northern Sky - a great fit lyrically, the discovery of this magical new thing in life and how it (and Tommy) brightens Buck’s world, as well as certain lyrics placing perfectly over relevant dialogue. It’s smoother than the other choices and has more instrument layers; I don’t like when the piano gets boppy in the middle because it feels out of place with the rest of the song and the scene, but the instrumental part that coincides with Buck being vulnerable and honest with Tommy fits and the ending is nice. Also: just realised there's a tink-tink-tink in perfect time with Buck placing the coffee cups down and moving his chair! And it ends with: 'would you love me' which is just so perfect.

3. Place To Be - has the mellowest vibe, a strummed guitar melody, and the lyrics suit Buck's bi awakening not being in his younger years, instead he's just now finally finding clarity. It mentions being new, and has sunshine lyrics, and perfectly places a dejected lyric over Buck reiterating how Tommy said he doesn’t think Buck is ready, followed by the line ‘give me a place to be’ as Buck says he wants to try something with Tommy. Instrumental interlude as Buck asks Tommy to the wedding, with lyrics about being ‘strong in the sun’ as he assures Tommy he’s serious while being bathed in sunlight. It ends on a lyric about being ‘weaker than the palest blue’ and both their eyes are blue, and Tommy just agreed to be Buck’s wedding date, so.

4. Which Will - has a slightly more energised plucked melody but still pretty mellow, it still suits the convo pace. The lyrics suit Buck questioning what Tommy will do, whether Tommy will choose him. There’s a brief instrumental piece where Buck gets his vulnerable moment, and Tommy expresses his interest over the ‘which do you dance for’ lyric. It ends on ‘which will you take now if you won't take me’ tying into the hope of it all. 

💖 I’m curious to know what you guys think: Did you like their song choice? Do you have another song in mind for this scene? I’d also love to know which Nick Drake song you think works best. 💖

[irisxstardust]

— ma belle » a.anderson

oneshot #1

a/n: just a fluffy little beach drabble of french!abby in greece w reader!! i've had french abby in my head for so long i think i'm just gonna start writing the scenes i think and publish them as like a series lol. belle in french is beautiful btw. also this started off as an ellie drabble but then the more i thought about it the more french abby started to take over my brain so if the pov or tense changes at any point it's bc i did a bad job switching it over to abbyxreader.

cw: fluff!, reader cries a little, short af

pairing: french!abby x reader

"i have something for you," abby whispers softly, her lips still pressed against your ear and her hair tickling the side of your face.

"really?" you hum quietly, eyes still pressed closed. little grains of sand stuck to your wet bathing suit and you could only imagine how much was in your hair.

you and abby had decided to take a little nap together in the sand, to rest and to celebrate your last day in Greece.

abby nods and slowly separates her face from yours, "want it now or later?"

you smile slightly, opening your eyes and sitting up to look down at abby--who is still laying against the sand. "well, what is it?"

she grins back at you and sits up, reaching for her bag. as she pulls out a little blue box, you eye her phone standing against one of your beach bags. the camera is on and you see she is recording. is it that special?

"here," she smiles, "made me think of you."

you bite your lip and grin at her, rubbing her arm and pressing your lips against hers before breaking away and taking the box. you gently inspect the box and open it, light blue tissue paper wrapped around a hard object. you set the box down and begin to unwrap the gift, your head reeling at what it could be and why its so important.

as you finally pull back the last piece of paper, a small hair clip is revealed. it has five shells set on the front of it, the golden clip on the back engraved with two words: ma belle.

"i got it engraved on the back so you'd always know-" your cheeks prick up with sadness and you feel hot tears begin to fall from your eyes. "why are you crying? do you not like it?"

you start to cry harder as she doubts herself and you furiously wipe at your eyes with the back of your free hand. "no," you cry, "i love you so much." you sit up on your knees, wrap your arms around her neck, and cry into her hair.

"why are you crying?" she asks, voice soft as she tries to hold back a laugh.

"cause," you whine and then whisper, "this is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

"oh, babe," she says, her arms pulling you in by your waist. "i love you."

"i love you, too."

[42wv]

Blaidd Cosplay project I worked on during May 2022

Elden Ring was the hype, I wanted to be a good turtle. I originally wanted to get this cosplay ready by Otakuthon 2022, but I never did finish it. I do want to finish this cosplay one day!

Now let ramble about my progress on it! :readmore:

When it comes to video game cosplay, I take the easier route and rip models from the game, then modify them for cosplay. I 3D modelled a few Kamen Rider suits before and all that was a pain in general. For my sanity's sake, I plan to model as little as possible for future cosplays.

Lucky, the in-game model was well made, so I didn't have to make a lot of modifications. I had to separate some pieces, subdivide and give it some volume.

The head was given a lot of holes, so it would be lighter to wear. I had to separate the teeth and the gums because I will paint them individually.

I let my 3D printer work. Meanwhile....

Eyeballs! Molded with moldable plastic pellets. The iris part of the eye hollows inwards for a bit of that 3D look. The whole thing then got covered in 2-part epoxy to fill the cavity and make the eye shiny.

There's usually a few steps involved when it comes to painting. That is priming and then taking your time to paint something with the medium of your choice. Well, I skipped all that and decided to draw on the eye with sharpie and markers. Results were... satisfactory enough.

Time to work on the gummy teethies! I've been saving up for years on an airbrush set and I got really excited to try them for the first time.

FDM 3D prints don't come out perfect usually, so I brushed some XTC-3D (fancier 2-part epoxy) on them, and let it cure first.

With a bit of filler primer and airbrushing magic...

Teeth! Dentists in the Lands Between will make a KILLING if they ever move there.

Pretty happy with the process! I didn't bother to shade the gums because we won't see a lot of that anyway.

Did I ever tell you sewing is my least favorite part of cosplay? My specialty is more on props and armor. This image should've been flipped upside-down!

I tried to sew gloves using a free-to-use pattern I found on the internet (forgot where I got them). First one was too tight, second on was better, but still feel weird to wear. I will get these right one day!!

I bought some FUR! I shopped for a WHOLE hour at the fabric store for the right faux fur, and none of them felt like a match to Blaidd's fur. His fur was darker (than the fur in the picture, left side), with a hint of blue.

I tried to dye the fur a little bit to darken it, but not too much because I didn't want the white part of the fur to turn too dark. I used a dye for synthetic fibers. Right side of the image the the fur after soaking in hot dye solution for a few minutes (still wet)

Results? I there was only a subtle difference between then non-dyed and dyed furs! I either didn't let it bathe in the solution long enough, or I did not put enough dye in the solution.

ANYWAY I decided to just used the furs as is and airbrush the details at the end.

Now for the cloak? I was planning on tying some crochet threads together, then separate the ends with a fur brush, resulting in some fluffy ends the add on to the cape.

However, after re-examining Blaidd's cloak, I'm considering on scrapping this process because I feel like there's better materials to give out the look I want.

After assembling the mouth parts/eyes/nose, adding the lips with black moldable plastic and adding the hinge (to make the mouth movable), it's off to furring the head!

With the help of masking tape and sharpie, I went to pattern the fur. I then cut the appropriate shapes to sew.

I knew I had to cut the fabrics a bit bigger to make things fit and all, so I did that. My mistake? I realized after finishing the snout part, that I've cut the shapes TOO BIG! It did not fit the print!

So that's another thing I have to redo. Sewing is my passion (sarcasm).

This concludes part 1 of my Blaidd cosplay journal. Will there be a part 2? I don't know. It started snowing a few days ago and Winter is generally not a good time for cosplay-making. I'll have to see about this when Spring/Summer comes!

[swimsuitmanaic]

[hometoursandotherstuff]

The wealthy historic town of Cape May, NJ is pretty pricey and this 1890 Edwardian home, with 8bds, 9ba, is priced at $4,995,000.

Enter the sitting room thru a small foyer and beautiful original doors.

The very large room shares a space with the main stair case.

An open doorway leads into a living room.

What a lovely area. Love those doors.

They open to the dining room.

The remodeled kitchen is cute, but I don't know what they were thinking when they chose these cabinets. The faux finish looks like mid-century modern faux bamboo.

Love the antique island, but I would have to paint those cabinets solid black and change the hardware.

Beautiful stairs.

The primary bedroom has a door to the deck.

Cute pool room has a window seat and doors to the deck.

The rooftop deck is lovely.

Bath redone in crisp navy blue and white.

The bedrooms are beautiful, but that's mostly because of the magnificent antique beds and other pieces.

Roomy bath has a gorgeous antique sink cabinet.

It would be great if the furnishings came with the house, or at least the beds for the $5M price, b/c you're not paying for land, it's just a lot.

Another lovely vintage bathroom remodel.

Cute child's room with a sweet vintage en-suite.

In the basement is a large bright laundry room.

Plus a nice office.

And, this is an apt. with a cozy living room.

Very nice kitchen.

And, one bedroom.

The home is on a 5,712 sq. ft. lot located 1 block from the beach and the Atlantic Ocean.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/24-Jackson-St-Cape-May-NJ-08204/248928409_zpid/

[cheesybadgers]

Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 20)

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 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 12,880

Summary: An invitation takes Horacio and Javier back to Medellín, a city that has changed as much as they have since they were last in it. Amongst the celebrations, can they find a way to reconcile the old with the new?

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Emotional smut, religious themes, discussions of canon-typical violence and past trauma, grief, healing, allusions to period-typical prejudices, smoking, drinking, swearing.

Notes: So, this chapter took on a life of its own and ended up a lot bigger than it was originally supposed to be, oops lol. The initial idea was for this and chapter 21 to be chapter 20, but, as you can see, it didn't quite work out like that 😂

The majority of chapter 21 is done, I just need to finish it off but life (and covid...again) have been getting in the way lately.

After that, I just have chapter 22 and a short epilogue to do, then fin. So, I promise we are very nearly there now! Ideally, I'd like it all done by the end of autumn, but that might not be possible...let's see how it goes.

Thank you once again to anyone still reading and waiting for updates, your patience is greatly appreciated (as always, please feel free to drop me a line if you’d like to, I love hearing from you!)❤️

I’ve also added to my OHDH trivia post to cover this chapter if anyone is interested (and there's quite a few new points for this one, as I ended up doing a lot of research lol).

Chapter 20: Something Old, Something New

Dappled light filtered through the Venetian blinds, splintering across the polished wooden furnishings and along the plush carpeted floor, bathing the hotel room in tints of gold. No traces remained of yesterday’s rain after a warm start to the morning, and the forecast miraculously looked promising for the hours ahead.

Horacio stood facing a floor-length mirror, his fingers wrestling with his jacket and a Cattleya orchid buttonhole until he tutted and gave up. It was the final addition to his outfit: a three-piece mid-grey suit, a pale olive green dress shirt, a bottle green tie and dark brown shoes.

“Come here.” Javier abandoned fastening his burgundy tie, letting it hang untied and loose around his neck. Instead, he took the buttonhole from Horacio and delicately pinned the flower on his left lapel. It matched the one already placed on his navy blue three-piece, which he had teamed with a rose-pink dress shirt and black shoes.

“Thanks. It’s been a long time since I’ve worn one of these. I’m out of practice.” The last wedding Horacio attended had been a friend of Juliana’s, and for some reason, attaching a flower to his jacket was trickier than his CNP lapel pins.

“At least the last time wasn’t your own wedding…which you never actually made it to.”

“Fair point.”

Javier smoothed down Horacio’s lapels, slow caresses on either side, chestnut lost in charcoal as he took all of him in. “Beautiful.”

“Likewise.” Horacio’s fingers slid up to Javier’s tie and worked their magic, managing a knot neater than Javier could ever make. He positioned and repositioned it at the collar until it was symmetrical.

“Satisfied?”

“Hmm, not quite.” He took hold of the length of the tie, pulling Javier down a couple of inches to his height, fresh mint and aftershave hitting their senses as they settled into it, careful not to squash the flowers at their breast.

Javier breathed hard against Horacio’s mouth. “I take it we haven’t got time for—”

“Absolutely not.” Although Horacio was panting as he re-straightened Javier’s tie, the sight of each other in formal wear a distracting novelty. “We’re meeting Steve downstairs in 5 minutes.”

“Shame. I miss Madrid already.”

“Our bed will still be there when we get back.”

“Who said anything about a bed?”

“Come on, we can’t be late,” Horacio reiterated with great reluctance, avoiding the look he knew Javier was giving him. “You ready?”

Javier took a deep breath and picked up the invitation from the nearby nightstand, his eyes scanning over the details one last time.

Juana Marisol Vargas Restrepo

Y

Felipe Gabriel Trujillo Rojas

Con la bendición de sus familias, te invitan a celebrar su boda

(With the blessing of their families, they invite you to celebrate their wedding)

El sábado, 21 de enero de 1995

(Saturday 21st January, 1995)

A las tres de la tarde

(At 3 in the afternoon)

Iglesia del Señor de las Misericordias, Manrique

(Church of the Lord of the Mercies, Manrique)

Recepción a seguir en el Jardín Botánico de Medellín

(Reception to follow at the Botanical Garden of Medellín)

“I think so. Of all the churches in Medellín, though.”

Horacio let out a wry huff to match Javier’s. “I know. The bride’s choice, apparently. Plus, it’s close by for the reception.”

Javier hummed, his eyes still glued to the invitation as if the antidote to the discomfort simmering in the pit of his stomach was hidden between the lines.

“You okay?”

“Yeah…yeah, I’m fine. It was always gonna be like this. Wasn’t it? Being back here.”

“I don’t think there’s a way around it. But at least it’s a celebration this time.” Horacio placed a gentle kiss on Javier’s forehead. “And it’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

“I know.”

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

After locating Steve, they shared a taxi to the church, where they met Connie and Olivia on account of Olivia being in a particularly fussy mood.

“I think it’s the travelling and being out of routine. She was up early this morning. So, of course, she’s tired now.” Connie gestured towards Olivia, fast asleep in her dad’s arms, before hugging Javier and Horacio.

“You look stunning, love the dress,” Javier said, noticing he owned a shirt in the same shade of turquoise.

“Aw thank you, you all look so handsome!” Connie stood back to admire them then leaned in to kiss Steve. “And not hungover?” she added with a raised brow, rubbing away the smudge of lipstick left behind on his cheek. “I take it I need to thank Horacio again for keeping you in one piece?”

It took Horacio a second to get what Connie was referring to. But then he remembered a paralytic pair of DEA agents slumped in the back of his car, alongside practically carrying Javier to his bedroom, removing his outer layers and plying him with water, then lying him on his side with a pillow behind his back.

Horacio had been heading for the door when a slurred noise over his shoulder stopped him. One that sounded suspiciously like “Stay.” He couldn’t prove it or ask for clarification. But nor could he leave. So, he stayed until he was reassured Javier was safe and sleeping soundly. Then he tiptoed home, relieved the next day to find Javier had no recollection of any of it.

“I don’t know about that,” Horacio said in the here and now. “We were all on our best behaviour for today.”

“Yeah, Murphy needs his beauty sleep these days. Isn’t that right?” Javier threw a wink in Steve’s direction and wondered if Connie’s choice of words meant what he thought they did.

“Well, some of us actually have to go to work, Peña,” Steve shot back with a self-satisfied curl of the lips.

Connie playfully slapped Steve on the shoulder. “Ignore him, he’s just jealous.”

“Can’t even deny it.”

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

Guests began to file up the stone steps into the church, the Murphys following once they had roused Olivia awake, with Javier and Horacio hanging back at the top of the stairs.

Their arms rested over the balcony wall as they surveyed the road beneath. There was no CNP vehicle parked up this time, but instead, a hive of activity with guests being dropped off and a space reserved for the bride’s imminent arrival.

“It feels like a fucking lifetime ago, doesn’t it?”

“It was.”

“I, er, never saw her again. Helena, I mean. I secured her a visa – figured it was the least I could do after everything. But she took her kid and ran before I could give it to her. Her neighbour said she was staying with her sister in Peru, but…who knows?”

Javier wasn’t sure if she even had a sister, but he always hoped it was the truth. He always hoped she and her family were safe and that she found the strength to put what happened behind her. But of course, he had no fucking clue if these were comforting lies he’d told himself over the years. It wasn’t love, whatever they had. Far from it. He knew that back then let alone now. But for a short while, they cared in their own way, and as much as their circumstances and jobs allowed them to.

“Probably for the best. It wouldn’t have been safe here.”

“No, I made sure of that.” Javier’s hand dug harshly into the jagged stone, leaving dents in his skin until the subtle and discreet touch of a finger made contact with his own, pulling him out of his spiralling self-flagellation. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t plan on bringing all this up. Especially not today.”

“It’s okay. And it’s not like we ever really talked about it at the time.”

It had been a sore point for Horacio, not that he understood why back then. Of course, he knew Helena wasn’t the first or the last, but he could see whatever they had, however short-lived, went beyond the mere transactional. He’d never seen Javier so worried for an informant, and as it turned out, he had every reason to be. Then, she stopped being a threat and became yet another victim.

“Funnily enough, no. You just took it out on Steve instead.”

A knowing look eased the tension in an instant.

“Could you blame me?”

“Absolutely not. Especially when he was encroaching on your territory.”

Javier couldn’t resist a wink, which caused a muttered “Fuck you” followed by their shoulders shaking in unison.

Once calm was restored, Horacio turned to face the church, the wall bearing the brunt of his weight. “Looking back now, though, I don’t think I should’ve been so surprised by what you did for me in Cartagena and Tolú.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I did the same for you that night here in Medellín.”

Javier joined Horacio; both now stood side by side, their gaze meeting in an acknowledgement of the rich history that existed between them that no words could ever fully convey.

And with the scattered remnants of their past now confined to distant memories they could at last put behind them, they made their way into the church. 

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

A waterfall of roses, carnations and orchids tied together with matching ribbons cascaded a rainbow of purple, yellow and white down the rows of pews. The flowers were supplied by the mother of the groom, who conveniently was a florist by profession. Every August, Medellín burst into bloom for Feria de las Flores, so if anyone was going to be in charge of the arrangements, it was her.

Candles lit a path from the aisle to the altar, reminding Horacio not only of Día de las Velitas but of his and Javier’s recreation of the festival during their first Christmas in Laredo. He was about to take a seat when he caught a flash of green dress uniform in the wings of the church and a pair of dark eyes picking him out of the congregation.

He excused himself to the sacristy at the side of the altar.

Trujillo peered out to the pews as his hands alternated between fidgeting with the knot of his tie and his cufflinks. “Is she here yet?”

“Not yet.” Horacio straightened Trujillo’s tie knot. “But it’s still early.”

“Yeah.” Trujillo nodded and took a deep breath.

“She’ll be here before you know it. So relax. I think we’ve been through worse.” Horacio’s lips stayed neutral for an impressively long spell until he caved.

“My hand was steady as a rock on that rooftop. But today?” Trujillo held out his hand to show the hint of a tremor.

“You ended something once and for all on that rooftop. Something that needed ending…for your father, Alfredo and Sebastián. For you. For Colombia. But today is the start of your future.”

“I always thought they would have been here for this one day. So, thank you. For being here instead. For coming back...after everything. For all those early morning drills and target practice. And for the free drinks.”

They laughed at the fact Horacio was a man of his word and hadn’t let Trujillo buy a single drink since arriving here.

“It’s the least I could do. And if you ever need anything, Felipe, don’t be afraid to ask.”

“Likewise…Horacio. That goes for Javier, too.”

Their silence was an acknowledgement that they had just shared an ending and a beginning of their own, no longer comrades in arms or superior and subordinate, but something different again, something equal.

“I thought my ears were burning,” came a voice from the doorway.

“Great way to kill the moment, Peñita.”

“Sorry. I wanted to wish you luck. And offer you some Dutch Courage, if you're interested?” Javier produced a hip flask from behind his back. “A present from Search Bloc,” was his answer to the quizzical looks he was met with.

“Just a taste, then. I don’t want Juana thinking I’m drunk.” Trujillo took a restrained swig. “Any last-minute advice?” he asked Javier, passing him the flask.

“You want marriage advice from me? Er, don’t do a runner before she gets here?”

“Good one, brother.”

“He did warn you,” Horacio added, shooting Javier a pointed look.

“True. Although,” Trujillo lowered his voice and glanced at the doorway, “neither of you might be married, but…you’ve been through a lot together. And I think it’s made you stronger. So, you must be doing something right.”

A wordless nod and one last swig for good measure were exchanged.

Javier and Horacio were unsure if it was the alcohol or something else causing the heat to rise in their cheeks. But either way, they were in quiet agreement with Trujillo’s assessment.

It wasn’t long before the words “She’s here!” were whispered with barely contained glee from beyond the door, and it was time to take their places.

The ceremony, even the drier elements, passed quicker than most weddings Javier and Horacio had been to. It was the first one Javier had attended since…well, not even his own now he thought about it because he never made it to the church. He never saw Lorraine’s dress either, as, unsurprisingly, she had changed out of it by the time he was forced to explain himself. Not that Javier really could explain at the time. But then, it was much easier to understand something was wrong once he knew what was right.

Between Felipe’s pristine uniform and Juana’s mantilla veil, memories of Horacio's Mamá wearing a strikingly similar black veil to his Papá’s funeral came to mind. But once upon a time, they had also stood at an altar like this with their shared life ahead of them, and even though the injustice of it being cut short would always linger, on this occasion, Horacio chose to cherish the fact it existed in the first place.

Furtive glances travelled between him and Javier as they bowed their heads to pray during the candle ceremony and for the exchange of rings and arras coins. It was a silent confirmation that whilst these rituals weren’t an option for them in the eyes of the law or church, their unofficial versions were no less significant. 

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

They moved on to the reception at Jardín Botánico de Medellín in the evening, a place Horacio hadn’t been to since his youth. The wedding meal was to be served under a spectacular orchid-shaped wooden canopy in the centre of the gardens. Tables dressed in white linen were decorated with flower arrangements to match those at the church, and favours included coffee beans and orchid seeds.

The newlyweds sat at the top table surrounded by close family and their padrinos and madrinas, the echoes of war still loud and everlasting given the notable absences. Javier, Horacio, Steve, Connie and Olivia sat on the next one, along with some familiar Search Bloc faces and Carlos Holguín staff.

At the adjacent table were Martínez Senior and Junior. Horacio and Martínez Senior had only crossed paths at occasional ceremonies and dinners, even though their fathers worked more closely in the past. As the war on drugs kicked in, it became apparent the two men had polar opposite approaches to their jobs. And whilst Horacio made Escobar his mission, Martínez took a different path, specialising in FARC operations in the jungle instead. Until their paths converged, that was.

“Do you think he knows?” Javier muttered over the rim of his champagne flute after Martínez Senior’s eyes briefly fell on them.

“About us? Why would he?” Horacio replied into the palm of his hand as he scratched his upper lip.

“I dunno. He knew about everything else. And he must have questions.”

“I’m sure he does. But do you think he’ll even want to speak to us? I already know he hates my guts.”

“He might be pleasantly surprised you’re not dead. You never know.”

Their hushed conversation was thankfully drowned out by Olivia interrogating Connie about everything from the guests’ outfits to the flower arrangements and when the food was coming, whilst Steve caught up with Jacoby.

The tables were soon full of plates and dishes bearing carne asada, lechona, patacones, arepas, tamales, milhojas, concadas, cuajada con melao, fruit salads and the centre piece Torta Negra Colombiana, decorated with flowers to match the colour scheme.

The cutting of the Torta Negra followed before the space was re-arranged, guests spilling out into the surrounding gardens, refreshing their drinks at the various pop-up bars or walking amongst the flowers and trees.

By dark, a dancefloor was unveiled in the centre of the canopy with a band playing cumbia, vallenato, merengue, bambuco, salsa and beyond.

Once the bride had thrown her bouquet, the single male guests gathered to place a shoe beneath her dress. Javier managed to escape the ritual in favour of sitting back and watching from the sidelines. But at the risk of inviting prying questions from his former colleagues if he did the same, Horacio reluctantly added his shoe to the pile. Typically, his was chosen by Juana, which, as per tradition, meant he would be next to marry.

From several feet away, Horacio could see Javier’s suggestive eyebrow and overt smirk, and they were even more brazen close up when Horacio re-joined him.

“Should we pick out rings, or…?”

An eyeroll was the only answer Javier was ever going to get to that question, and it came right on cue.

“Because, er,” Javier continued regardless, clearing his throat and casually glancing around to make sure no one was in earshot, “seeing you in your shirt stays this morning got me thinking how fucking good you’d look in a wedding garter.”

As Horacio was hit with a barrage of mental images and a dry mouth, a large cheer erupted as the next tradition got underway. This time, all male guests – not just the single ones – were rounded up to remove their belts, the idea being that the man with the longest belt was the winner. Of what exactly, Horacio was never sure when this had played out at past Colombian weddings he’d been to.

He stood opposite Javier as they fumbled with buckles, unhooking the leather straps from their belt loops and pulling them off in one swift motion. Their eyes remained fixed on each other from start to finish, an act fuelled by Javier’s last words.

The sound of cheering pulled them back with reluctance to the proceedings, and even though their belts were probably slightly longer than they used to be, they weren’t declared the winners. 

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

As the drinks flowed, so did the dancing, regardless of whether the paired-up guests knew each other or whether they could actually dance.

Javier’s next partner was a familiar face, though, who had at least taken a few dance classes to get to know some locals when first arriving in Colombia.

“Is Steve with Olivia?” he asked, grateful for a slower number so he could catch his breath and talk.

“Oh, no, she’s with the Jacobys. She’s made friends with their daughter, Chloe - they’re around the same age.” Connie twirled underneath Javier’s outstretched arm and back around again. “Steve is conveniently helping Horacio with the next round of drinks. He always did have hips as stiff as a board. I had to practically drag him up for our first dance.”

“That…doesn’t surprise me.”

“And what about Horacio?” Connie whispered into Javier’s shoulder as their feet slid across the floor in time with the music. “Does he need to loosen his hips, or is he a dark horse?”

“You should know a man never dances and tells. But…” Javier spun Connie on her heel again, pulling her close so his head was near her ear this time. “I can assure you there’s nothing wrong with his hips.”

“That doesn’t surprise me either. When did you say you were heading to Manizales?”

“In a couple of days.” Javier swallowed hard now the subject had been raised.

“How’s he holding up?”

“Okay. We’ve not really talked about it since Madrid. Figured we’d deal with it after the wedding, but -” Javier scoffed, cutting himself off mid-sentence.

“Now it’s nearly here,” Connie finished for him.

“Exactly. But I guess we couldn’t hide in Spain forever.” As tempting as it was some days.

They somehow made it to the other side of the dancefloor, narrowly avoiding multiple couples before escaping back to their table once the song was over.

“How’re you finding being back again?” Connie asked.

“Weird.”

“Yeah. Definitely weird at first.”

Their shared laughter came like a sigh of relief, a release of tension now they had spoken the truth out loud.

“But different.”

“It’s not like last time, right?” There was uncertainty in her unblinking eyes, a plea not only for reassurance but for honesty as well.

“Trujillo said anyone left from the cartel with half a brain cell skipped town or went underground before Pablo’s body was cold. They’ve been tracking down anyone dumb enough to have stuck around. So, no. It’s not like last time. I promise.”

His tone was soft but he looked Connie in the eye until she nodded, needing the conviction as much as she did.

“I know I never visited Madrid like I said I would – blame your ex-employer for that, by the way – but for what it’s worth, I don’t think Medellín’s the only one who’s different now. So, whatever happens, Javi…”

“I know.”

His hand found its way to hers on the table and gently squeezed. An acceptance that there was no denying traces of the past, as they had already discovered, but a translucent overlay had been placed on top of it now. Whether the two could co-exist in the long run, nobody yet knew, but at least it was finally the chance of a future for them and Medellín. 

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

Horacio picked one of the quieter bars, reeling off a list of drinks to the bartender and perching on a stool while he waited for his order.

“Thought you might need a hand.”

Before Horacio could respond, Steve had already sat on the adjacent stool, his back to the bar to accommodate his long legs.

“You sure you’re not just avoiding the dancefloor, Agent Murphy?” There was a hint of a mock interrogative tone to his voice as he turned sideways to face Steve.

Steve held his hands up in surrender. “You got me there. Although…” He dipped into the inside pocket of his black suit jacket and pulled out a couple of cigars. “Courtesy of the groom, if you’re interested?”

Horacio broke into a laugh. “He paid up, then.”

“Damn right.” Steve held one of the cigars closer to Horacio, tempting him despite the conflicted look Horacio was giving it. “I won’t tell Javi if you don’t tell Con.”

Horacio sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He put the cigar between his lips and took the lighter from Steve, hovering the flame near the foot until it took.

Steve did the same, a woody haze soon encircling them.

The bartender appeared with a trayful of drinks and once he was gone again, Horacio lifted a beer bottle and slid it across to Steve. “I never got a chance to say thank you.”

“For what?”

“Stechner.”

A scowl stormed across Steve’s pupils, and he took a quick hard swig from his beer bottle, placing it back on the table with a little more force than intended. “It was my fuckin’ pleasure. You should’ve seen his face. Covered in blood and tears in his eyes when my hand squeezed his throat.”

He swapped his beer for his cigar, relishing in that sweet memory as a ring of smoke hovered above his head like a misplaced halo.

Every now and then, Steve still surprised Horacio. Because occasionally, Horacio caught glimpses of the turbulence that raged beneath the surface. It was a clumsier, more unrefined version than he was accustomed to, but he recognised and understood it nonetheless.

“Not sure I’d have been able to stop squeezing,” Horacio confessed.

“It was touch and go for a minute. But rumour has it, the new Country Attaché, Alana Cortés, and Messina were roommates all the way through their Academy days. And for a few years after…before Cortés took an assignment in Mexico out of the blue. But now she’s back.” Steve toasted the air with his beer bottle. “So good luck to our old friend, Bill, trying to pull her strings.”

Horacio raised his glass to meet Steve’s bottle, although there was an ulterior motive to leaning forward a fraction. “I take it you’ve heard nothing else about the photos?” His words were delivered towards the floor in case of the minutest likelihood anyone around them was the world’s best lip reader.

“Not a thing. But I’d handle it if something did happen; you have my word. Cali’s beyond my remit, but I’d put good money on Stechner’s attention being there now he can’t use us anymore.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Oh, and you were right, too.”

“About what?”

“Javi tryin' to shut me out.”

“Well, thanks for not letting him.”

They bowed their heads and returned to their cigars, a surprisingly comfortable silence sitting between them.

“How was he in Madrid?” Steve asked in the end.

“Good, mostly. There were bad days, obviously. But he sleeps better now.”

“He’s not the only one.”

“No. I think there’s a lot of that going around.”

“It’s weird though, right?”

“What’s that?”

“Being back. Like it was all just some fuckin’ dream. Like it wasn’t really me on that rooftop. Like everyone knew it should’ve been you in that photo instead.”

Horacio might not have been there for the final showdown, but he'd seen enough newspapers and bulletins to know that photo well. The one where Escobar’s limp body was held up to the camera like a trophy, now the hunt was over.

“Yeah, well, I made sure it wasn’t me, didn’t I?” he said matter-of-factly. “I’ve had to make my peace with it. And so should you.”

“I played out that moment so many times. Thought about all the ways we’d catch him. Over and over, I let it run through my head. But I wasn’t expecting him to look so…pathetic. Like any other son of a bitch criminal runnin’ scared when his time’s up.”

“Because that’s all he was. But it was real. And he’s gone. No matter what happens, they can’t take that away from us.”

“But now what?”

“Now, we live our lives. We don’t forget, but we move on.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

Just as they toasted their drinks, they were rumbled.

“Might’ve known this is where you’d be hiding. Found them!” Javier called over his shoulder.

Trujillo followed behind Javier; his police uniform now exchanged for a lightweight guayabera. “Anything to avoid a dancefloor. Blondie, are those my cigars?”

“I think you’ll find they’re mine now, Major. I might have a couple of spares lying around, though.” Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out more like he was performing a magic trick.

Trujillo rubbed his hands together. “Now you’re talking.” 

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

Once Steve had braved the canopy to pass Connie her drink, the four men retreated to a deserted part of the gardens where pine tables and chairs with canvas covering them were dotted amongst the trees. White lights hung across the branches like fireflies and lanterns lined the decked walkways, the party and dancing reduced to a murmur in the distance.

The quartet sat around one of the pine tables, the first time they had been together like this since the old days back at Carlos Holguín.

“Can you believe we’re finally here?” Trujillo asked, savouring the spicy scent of his cigar as it combined with the fresh floral notes of the forest.

“At your wedding? Barely.”

Trujillo rolled his eyes at Javier’s teasing and shook his head. “You can tick comedian off your list of career options.”

Steve sucked in air through his teeth at their war of words. “See what I had to put up with.”

“Says the white boy who needed me to be his fucking translator 24/7.”

A collective braying sound travelled around the table this time before it morphed into laughter and Steve making use of any Spanish swear word he could think of.

“But in all seriousness...no, not really,” Javier replied in earnest after they returned to their cigars.

“Sometimes when I wake up, it takes me a minute to remember he’s not still lurking out there somewhere.”

“But he’s not.” Horacio’s eyes glowed with steely determination, needing to put a line under this once and for all. “You made sure of that. You gave Medellín a future. And now it’s time to start yours.” He raised his glass to the centre of the table. “To Juana and Felipe.”

“To Juana and Felipe!” Javier and Steve echoed as their drinks clinked with Horacio’s.

“And to Colombia,” Felipe added.

“To Colombia!”

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Once the cigars were stubbed out, Trujillo and Horacio were pulled away for a Search Bloc reunion, leaving Javier and Steve to their drinks.

“I was telling Carrillo about Cortés earlier.”

“How did you find out about her, by the way? You never said on the phone.”

“Just some good old fashioned slightly off-the-record detective work, that’s all.”

“You covered your tracks, though, right? Because they’ll know it was you who gave her my intel. Even if they can’t prove it.”

“’Course. Although it wouldn’t take a fuckin’ genius to figure that out. Same with Stechner’s busted face. Don’t think anyone bought it was your handiwork.”

“To be fair, there’s a critical shortage of geniuses in the DEA. Present company included, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Steve retaliated by raising his middle finger in response to Javier’s trademark wink. “But most people hate Stechner as much as we do, so no one came asking. Never saw him around the school again after that, although I’m sure he must’ve been prowlin' about somewhere.”

“More than likely. So, er…no one’s mentioned the photos either?”

“No. And like I told Carrillo, even if they did, I’d handle it, Javi. I promise. There’s more shit on Stechner out there, I fuckin’ know it. Messina was getting too close, remember. I don’t think I’ll have to dig deeper, but look at it as an insurance policy.”

“Makes sense. And thanks, Steve. For Stechner. For the intel. For reassuring Horacio, apparently.”

Javier laughed at the thought of them engaged in something resembling a heart-to-heart. But if truth be told, it brought warmth to his chest to realise the two men could be considered friends-of-sorts these days. Not that he dared tell them that.

Steve gave a lazy salute with one hand whilst the other took a swig of his drink. “Don’t expect that to become a habit, by the way.”

And there it was, right on cue, just as Javier anticipated. “Oh, no, of course not.”

“It was a one-time-only Wedding Special kinda deal.”

“Right. Exactly.”

Javier took a long sip of his drink to hide the smirk threatening to explode into an undiplomatic laugh if he wasn’t careful.

“Any idea when you’re moving back to the States?” Steve asked, seemingly oblivious to Javier’s impressive restraint.

“Not really. It depends on Horacio’s visa. We haven’t decided on the best route yet. I’d forgotten how much fucking paperwork’s involved.”

It was no wonder Javier held such disdain for bureaucracy when the wrong piece of paper was the difference between crossing a border and not. When someone’s life was reduced down to a list of rigid criteria without much consideration for the sacrifice and hardship it often took to get to that point in the first place. It was why he had done his best to help informants get an American visa wherever possible, even if it meant bending rules until they snapped.

He knew Horacio had more options than most – more than his grandparents’ generation did – and they had been lucky with their past visas. But he tried not to think about the fact their future would be in the hands of an officious government administrator. One most likely not prepared to bend any rules in the slightest.

“You got that right. Don’t s’pose he’s thought about law enforcement?”

Javier shot Steve a sharp look. “Hilarious.”

“I thought so. And what about you? Any ideas what’s next?”

“Me? Fuck, I dunno, man. Guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

“You’ll both figure it out, y’know.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. You always do. You’re like me and Con. We’ve had our rough patches, several of ‘em while we were here – and a few more since we left, come to think of it – but somehow, we get through it. Same as you and Horacio.”

“You drunk, Murphy?”

Steve contemplated that as though he hadn’t considered the possibility until now despite the array of empty glasses covering the table. “Fuck, I think I am.” He let out a loud snigger before hushing himself. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“My lips are sealed.” For all of Javier’s stoicism, he stood no chance, and it wasn’t long before they were giggling like schoolboys.

“About the rough patches, though…” Steve said once they had calmed down. “Any tips?”

“Someone once told me it’s okay to not always be in the same boat even if you’re in the same storm. Sometimes, you just need your own boat. But as long as you’re trying to sail in the same direction...and want to be in the same boat as much as possible, you can get through it.”

“Huh. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but that actually makes sense. Who do I need to thank?”

Javier smiled, almost able to smell fresh churros if he closed his eyes hard enough. “Someone a lot older and wiser than us.”

“Figures. And my point still stands, by the way.”

“What point’s that exactly?”

“You might not have worked out the finer details yet, but…” Steve gestured for Javier to move forward as though he was about to share highly classified intel. “The worst’s over now. We don’t forget, but we move on.” He nodded sagely before dropping his voice to little more than an alcohol-infused rumble. “This is your happy ending, Javi. Go live it.”

As they returned to the party, Steve alternating between leaning against Javier and patting him enthusiastically on the back whilst attempting something vaguely resembling Spanish, there was no doubt in Javier’s mind that Steve was wasted and probably had been for most of their conversation.

But when it came to the sentiment behind Steve’s garbled words, something told Javier that didn’t matter.

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Maybe it was Horacio’s age or the quiet life he had become accustomed to, but he couldn’t keep up with Search Bloc’s drinking. The aguardiente shots were in full flow when he left them to it, doubling back towards where he had left Javier and Steve.

He made it past the bustle of the bar and round the corner towards a small rock garden with a walkway to the trees lying beyond.

“So, the rumours were true, then.”

Force of habit made Horacio momentarily reach for where his gun holster used to be as he spun around to face the voice from the shadows of a wooden bench.

“Depends which ones you’re talking about,” he replied in a measured tone now he knew the source of the voice. “You can’t believe everything you hear.”

“Well, let’s put it this way...you certainly look well for a dead man, Colonel Carrillo.”

“You almost sound disappointed.”

“Not at all. Vengeance isn’t my style.”

“Nor mine these days.”

“So I’ve heard. Congratulations on your retirement. I’d say that beats jail, wouldn’t you?”

Horacio scoffed as he sat on the opposite end of the bench, his brow flexing at such an expertly delivered blow. “I guess I deserved that.”

“I think we both know what a man deserves and what a man gets are rarely the same thing.”

“True. But you’ll always be Colonel Martínez: the man who stopped Escobar.”

“Perhaps so. But was death not the easier way out?”

“Easier than what? Vengeance?”

“Justice.” Martínez gave Horacio a long look from his end of the bench. “Gaviria was the one who wanted him dead. It’s no wonder you two got along so well.”

“I did my duty. As Gaviria did his and you did yours. We played the hands we were dealt.”

“Yes, and he dealt mine well when he signed my son up to Search Bloc before offering me your job.”

Realisation slowly spread across Horacio’s face, and without meaning to, he gave Martínez a look tinged with pity. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I kept him alive. He was transferred to a new intel unit instead…where he intercepted radio transmissions from Pablo the day we caught him.”

A curve of a smile formed on Horacio’s lips. “Funny how it works out sometimes.”

Horacio was reminded of his own double-edged sword of a path to becoming leader of Search Bloc. The journey began with Javier and a briefcase full of cash being deposited in the lap of General Jaramillo, forcing the General’s greedy hand to appoint Horacio as head of the anti-drug squad and make him a Colonel. A job that was already a poisoned chalice on account of his predecessor winding up dead at the hands of the cartel.

Javier using gringo money to buy Horacio a promotion had been a bone of contention between them back then. Too many heated discussions under the influence led to an argument where “Everybody works for somebody" and “Don’t ever mistake me for one of your whores again” were the last words to hang between them in a heavy fog of smoke, whiskey and undefinable tension for several weeks. During which time, Horacio was even more ruthless than usual. And as if to prove a point, Javier practically became a temporary resident at his favourite brothel.

The hypocrisy of the situation had sat uneasily under Horacio’s skin when he had always taken such a hard line on bribery from the narcos. Was this really any different?

But conversely, if he hadn’t been allowed to build his own force of incorruptible men, he would never have led the operation on Gacha. He would never have ended up in those quarters in Tolú with Javier. On his cot with Javier underneath him.

“Yes, it is. I did tell Gaviria I would bring Escobar into custody unless he resisted. But of course, he resisted.”

“Then maybe Escobar didn’t care about justice as much as you think he did. And there’s nothing you could have done about that.”

“Aren’t we supposed to care about justice, though? And I don’t mean the vigilante kind you and Los Pepes were so fond of administering.”

“You sound like the gringos I used to work with.” A surge of nostalgia rose in Horacio’s chest, and he’d have been surprised if it wasn’t showing on his face. Although, of course, it was one gringo in particular he had in mind.

“If you think I wanted Escobar to be extradited to an American jail, you’re mistaken. He was our problem to deal with, not theirs.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t give a fuck about a corrupt form of justice. How would that have been better than what I did? So many judges, politicians and journalists were bought or killed alongside our men. He wanted Colombia to bleed, and he’d have done whatever it took to make sure he didn’t remain in a cell. You, Trujillo, Search Bloc…you cauterised the wound that no one else could.”

“For now. I think we both know this was something of a Pyrrhic victory. And not the end.”

“Two things we can agree on.”

Reluctant smiles crossed their faces despite everything.

“I think our fathers managed a few more.”

“So I was told at Papá’s wake. How is your father doing these days?”

“He’s fine. Retired now but relieved the hunt is over. I think he hated watching from the sidelines.”

“I know the feeling.”

The distant drumbeat of the live band carried on the gentle breeze through the garden, whispering like ghosts through the plants and trees surrounding them.

“I may not have agreed with your methods, but I was very sorry about your father.”

“Me too. And for what it’s worth, I think my father would’ve been sorry about my methods as well.”

“I cannot imagine how losing a parent so young would have changed my path. And to be clear, this isn't to be taken as an excuse, but by your own ethos, you played the cards you were dealt, did you not?”

Horacio laughed. “Something like that.”

“I must admit, you were a tough act to follow.”

“Was I?”

“Yes. The level of respect you commanded from your men wasn’t easy to replicate.”

“You still got invited here, though.”

“True. And I accepted the invite despite my suspicions the groom was assisting Agent Peña before his departure.”

Horacio’s jaw ticked in anticipation of the treacherous tightrope he would need to tread here. He and Javier were out, done, without their badges or weapons. But Trujillo wasn’t.

“Suspicions or evidence?” he settled on in the end.

“Suspicions based on what I witnessed. But I think there’s irrefutable evidence his and Peña’s unfaltering loyalty rested with you rather than with me.”

“Trujillo also fired a bullet through Escobar’s skull.”

“Yes. An act I don’t judge him for in the circumstances. And rest assured, I have no intention of reporting my suspicions to anyone. Major Trujillo’s motives aren’t the ones still eluding me.”

Horacio swallowed down the dread burning the back of his throat like bile that was in danger of choking him if he didn’t get rid of it quickly. “What are you talking about?”

“You never struck me as a man afraid of death. And whilst I can understand the ambush might have made some reconsider their career choice, I wouldn’t have put you down as one of them.”

“Do you really think there was anything left for me in Search Bloc? My superiors already had your name on their lips to replace me long before I was shot.”

“In Search Bloc, perhaps not. But I’m sure the CNP would have allowed you back once the dust settled. They forgave you for far worse than being shot.”

Horacio huffed sarcastically despite how unwise it was to get sucked into the conversation. “I can assure you my decision was never about them. And it’s nothing you didn’t do for your son.”

That seemed to be the winning blow as Martínez nodded in concession. “True. We can’t afford to be afraid of death in our profession. But when it comes to the people we love, I must confess…I can’t apply the same rule.”

Horacio gripped the edge of the bench and focused intently on his feet, fearing even glancing in Martínez’s direction would fill in the few remaining blanks. He managed a minimal grunting noise in his throat that he hoped sounded like agreement.

“However, many times, I’ve asked myself why a man such as Peña would have destroyed his career so recklessly, and so close to the finish line. But I’ve been unable to settle on an answer.”

It wasn’t quite the change of subject Horacio hoped for. “Well, for starters,” he began, raising his gaze from his shoes at last, not out of a newly acquired sense of bravery but because he knew he needed to be convincing. “I wouldn’t read too much into Judy Moncada’s Get Out Of Jail Free Card.”

“Oh, I didn’t. I know Peña’s role was only a small part of something a lot bigger than he, you or I could control. But I have to wonder what leverage they had over him to make a deal with the devil impossible to refuse.”

Horacio had no intention of engaging further, but it wasn’t the first time he had wondered about the gap he left that was hastily – and bloodily – filled by Los Pepes. Would they even have been necessary if he'd never left? Or would they have tried their luck in approaching him with the offer of an allegiance? It caused his stomach to swoop if he focused too much on the people involved in that hypothetical scenario. But then he thought of Javier, and he knew with every fibre of his being if their roles had been reversed, he would have done the same.

“I’m sure every man has his reasons if the price is high enough.”

Martínez cocked his head in Horacio’s direction with a creased brow, holding eye contact for a fraction longer than Horacio was comfortable with. “Quite.”

Drunken laughter followed by a sniggered hush abruptly cut through the loud silence. The two Colonels – past and present – turned around to be met with the sight of Javier trying to control the swaying bulk of limbs belonging to his former partner.

Javier spotted them first and halted in his tracks, hoping the dim lighting hid the flash of horror on his face at the sight of two parallel universes colliding in front of him on a garden bench.

Steve apparently was oblivious to what they had stumbled across as he carried on along the path back to the party with just about enough of his faculties remaining to reunite with Connie.

“Everything alright?” Javier asked, fingers twitching on his right hand as he looked from one side of the bench to the other, then back again.

“Yeah, fine.” But Horacio’s eyes found Javier’s in the flecks of light from the lanterns hanging amongst the tree branches and told a more complicated story. “We were just comparing notes.”

“Oh yeah? Any interesting findings?” Javier’s eyes stayed fixed on Horacio’s or the floor for the most part, only risking a brief glance or two at Martínez.

“A few,” Martínez chipped in as he studied them more carefully than they were likely aware of. “Some that I will never be able to excuse or forgive, but I think I understand one thing more clearly now.”

“What’s that?” Horacio asked.

“I always believed there were two types of people in this world: those who rely on hope and those who rely on faith. But now, I see some rely on both.”

Before Javier or Horacio could formulate a response, Martínez announced it was time to locate his son as they had early shifts in the morning.

Their farewell involved little more than a handshake, a stern nod and an exchange of “Good luck.” But it was a necessary formality for all parties. A mark of mutual respect that wasn’t quite an offered or accepted olive branch but at least a truce. And that was enough. 

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

“You okay?” Javier asked once Martínez had disappeared from view.

“Yeah. Well, I guess it was inevitable at some point.”

“Didn’t expect it to go like that, though. What the fuck did he mean? Just before he left. Does he know?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t think he’s telling anyone anything either way.”

“Agreed. We don’t have to stay if you’d rather -”

“No.” Horacio was quiet for a second, craning his ear towards the sound of the band behind the large cluster of trees they had sat amongst earlier. “I’ve got a better idea.”

He looked around them in all directions, twice, to be on the safe side, then took Javier by the hand and escorted him along one of the walkways. However, they branched off in a different direction than before, Horacio surprising himself with childhood memories of the layout of this place that he assumed were lost to the sands of time.

“What are -?”

“You’ll see.”

The path spiralled in circles, leaving them surrounded by greenery until they arrived at a softly lit water fountain in the centre. They were somehow closer to the sound of the music, even though they had moved further away from the party.

As they stilled, Javier looked expectantly at Horacio, who was already removing his jacket, placing it carefully on the ground and rolling up his shirt sleeves.

Javier did the same, still not understanding what this was all about, but the look in Horacio’s eye made him want to find out.

Horacio stepped closer, moonlight casting reflections from the fountain, illuminating the spark of hunger glinting in his pupils. “I’ve spent all night watching you dance with half the wedding party.” One hand dropped to Javier’s waist and tugged him forward into his hold. “It’s my turn now.”

Javier’s breath hitched as Horacio pressed them together, his hands automatically falling to Horacio’s hips to steady himself. “You only had to ask,” he said, the smoky timbre of his voice vibrating against Horacio’s ear.

“I thought line-dancing was more your thing.”

Javier nipped at Horacio’s earlobe in revenge. “That was when I was a kid. And you weren’t complaining about my dancing skills on our anniversary.”

Horacio let out an agreeable sigh as he chased the scrape of Javier’s teeth. “No, I wasn’t. But as nice as that was, we were hardly moving.”

“True. And if you must know, the Texas Two-Step got me several phone numbers back in the day. Lorraine’s being one of them. She was more into it than me, but it was actually kinda fun…for a while anyway.”

Memories of Saturday nights spent at old Texan dance halls and barn dances suddenly filled Javier’s mind. The faded aroma of leather and iron rust lingered alongside stale Lone Star beer, cigarette smoke and overpowering perfume as he led his partner across the worn wooden floor in time to the likes of Laura Canales and Hank Locklin.

His gaze would travel around the room – which was easier during a do-si-do – sometimes to make sure they didn’t collide with other dancers, sometimes to give anyone who caught his eye a discreet once-over. If he happened to hone in on a male dancer's tight-fitted jeans and fluid hip movements, it could easily be disguised as admiration for his female partner.

Not that it ever led to any encounters. Not there anyway; it wasn’t anonymous enough. But it was still a temptation. And yet another instance of feeling caught between two worlds: to have the tangible heat and beauty of a woman in his arms whilst fantasising about a mysterious, alluring man from afar, knowing he could never do the same with him in front of an audience.

“Juliana taught me to dance too. Or tried to, at least. She competed a lot when she was younger.”

Horacio smiled at the unexpected memory of them practising in her parents' kitchen, her father watching them like a hawk, glaring every time Horacio put a foot wrong or his hands fell lower than her waist despite the fact she was a grown woman. And his hands had already done much more than that whenever they had the place to themselves. His relationship with her father was the polar opposite of his relationship with Chucho, now he thought about it.

It wasn’t Juliana’s fault, though. And when they were alone on a crowded dancefloor, before his job and life came between them, before he understood the strange, borderline resentment twisting in his chest if he clocked male dancers with a particular look or build, they were content.

One of their favourite clubs ran a cumbia contest on the first Saturday of each month. The prize was tokenistic, free drinks on their next visit, but that didn’t matter on the occasions they came first when Juliana would tell her parents the good news at church the following day. The look on her father’s face as Horacio tried and failed to stifle a smug expression at her side would always be priceless.

“You ever danced any cumbia?” he asked Javier now.

“Some. At parties, weddings, quinceañeras…but that’s going back before I came to Colombia.” There might have been a few hazy nights in clubs and bars over here as well, but dancing hadn’t been his modus operandi in those days.

“So, you’ve never done it with a Colombian?”

Javier’s brow quirked of its own accord, and his tongue swept deliberately across his top lip. “No, er, you’d be my first.”

Horacio kept an impassive expression with his mouth, but his darkening pupils gave him away. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

“You know that won’t be necessary.”

Somewhere in the middle of their flirtation, they loosened their embrace, one hand linked in the space between them as their feet stepped back and forth, then side to side, their movements mirroring one another. Quick, quick, slow, quick, quick, slow.

Without warning, Horacio pulled Javier across his body and under their arms, spinning him around with force, then bringing them face-to-face again.

“Lucho Bermúdez was one of the great musical legends here in Colombia. Still is after his death last year. Mamá and my Abuelas listened to him all the time whenever the whole family got together. Do you know the name of this song?”

Horacio waited until their noses were almost touching to ask as their feet subconsciously glided over the paving stones beneath them.

Javier merely shook his head, their legs intermittently brushing together as their hips popped to the beat before he was spun once, twice, thrice until he was dizzy and out of breath.

“Tolú,” Horacio whispered as they reconverged, his lips skimming Javier’s and his eyes flickering shut as flashes of them on his cot in their shadowed quarters flooded into view.

Javier teased his bottom lip over Horacio’s, moustache swiping back and forth until they shuddered, a different first time as fresh as if it happened yesterday.

But they never stopped dancing. Horacio looped through their arms until he had his back to Javier, one hand each gripped at Horacio’s waist. They shimmied sideways, their free hands entwined by their shoulders to guide them back and forth, switching their hold each time they travelled across the floor. Another spin, another brush of legs, or an electric look making it clear which memories of Tolú they were thinking of.

The song ended, leaving only their charged breaths and the evening breeze rustling through the maze of trees protecting them from prying eyes.

Then, the band struck up again, so they kept dancing. Their bodies and minds synchronised as they paid homage to the country that had brought them together in the unlikeliest circumstances, Horacio interjecting with memories from childhood whenever old classics were played. He was even forced to swear on the cross between their chests that he had nothing to do with the band playing Noches de Cartagena of all songs.

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By the time Javier prised his eyes open, unwelcome rays were already bursting through any gap in the blinds they could find. He craned his neck above Horacio’s still form, his watch on the nightstand reading 8:45am; ouch.

He’d survived on minimal sleep plenty of times, but he couldn’t remember getting home from a wedding past 5:00am before. If he was honest, they were tempted to call it a night once their private party for two ended. But it would have been rude to miss out on the dancers – professional this time – costumes and confetti of La Hora Loca. When in Colombia and all that.

They still had a few hours before they were to reconvene with the wedding party for the ultimate hangover cure of bandeja paisa, so Javier’s nose and moustache brushed over the nape of Horacio’s neck, arms slotting around him from behind.

A serene purr soon followed as Horacio stirred and leaned into Javier’s touch.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

Javier’s lips now worked their way to the side of Horacio’s neck, concentrating on a sweet spot below his ear.

“Liar.” Although Horacio’s whole body arched and his head tilted to give Javier what he wanted.

“Surprised I was awake before you, to be honest.”

“It took me a while to get to sleep…all of two and a bit hours ago.” Horacio winced into the pillow at how little rest he’d actually had.

“Everything okay?”

“Hmm, yeah.” He raised his head and shifted so he was lying face-to-face with Javier. “I was just thinking about my family.”

“Makes sense.”

“When we arrived, we were so focused on the wedding. I didn’t let myself think about what comes next. But now…”

“I said the same to Connie last night. But…maybe we’re ready to rip off the band-aid.”

“Maybe. Part of me just wanted to get it out of the way when I was lying awake. But you nodded off in record time.”

“I think you wore me out.”

“But you enjoyed it, though?”

“It was perfect.” Javier closed the space between them, seeking out Horacio’s lips until he was met with a hum of agreement.

Javier pushed his luck, ducking below Horacio’s ear and descending over the column of his throat. Testing the waters to see if Horacio wanted the distraction Javier was more than willing to provide. “And how’s this?”

“Pretty fucking perfect too.”

Their kisses started languorous due to their lack of sleep, building to something fervid as Horacio nipped at Javier’s pout, catching it between his teeth until it was plump and swollen.

Javier retaliated, coaxing Horacio’s tongue towards his with expert flicks, tasting faint traces of last night’s cigars, until he captured it and sucked, long and thorough.

Limbs tangled between bedsheets soon became Javier whimpering facedown into a pillow whilst Horacio dipped and devoured, creating a slick glide between Javier’s thighs, the relief visceral when lining up and pushing forwards.

Horacio experimented with bracing yet measured rotations as he mouthed along the expanse of Javier’s trapezius, lost in a sea of broad muscle. He’d always loved watching the fabric of Javier’s shirts stretch and strain at his upper back, an eye-catching contrast to the narrow hips his jeans hugged oh so tightly. And now, the shirt wasn’t required, and he was the one setting Javier’s skin alight, triggering a visible response to every touch or movement like putty in Horacio’s hands.

Javier loved being vindicated that there was nothing wrong with Horacio’s hips whatsoever. Of being denied any forewarning of what came next from biting down on a pillow with his eyes screwed shut, the only way he could avoid prematurely spilling all over the sheets beneath him. It was a close call several times, calming breaths required to refocus, a request for Horacio to stop or slow down needed before it was game over.

Knowing he reduced Javier to begging because it was too much put Horacio on thin ice, and any more pleas like that would have finished him off. But the throbbing of his cock was in sync with his pulse, loud and insistent, and keeping still wasn’t having the same effect anymore. The salty taste on his tongue as it swiped over the nape of Javier’s neck where the silver chain still remained was an aphrodisiac he couldn’t ignore.

“Fuck me,” he rasped against Javier’s ear.

Without hesitation, Javier flipped onto his back, the loss of contact causing an ache of frustration. But it was replaced by straddling, groping and grinding, propelling Horacio up the mattress until his thighs were encased around Javier’s head.

Now it was Javier’s turn to feast, spreading Horacio with vigour, darting, licking, kissing, leaving trails of saliva, moaning as his cock was engulfed and fingers danced over his balls.

The scratch of nails scored Horacio’s ass as he worked Javier over, lapping with greed, hollowing his cheeks, bobbing his head and switching up the strength of suction, putting everything they had learnt in Madrid into practice.

They pulled off before it was too late, grabbing the bottle of lube and lying supine across the mattress with Javier underneath Horacio.

Javier’s feet were planted flat on the bed, giving him enough purchase to buck upwards with force, one hand holding on at the waist whilst the other roamed freely across the plains of Horacio’s chest, kneading fistfuls of pectoral muscles and skimming over his rib cage down to his thighs.

Javier caressed each thigh in turn, circling and massaging with his thumb, marvelling at how the span of his hand only reached a fraction of the way around them. “I meant what I said last night. About how good a garter would look on you.” His glutes clenched as he propelled upwards for extra emphasis.

The seed was sewn in Javier’s head as he watched Horacio dress for the wedding. It wasn’t the first time Horacio had worn what was a standard part of his dress uniform. A trick of the trade amongst police and military to avoid sanctions for a creased shirt. But it was the first time Javier had seen the shirt stays sitting snugly around Horacio’s muscular thighs. It was the first time he wanted to slip his fingers underneath the neat straps, maybe twang them or pull them tighter with his teeth whilst on his knees. Or as Horacio rode him with his back to Javier, one side of his shirt unclipped, underwear and a single garter tantalisingly removed, the other kept secured in place.

A guttural groan rumbled through Horacio’s chest like he had read Javier’s mind. “What kind?” he breathed out, surprised by his eagerness to indulge Javier and how fast his hand shot to his cock.

Javier choked back expletives at Horacio’s question and the sight above him. “I was thinking something leather…with a buckle…to match your belt and boots.” Each punishing thrust broke up his speech with strained grunts as he spread Horacio’s thighs wider, manoeuvring him up and down at the same pace. “Maybe one on your arm too….and a harness…to go with your hat…cowboy.”

“Fuck,” Horacio panted into Javier’s mouth at an awkward angle on the pillow, stroking himself roughly. Sparks of arousal multiplied with each wrist jerk as he pictured the look Javier gave him during the belt contest. Imagined him buckling the firm yet supple material until it bound tightly against Horacio’s sensitive skin like armour only they were allowed to put on or take off.

Javier’s hand replaced Horacio’s as he let his cock be held in stasis, basking in the heat and comfort of their joined form. His fingers journeyed back to Horacio’s mouth, tracing over it until Horacio parted his lips for Javier to feed two, then three digits inside.

Horacio sucked down, tasting himself as well as Javier as he swirled and licked, swallowing past the knuckles; faster and greedier. But it wasn’t enough.

Maybe it was the false pretences kept up the previous day and night combined with what lay ahead, but Javier seemed too far away. He always did when they were in public, but even more so when wearing a three-piece suit at a romantic wedding that wasn’t and couldn’t be theirs. It was why they still relished the time they could spend alone. And why they had needed Madrid. Because all those hidden looks and blink-and-miss, ‘accidental’ unseen brushes of hands could only be suppressed for so long. Last night, it had spilt out as inadvertent foreplay. But now, they needed more.

“Turn around,” Horacio said after releasing Javier’s glistening fingers.

They lay heart-to-heart, Horacio on his back, legs wrapped around Javier. Javier’s tongue skimmed across the breadth of Horacio’s chest, taking his sweet time working over each nipple, the scrape of teeth causing Horacio to lift upwards until Javier plunged him back down again.

And Horacio didn’t resist, his mind and body in free flight as the weight of Javier anchored him, allowed him to feel each and every nerve vibrate, his arms sliding above his head in complete surrender, offering them for Javier to claim.

Javier plotted a course across any patch of bare skin he could reach, licking up and down Horacio’s underarms, inhaling the musky scent of sweat before switching to his triceps, then biceps. On the left, he mouthed his way along the muscles; any marks left intentional reassurances and promises for their present and future, their bodies mapped stories of their lives.

Along the right, he eased up when he came to the faded scar at the mid-point of Horacio’s shoulder, placing tender butterfly kisses over the blemished skin, blinking away visions of a bullet tearing it open and taking care not to let his teeth make unwanted contact with their past.

He gradually dragged his mouth away until their gaze met, the rise and fall of Horacio’s chest compelling Javier to lay his head on it, soothed by the steady beat and the massage at his scalp.

Satisfied, Javier lifted Horacio’s arms back above them, sweeping over the peaks and troughs of fortified shoulders, forearms and wrists until they slotted through fingers that clamped around his like a vice.

Javier rocked in a pounding rhythm, Horacio’s legs rising higher, pushing Javier deeper as compensation for being unable to reach out and touch. Horacio honed in on the lifeline at his fingertips, the stimulation against his prostate and the safety of Javier’s forehead, all thoughts about the upcoming days put on hold.

But Javier could sense Horacio needed more again. It was written all over the beautiful agony of his face and the silent request in his eyes.

So, hands unlocked to let fingernails brand skin, tug at damp strands of hair and graze over stubble, the metallic ice of the cross contrasting with the fire burning in the core of their chests as they danced more synchronised steps only they knew.

A change in angle caused a slow build of release to skirt the edges of Horacio’s limbs, toes curling as jolts of pleasure transformed into overflowing currents. The fuse was lit, a chain reaction of heat stoking a fire in the pit of his abdomen on the cusp of burning him from the inside out.

Another snap of hips, his own hand jerking his cock in a frenzy, a rush of white noise, shuddering, shaking breaths and a release of molten bliss across their stomachs.

The ripples kept coming as every sound, quiver or fluttering around Javier’s cock pushed him closer to the edge. With one final thrust, he finished inside Horacio, a desperate growl tearing from his throat, the brunt absorbed by Horacio’s left shoulder.

They didn’t move, preferring spent velvet kisses, the world now in slow motion.

Javier concentrated on Horacio’s nose and forehead, pouring everything into each gesture of affection until he whispered, “I love you. And it’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

“I love you too. And I know.”

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

They dozed a little too long after wearing each other out for the second time in 24 hours, so Horacio went ahead first, leaving Javier to shower and join him afterwards. But it made little difference to the proceedings as plenty of other guests were slow off the mark, too.

Tables were laid out around the nearby restaurant owned by Juana’s parents, leftover flower arrangements used as decorations because it would have been a shame to waste them. It was a much smaller space than the botanical gardens, but not all guests from the night before were expected to attend. A fact that brought immense relief to Horacio because he wouldn’t have to make conversation with a certain Colonel again.

Whilst waiting for Javier, he worked his way through his belated first coffee of the day and took a bite out of an arepa.

“Is there room for two more?”

Horacio raised his head to find Connie with Olivia in tow. “Of course.”

Connie did her best to encourage Olivia out of her hiding place behind her legs. “Come on, sweetie. Do you want something to eat?”

Olivia peeped out from behind Connie, eyeing Horacio with suspicion.

“Don’t mind her; she’s just a little shy and overtired this morning.”

“Some arepas are going spare if that helps?” Horacio kept his voice low and gentle, peering around Connie until he drew a curious expression out of Olivia.

Olivia looked up at her mother, who nodded for reassurance.

“Go ahead.”

Olivia left her hiding place and took the chair between Horacio and Connie, mumbling a thank you as she ate.

“Help yourself, too.”

“Oh, no, thanks. I’ll wait for Steve, whose painkillers should hopefully be kicking in about now. I don’t feel too bad, but I left him groaning into his pillow. Were you and Javi in the same state this morning?”

Horacio fought down a smirk with every strength of his being. “Something like that.”

“I knew it was a smart move to travel to Cartagena tomorrow instead.”

“Where are you staying?”

“A resort just off La Boquilla beach. Steve and I would’ve preferred something quieter, but there’s more to keep kids busy where we’re at.”

“I don’t know the area well, but it is a nice coast up there. With plenty more arepas.” Horacio directed his last sentence at Olivia, who had already made a start on her second.

She slowed her chewing before smiling at Horacio, who had remembered a trick or two from the younger days of dealing with his nieces and nephews. If all else failed, food usually won them round.

“I’ve only seen Medellín and Bogotá, so it’ll be nice to get out of the big cities for a change.”

Horacio cleared his throat and took a long sip of his drink. “Yeah, it will.”

Connie leaned across the table to retrieve a freshly replenished pot of coffee and poured into her cup. “It’s a shame we won’t get a chance to see Manizales this time. But we’ll be thinking about it anyway.”

Horacio was startled out of his own coffee and met Connie’s eye, unsure how to respond before settling on a silent nod of thanks. “Maybe next time if all goes well.”

“I think we’d like that. Breaks like this are few and far between now we’re both back working.”

“How’s Miami these days?”

“Busy now we’re juggling our schedules with Liv’s. And we still have bad days sometimes, of course.” Connie gave Horacio a pointed look when talking of bad days, choosing her words carefully with Olivia in earshot. “But things are better now we’ve got more routine again…more stability.”

“Sounds familiar. I find being in the same country helps, too,” Horacio added with a wry smile.

“Exactly. Now we’re out the other side.”

“Yeah.”

They shared a knowing look, not wanting to say too much in front of Olivia about everything they had been through. It was hard to believe how much had happened and changed in the last few years, and it was clear everyone was still processing it all.

“How’s your arm doing now?” Connie asked in a hurry, keeping the mood light for the sake of her daughter. 

“It’s as good as new. Well, almost. The ranch kept me moving. I think I built back more muscle than I had before. And I kept up strengthening exercises in Madrid.”

“Wow, you’re doing better than most of my patients. I never had to tell you off once.”

“I don’t follow many orders, but it wasn’t worth my arm – or life – to ignore yours. So, thank you.”

“Try telling that to Steve...or this one here. But seriously, I’m just glad I could help. Especially when I hear you might be making ranch life more permanent?” There was a conspiratorial tone to her question. A question she clearly knew the answer to already but was having fun asking regardless.

“That’s the plan, hopefully. Madrid was always supposed to be temporary.”

“But it helped?”

“Yeah. It was exactly what we needed. And maybe you’ll find Cartagena is what you need.”

“I think we will.”

There was that look again, one that spoke volumes about their shared understanding, even if their experiences were different.

Horacio’s gaze drifted up to Javier, who still wore his aviators until he flopped down at their table, already reaching for a cup and the coffee pot.

“Morning.”

“Afternoon, Javi,” Connie greeted with a wink.

“Very funny. But looks like I still beat your husband.”

“Don’t suppose you saw him on your way over?”

“Nope. I’m sure he’ll appear once the food does.”

Javier was right, of course. A worse-for-wear Steve arrived as the bandeja paisa was brought to the tables before they tucked into huge hot trays of beans, rice, chicharrón, chorizo, carne en polvo, plantain, avocado, fried egg and more arepas.

They ate in comfortable silence, letting the food work its magic and fill them up for the rest of the day, highlights from the reception still fresh in everyone’s minds despite their current weariness.

Before long, it was time to wave the newlyweds off on their honeymoon to Bequia. Their goodbyes were short and sweet, knowing they would be keeping in touch long after the celebrations were over, especially when Trujillo’s parting words were, “I’ll be waiting for my ranch invitation in the post.”

And even through the loud crowd of well-wishers, he managed to hear the mumbled “Cheeky fucker” echoed back at him in unison.

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

Javier and Horacio stayed to finish their coffees once the beeps of the wedding car disappeared into the distance, the majority of the party now dispersed and leaving them sat alone.

“Pops rang just before I left the hotel. Think he wanted to check in before…well, y’know.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine. The only bit of news he asked me to pass on was about him being offered first refusal on Ciro’s and Malena’s place.”

The fact the Ortegas were selling up wasn’t a surprise. Javier and Horacio had spent last Christmas in Laredo again, where Ciro and Malena had brought around a fresh batch of sopaipillas over the festive period. In the preceding months, they had gone back and forth on moving, but by December, they were set on putting the farm on the market in the New Year.

Horacio nodded slowly, his brow drawn tight across his forehead as he considered this new development carefully. “Makes sense.”

“Do you think he’ll seriously consider it at his age?”

“I think he has to. We buy the majority of our feed grain from them. Selling to an outsider could risk price hikes and shortages, or the new owners might want to supply to someone else. It’d be a big gamble. But if your father bought them out, then kept their staff on, used their expertise, maybe even increased the livestock with some of the extra land…I think it could be workable.”

Horacio was aware he was being watched and glanced up to face his audience. “What?”

“Nothing.” Although Javier knew his face told another story. “I just don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak such fluent cowboy before.”

“I’m not a—”

“Not yet,” Javier finished for him. “And I never said it was a bad thing.”

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

After every funeral, an additional service was held exclusively for CNP officers to attend. Whilst gravestones were located across Colombia in countless cemeteries, a modest wooden cross bearing a name was planted for each loss in the consecrated soil around the corner from Carlos Holguín.

Horacio had paid his respects here more times than he wished to remember, but he still wasn’t prepared for how vast the sea of the dead had become since his last visit. It was a silent expanse covering the grass for as far as the eye could see, the sole sign of life the weeds and wildflowers shooting up between the rows he walked through.

He recognised some names and could clearly picture their ashen-faced relatives as though it was yesterday when he stood on their doorsteps, hat in hand and solemn expression fixed in place. Others were indistinguishable from the rest. An indicator of the extent of the collateral damage and how long he had been away now.

As he stood in his civilian clothes, he felt strangely underdressed. But for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to wear his usual ranch attire since being back in Colombia and had returned to the beige khakis and polo shirts that felt like an unofficial uniform of their own. One that allowed him to get away with wholly unofficial business in the past, but today wasn’t about him. Today was about them. All of them. No matter who they were.

Perhaps against his better judgement, with the help of Trujillo, he had located the graves of Diana Turbay and Carolina García Velásquez. He didn't allow himself to remember Carolina’s name at the time, even though she had been plastered all over the papers alongside mysterious references to an “unidentified officer of the National Police” leading the raid on La Dispensaria. A story eerily repeated with Diana’s death.

He didn’t linger at their gravesides. But on those occasions, just like this one, Horacio bowed his head, recited a silent prayer and made the sign of the cross.

“Lo siento,” were the only words spoken before he retreated from the churchyard.

He had done all he could here for now, and it was time to…not forget but to move on. It was time to face his fears and look to the future. It was time to let old ghosts rest once and for all.

[nervoushottee]

The Summer Before

Chapter 1: Boy Talk

[2.6k] long car rides, breakfasts, and breakups.The girls are besties forever <3.  (Reader’s nickname is Blue)

Warning: Getting into AU territory at the end of the chapter, sorry not sorry.

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The summer day was windy and warm. The sky was blue, covered with few clouds and the sound of laughter filled the air. 

Day one of the trip already underway with chaos from the kids per usual. Everyone decided to meet at Nancy’s in the morning, her mother making a big breakfast where everyone came, ate and mingled before it was time to pack the cars and head on.

You left Nancy’s briefly to get a bathing suit you forgot was in the dryer and arrived back to see Dustin and Eddie going back and forth. . Mainly Dustin.

“Eddie Eddie Eddie come on, pleasee.” Dustin exaggerates but the older boy is not moving a muscle. “No can do,the van is packed with shit.” You smile as you walk on over to them bickering. 

“I can squeeze in the back! I can squeeze in the back and you won’t hear a sound from me.” Dustin says with as much suave he can muster that gets a chuckle out of you. 

“Yea, you squeeze in the back and get fucking crushed by a cooler or something and then I have a bloodbath on my hands, no can do.” Eddie says to him, placing his hands against Dustin’s neck who tries to say something but Eddie interrupts him. 

“And the passenger is already filled. Sorry kid, maybe on the trip back.”he says with a pat on the back.

Dustin sighs in defeat, greeting you as he walks back into the house to get his things. 

Eddie turns to you with a smile, “Hey Blue.” he says to you. You instantly roll your eyes at the nickname that stuck. Nudging your elbow against his side in retaliation you nod your head in the direction of where Dustin once was. “What was that about?”

Eddie sighs as he begins to continue packing his van with the bags and coolers lingering on the asphalt. “He wanted to drive with me and not be with the rest of the kids. Said it that he’s too grown or something.” 

You hum in response, your flattened hand going against your forehead to cover your eyes from the sun as you look around. “And he can’t sit in the passenger seat?” 

You hear Eddie stop packing, turning back to you. He was full of teasing touches and flirty smiles when it came to you but this was a genuine look of concern and comfort. “Like I told him, seats have been filled, if you need it.” Eddie says to her genuinely. 

You let your eyes linger on him. Eddie had his hair pulled up in a claw clip that he had once stolen from you. Calling the hair piece, “fuckin’ genius invention.” He was wearing a plain white shirt, his flannel tied around his waist due to the heat. His silver rings glistened in the sunlight. 

“Thank you.” you say softly to him, “But the girls are going in Nancy’s car and the boys in Steve’s so I’ll be fine.” 

And almost if you had wished for it. Almost as if he heard you call his name. Steve walks out of Nancy’s house with Dustin trudging behind him. 

Your eyes watched Steve who hadn’t seen you yet. He was wearing an olive green tee and light washed jeans that were cuffed at the end. His hair was a little messy from constantly putting his hand through it earlier that morning. You could deny and say he didn’t look beautiful but you would be lying. 

You felt a finger poke your side, your eyes moved back to Eddies slowly. His eyebrows raised and a knowing smile against his lips. “Alright Blue?”

You rolled your eyes and for the second time that day you playfully pushed him away from you. Receiving a laugh from him as he grabs onto your arms for support from falling. 

You feel hands against your shoulders and a kiss on your cheek as a greeting from Robin. The girl asking you for help to start putting things into Nancy’s car. The both of you go over to help Nancy in your own world of laughter and excitement leaving Eddie to finish with the van. 

You heard the older boy tell Dustin that the seat was free for him to take but what you didn’t see was Steve watching you. 

A pang went against Steve’s chest as he watched you walk away with Robin. Having watched your playful encounter with Eddie, Steve couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. He pushes the feeling away when he hears his name being called from Lucas. Grabbing the keys from his pocket to unlock the trunk and start packing the bags away. 

—-------

With the last bag finally packed and phone calls from parents for a farewell. The group all got in their designated vehicles and headed on to the cabin. Despite giving each driver the directions to the place, Steve drove out first to still guide them on where to go. It was his parent’s place after all. 

The windows were down in Nancy’s car. Your chin rested against your palm as you, Robin, Nancy and Max all sang Physical by Olivia Newton John. Max and El sing the loudest on the chorus which makes you laugh. You’re super excited for this trip and immensely glad that you, Nancy and Robin decided that the girls should drive together. The five of you enjoy the music and going into conversations from time to time. 

Nancy turns the music down to talk, “Hey, how long has it been?”. You see Robin shuffle in the passenger seat. “30 minutes? Maybe 45?” she says unsure.

Nance groans, “Robin seriously? I thought you said you’d keep up with the time?”

You can see Robins hands move around as she talks from the passenger seat. “I’m sorry but you guys put the music on and I can’t not sing “Let's get Physical”, especially when the chorus comes on. My mind slipped!” Robin exaggerates. 

El agrees with Robin on her statement, “Yea, Olivia is bitchin’” which earns a laugh from you. “We’re fine Nance, I think we are about 45 minutes out.” Nancy sighs in acceptance, clicking her indicator to change lanes and keep up with Steve’s car. The music now at a low volume, you can hear Max still humming the lyrics. 

Twenty more minutes go by and Max and El are both asleep. Neither of the girls really got much sleep the night before. From what Joyce had told you, Max had stayed over the night before and the two girls were up late trying to figure out their outfits for the trip.

You feel El, who sat in the middle resting her head against your shoulder. You smile at the movement and look up to see Robin looking at you. Her body was twisted to get a proper look at you since you sat behind her. You raise your eyebrows, “Everything alright Rob?” you say curiously 

She scratches her short hair, a nervous tick she’s had for a while. “Y-yea everything’s dandy.” she says quickly as her eyes move towards the two younger girls. Your eyes mimic hers and you see both Max and El still asleep. “Just wanted to clarify what that was with you and Steve at breakfast this morning.” Robin’s voice goes down to a whisper when she brings up Steve’s name. 

The said thing Robin wanted Blue to clarify was the small altercation her and Steve had. Nancy’s mom had put up a very cute waffle station in the corner of the kitchen. The batter is sitting in a clear bowl with a ladle, the waffle griddle hot and ready covered in butter. You got up for seconds and saw Steve getting up a few seconds after you, you didn’t think anything of it at first until he walked up at the waffle station right next to you. 

———

You place your plate a few inches away from the griddle, spraying it with the butter spray so the batter wouldn’t stick. You saw someone place their plate right next to yours and you looked up to see Steve next to you. He gave you a nervous close lipped smile and you returned the gesture. 

“Want another waffle?” you ask him as you pour the batter into the griddle. “Got to fuel up.” he says to you as he pats his stomach. You smile, turning your back away from him to place the ladle back into the bowl. You can hear Steve groan to himself. 

You sit and wait for the waffle to cook. This is what you didn’t think about, the wait. Of course if you were here by yourself the wait would be fine. You could sit and wait no problem or go sit back down and join the rest of the group. But Steve was here next to you and you didn’t know what to do. 

The two of you haven’t really talked privately or been around each other as just the two of you. Not since the night you broke up with him. 

You could go sit back down but you didn’t know if that was rude or not. Yea, you broke up with him but that doesn’t mean that you want to hurt him or be rude to him ever. But standing here with him knowing the big elephant between you two made the silence overwhelming. 

“So, how are you?” Steve asks, one of his hands on the edge of the counter top, leaning his body weight against it. You nodded your head before responding, “I’m okay.”

“Yeah?” he asks, his head nods with his words almost as if he’s asking again. You nod once to him, lying, “Yeah. You?” you ask him quietly. Steve doesn’t answer immediately. That overwhelming silence crawls back between you for a few seconds. You can hear the sound of the griddle sizzling, the clanking of metal utensils over porcelain dinner plates and laughter from the group. 

But the silence between you is what you can hear the most. Your heart is beating almost as if it was inside of your chest and in your palms. Hands extended out to give it to Stev as an offering, as an apology because your heart has always been his. 

What feels like minutes were only a few seconds as Steve thankfully responded back to you. “I’m great, I’m uh- looking forward to the trip. Not the drive though.” he says in a whisper, his eyes widened a little that receives a small laugh from you. He smiles at that.

 Great.

That word caused a pang in your chest. He’s doing great, he’s great. He isn’t suffering in silence like you are. You blink away the few tears that want to come up and you smile, tight lipped like Steve did earlier. “I’m glad that you’re doing great.” you say to him. 

You don’t know if it was the way you said it or if he could see the pain in your eyes. But Steve’s smile falls from his face, his eyes worrying. You don’t bother seeing any more of his reaction as you turn around to open the griddle and place your waffle on your plate with a bit more force than you mean to. 

“The griddle is free.” you say to him as you walk away and sit back in your seat. You grab your glass filled with now lukewarm orange juice and take a sip. Gathering yourself together as much as you can to get back into the conversation. 

You feel Robin’s eyes on you, her eyebrows raised as if she’s asking, “You okay?” you smile softly though it never reaches your eyes as you try to listen in to the group. You look up to see Steve walking back to the table, sitting in his chair a few seats away from you. His face looked solemn and quickly changed when Dustin asked him a question. 

“ I thought you wanted more food?”

You look down at his plate to see it empty. 

Steve scrunches his nose up,”Realized I wasn’t hungry.” 

Dustin goes back to his conversation, including Steve in as if it was nothing. Steve looks at you already staring at him. You immediately put your head down, your eyes at your plate only to  just now notice, your waffle was burnt.

You realized that you weren’t hungry now either.

———

You come back to the present from hearing your name being called by Nance. Her eyes are looking at you briefly in the rear view mirror. You shake your head and go back to looking at Robin to answer her question. “It was nothing. We just- we were just checking in.” you say to her. 

The car goes silent, Robin squints her eyes as she looks at you, with her body still turned in a way you knew had to be painful. “Just checking in? The look on your face AND Steve’s when you both sat back at the table did not look like it was “just checking in.” she states to you. 

You sigh, rubbing your eyes in exhaustion from the memories that filled your mind just moments ago and having to talk about this when you really didn’t want to. You look over at the sleeping younger girls, El moved to lay her head against MAx’s shoulder whose mouth was open and her head leaned back. “I don’t know what else to tell you because that’s exactly what it is.” you say to her with a sigh. Robin doesn’t seem satisfied with your answer  and neither does Nancy. 

“Are you sure you guys are okay?” Nancy adds, looking back very quickly to you before her eyes go back to the road. You groan, “I thought we said no boy talk? Especially around the kids?” you state with your arms crossed in frustration 

“What’s going on with you and Jonathan Nance?” you taunt, attempting to get the heat off you but knowing it will fail. Robin rolls her eyes, “That’s so irrelevant you know they're fine.” 

“We broke up actually.” Nance immediately says. 

Her words make the both of you shut up. Robin finally turns back around in her seat, wincing as she does, rubbing the side of her back as she looks across at Nancy. 

Nancy’s eyes haven't moved from the road. “How long?” you ask her quietly.

She sighs, flickering her hand up against the indicator to change lanes. 

“About a few months ago. It was a week or so after spring break.” she says. 

Her hands gripped the steering wheel a little firmly, her knuckles almost white. 

“So I agree about the no boys talk.” 

Months? You had no idea, and from Robin’s reaction neither did she but it made sense. She didn’t really see Jonathan much and when she did it was never with Nancy. The last time she really saw them in the same room was graduation. “I’m sorry for bringing it up Nance.”

Nance shook her head, “It’s okay Blue, you didn’t know. Neither of you did.” 

The car is still silent, both you and Robin not knowing if you should speak up or not. “I’m glad-” Nancy hesitates. 

“I’m glad it happened, it was a smart decision. But please no more boys talk until we get there.” 

Robin nods in agreement, apologizing to you for bringing Steve up which you told her not to worry about. Nancy turns the music back up and it fills the silence for the rest of the ride.

—---------------------

*Minimal editing*

Nic’s Notes: AHHHHH. FIRST CHAPTER DONE! I hope you all enjoyed!!! I am going to be v busy this week and next week so I don’t know when the next chapter will be coming but fingers crossed soon! 

Did I break Nancy and Jonathan up? Yes, yes I did and I am not sorry about it. 

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READINGGG! LET ME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS OR PREDICTIONS OR QUESTIONS

[practically-an-x-man]

Character Ask:

1, 11

Ship ask:

Q, S, T, W, Y

Author:

🎬, 🖌️, ‼️

Thank you!!! I think I'll answer this for Jimmy (and his relationship with Lars) since I know you love them <3

OC/Ship Ask Game: Firsts

First big aspiration (i.e. what did they want to be when they grew up?)

Oh, he bounced around from inspiration to inspiration as a kid. He passed some blues musicians playing out on the street, he wanted to pick up an instrument and be a musician himself. He wandered by leatherworkers, carpenters, any number of other artisan shops, and he wanted to learn those.

However, the main one that stuck was reading about Charles Darwin and his travels - it made him want to work with animals, and potentially even discover new species.

11. First "big purchase" they ever made on their own

His father didn't wear suits most days, being an ironworker, but he did have his good tailored suit that he wore for nights out, and Jimmy always associated that suit with success and comfort. When he was a teenager, he finally saved up enough to get himself a real tailored suit like his dad's, and he wore it just about as often as he could because he wanted to look like a distinguished gentleman.

____

Q. First act of non-sexual intimacy (e.g. washing the other's hair, taking a bath together, sharing food)

This will come up in the fic so I'll keep it succinct, but they do read to each other as an act of non-sexual intimacy :D

Lars enjoys podcasts and music while he works since it helps him focus, and Jimmy reads to him on the days he forgets his headphones and struggles to focus in the silence. And Lars returns the favor when... well, that one's a plot point, no spoilers.

S. First anniversary + how they celebrated

Honestly... I haven't really thought about it that far out yet. I could imagine something classic and romantic for them - Jimmy buys Lars some flowers or another small gift, they get a dinner reservation, and maybe walk around Coney Island after dinner for that callback to how they met... it would be sweet.

T. First time dancing together

Aww, this is also giving me a soft little thought - Jimmy insisting on finding some proper New York blues for Lars, finding a little jazz club somewhere in the city... It's Jimmy's first dance with a man, and Lars' first time dancing to that style of music (though he's probably not a particularly accomplished dancer in any genre...), they're both a little awkward, but they just have a great time regardless.

W. First time they realized their relationship is endgame... or isn't

Also a plot point, but I will say that there's a bit of a physical cue ;)

Y. First time living together

After they officially get together, Jimmy does start spending his nights at Lars' apartment. "Living together" is a bit generous in a sense, since Jimmy still just kinda exists in the space (I mean he doesn't eat, doesn't sleep, doesn't really have other bodily functions, so it's really just another place to be), but it's much nicer to be in the apartment than an empty lab.

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🎬 - First fandom(s) you wrote for, and if you still write for them

Answered previously!

🖌️ - First character you created, or first character you wrote for

Also answered previously!

‼️ - Free space! Tell us about a notable "first" in your writing journey!

Hm... I started out exclusively writing longfics, actually. Coming up with the story plots was easy, but I always felt like I was missing out on key details about the characters and their relationships when I tried to write a oneshot, so they always ended up a lot longer than I intended. But as I've gotten more comfortable as a writer, I've been able to pare things down while still being satisfied with the final product, and I've written so many more impromptu oneshots and ficlets than new-writer me could have ever imagined!

Side note: I have no idea why long pieces were easier for me to write than short ones, I know it's the reverse for a lot of people, I just wanted to share all the details and references and inside jokes in these characters' relationships and I couldn't tell how to just write a singular moment in time.