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cheesybadgers · 10 months ago

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Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 21)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24

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Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 7,356

Summary: After arriving in Manizales, Horacio introduces Javier to his family, leading to a long overdue heart-to-heart and a drinking game with a twist.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Discussions of coming out, grief, parental loss, canon-typical violence, allusions to period-typical prejudices, drinking game, smoking, swearing.

Notes: Firstly, I will soften the blow of leaving it so long since my last update with the news that chapter 22 will be posted within the next week or so! I decided to split it in half to give more space to the conversations between the characters. So, hopefully that will make up for my elongated silence lol.

Secondly, I finished drafting the rest of the fic at the end of last year 👀 So, I just need to complete editing on chapter 23 and the epilogue. Then, and I can't believe I'm actually saying this, it will be time to leave these two messy idiots to it.

I think it will take me some time to get my head around it coming to an end, not least of all because it's been almost 3 years since I started working on this behemoth. And I can't believe how much has happened/changed since then, yet my love for this ship and this story has stayed strong and close to my heart. So, a bit of a premature thank you to anyone who has supported it at any point since March 2021, it's been quite the emotional rollercoaster ❤️ As always, I love hearing from my readers, so feel free to drop me a comment/message!

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

Chapter 21: For Old Times' Sake

A haze of mist hung low on the horizon, clinging to the rolling waves of verdant peaks that bled seamlessly together with worn asphalt until it was impossible to tell where the sky began and the earth ended.

Luckily, the tyres of the hire car were built for rougher terrain, and it wasn’t the first time Horacio had driven this route. Admittedly, it would have been easier to fly. But this had the added benefit of giving Javier a taste of undiscovered territory.

If truth be told, it gifted them more time to mentally prepare for what was getting closer with every hour that passed, each stop off to admire the view and refresh a stubborn way to prolong the status quo.

Progress had been slow for the last hour as the congested traffic crawled along the sharp angles of the road with its treacherous drops only a few inches away. They had come to a standstill behind a bus that allowed passengers off to take photos, and with little room to manoeuvre around the vehicle, a trail of cars had no choice but to wait.

Javier lounged back in the passenger seat, one foot resting on the opposite knee, his elbow leaning on the door, and the window half open.

He watched Horacio’s hands on the steering wheel alternate between clenching and tapping, a particular kind of rigidity returning to his jaw for the first time in months – if not years.

Javier made an executive decision by reaching into the glove box. He pulled out an emergency pack of cigarettes and a lighter they had stashed away before setting off from Medellín.

He lifted one out of the pack and sparked up. “So, did you say it’s a farm we’re heading to?” There was no point asking the obvious, so distraction it was.

“A coffee farm on the outskirts of the city, yeah. It belongs to Fabián’s family. He and his brother, Santiago, do the bulk of the work now their father’s winding down.”

“Sounds nice. And kinda familiar.”

Horacio’s eyes finally left the windshield and met Javier’s with a shadow of a smile. “Yeah, it does. A lot hillier than Texas, though.”

“Well, that wouldn’t be hard.” Javier held out his smoke across the car, their first one that wasn’t post-coital in a long time. But needs must.

Horacio apparently agreed as he accepted it with a huff of resignation. “Fine, one for the road.”

“I think it’s allowed on roads like this one.”

“I did warn you.”

“Hey, no, I like it. Keeps you on your toes.”

“It reminds me of when Papá drove us to visit Tia Salomé and Tio Jairo in Bogotá. He and Mamá let us have sweets for the long journey but warned us the Mareco would take them away if we didn’t behave.”

“The Mareco?”

“La Leyenda del Mareco. It was a story we were told as kids. The Mareco’s a red devil that looks like a lizard on two legs. He steals children’s candy and conjures up a whirlwind to blow them away if they don’t obey their parents.”

Javier nodded in recognition as Horacio passed their cigarette back. “La Llorona was the story used to scare me and my cousins.”

“Oh yeah, we got that one as well.”

“I gotta say, the Mareco explains a lot.”

“About what?”

“About how you developed a problem with authority.”

“What’s your excuse then?”

“What can I say? I was led astray.”

It was a blatant lie, but Javier didn’t care when it caused laughter lines to materialise in the corner of Horacio’s eyes.

“We both know you were drawn to it as much as you resented it.”

“Only where you were concerned. Anyway, you were just as bad even though you'd never admit it.”

“Maybe you were my exception too.”

A moment of silence fell as memory after memory collided, snapshots of how the push and pull between them had evolved with their relationship.

"Listen, I was thinking,” Javier started before taking a drag, “would it make things easier if you wore this? Just while we’re here, I mean.”

Horacio’s gaze drifted to Javier’s exposed skin, the taillights of the car in front catching on the crucifix at his chest. “No,” he said matter-of-factly. “It’s yours now.”

By the time their cigarette was finished, the traffic edged forward, and the road ahead and Javier’s hand on Horacio’s leg soon replaced conversation.

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Two and a half hours and several bursts of heavy rain later, the muddied hire car pulled up by a complex of buildings nestled amongst a sea of lush green and vibrant flowers. The buildings sat atop steep slopes of vegetation that led to the coffee plantations below, the foggy skyline above etched with rugged ridges and the ominous outline of Nevado del Ruiz in the distance.

Any sounds from life on a working coffee farm were drowned out by birdsong and their feet crunching beneath them as Horacio and Javier walked up the gravel path towards the main finca. It was typical in its style with a rustic tiled roof, whitewashed bricks and wooden pillars around its perimeter painted in the same shade of terracotta red as the doors and window frames. At the back of the property was a large garden with a patio area, pool and a spectacular view for miles on a clear day.

As they lugged their suitcases onto the porch, Alejandra waited to greet them at the front door. Her dark hair was styled in a bob with waves bordering on curls, the kind Javier imagined Horacio could grow if he wasn’t so insistent on keeping his hair short. At least since leaving the CNP, he had been less strict about cutting it.

The family resemblance between the two siblings was evident in their facial features, particularly in the shape of their noses, charcoal eyes and Cupid’s bows. But Alejandra was a few inches shorter, and her frame was slimmer on account of not carrying the same muscle as Horacio.

“The wanderer finally returns,” Alejandra announced as she pulled Horacio in for a long hug, neither of them keen to be the first to let go. “At least you remembered how to use the phone before turning up on my doorstep.”

“Of course. It's good to see you. But I am sorry I left it so long. There’s, erm…a lot to catch up on.”

“I’ll say.” She peered curiously behind Horacio. “But first, let me say hello to this handsome new face.”

She all but pushed Horacio to one side, forgoing any formal introductions he might have had planned. All Horacio could do was stand and watch two parts of his life converge that, for a long time, he believed would never – and could never – meet.

Javier had hung back by several feet, his hands self-consciously stuffed into the pockets of his jeans as he kept his eyes on the ground until he was spoken to.

“Hi there, I’m Alejandra. You must be Javier?”

“Oh, er, yeah, hi.” For reasons unbeknownst to Javier, he raised his hand in a stiff wave rather than the relaxed handshake he had planned and felt the heat instantly rise in his cheeks. “Pleasure to finally meet you. Beautiful place you’ve got up here.”

“Likewise. And thanks.” Much to Javier's relief, she took the lead and held out a hand for him to shake with a reassuring smile. “Although you’ve got Fabián to thank for that. He’s down there giving a tour to one of our new buyers.” Alejandra turned back to face Horacio. “Mamá’s shopping for school supplies and tonight’s dessert with Juan José, Sofía and Mateo. Ana María’s out with friends. But they should all be back in the next few hours.”

Horacio nodded but remained taciturn, keeping to himself his strong suspicions that Alejandra had made sure she was the only one to greet them upon arrival.

“Come on, you can show Javier around whilst I make us something to eat and drink.”

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It had been a long time since Horacio’s last visit, but he could just about remember the layout of the place. He took Javier through the downstairs rooms, moving from the hall to the living areas and then the kitchen, which appeared tidier now than in his dreams.

The décor was all tiled or wooden floors and earthy tones, contrasting against large airy windows that made the landscape outside seem like a part of the finca. Evidence of three generations and two cats was scattered everywhere in the form of toys, games, videos, tapes, books, various coffee products and photographs from over the years. In one corner stood a home altar containing a large crucifix, prayer cards, rosary beads, candles, and a statue of Virgen de Chiquinquirá. In the opposite corner was a shelf full of old vinyl with Lucho Bermúdez taking pride of place, naturally.

Upstairs housed six bedrooms and three bathrooms, on account of the brood of four children, three adults and a spare room. The spare room was their last stop, where they dumped their luggage, sharing an amused glance at the double bed with a smaller fold-out one laid out in the corner with a pile of fresh sheets.

“As your guest, I take it I get the bigger one?” Javier asked with a spark of mischief in his eye.

“Well, technically, I’m also a guest here. And I did do all the driving.”

“Maybe I’ll, er, flip you for it later.”

Horacio merely raised a brow at the suggestion in Javier’s tone before they headed back downstairs.

They sat under cover of the terrace in the wildly growing garden, just in case the rain returned, which was always a distinct possibility in Manizales. An impressive platter of fruits was laid out on the table alongside freshly made coffee.

“So, how was the wedding?” Alejandra asked as she poured from a pot into three cups, the dark, rich aroma diffusing into the same crisp air the beans were grown and harvested.

Horacio accepted a cup with a thanks and passed the other to Javier. “It was nice. Good to see everyone again.”

“How’s Trujillo doing? It’s been strange seeing his face all over the news.”

Rather than his, Horacio thought with a strange lurch to the gut he wasn’t expecting. “He’s doing well; he’s a Major now. He deserves some happiness after everything.”

“He’s not the only one.”

Alejandra gave Horacio a pointed look, one he wasn’t ready to entirely meet, so he reached for a slice of guayaba instead.

“And Javier...I take it this is your first visit to Manizales?” she continued, offering him the fruit tray.

“Thanks. And yeah, it is. Never got the time to explore much beyond Bogotá and Medellín.” That wasn't exactly true, but Javier didn’t think talk of Cartagena or Tolú would be welcome right now.

“Well, I hope it won’t be your last.”

Horacio could feel another look directed his way but pretended not to notice it and sipped on his coffee.

Once they had eaten their weight in fruit, Alejandra had some business calls to make, leaving Javier and Horacio to unpack and freshen up before reconvening to make a start on dinner.

Of course, it had to be sudado de pollo. Horacio and Alejandra worked as a team, issuing sporadic instructions to Javier when necessary. But he was happy listening to them catch up and reminisce.

“That smells amazing already,” Javier said as he finely chopped onions across a wooden board, gesturing to the dishful of chicken thighs that Alejandra had just finished marinating.

“Mamá’s secret blend,” she replied as she set the dish aside to move on to dicing several tomatoes.

“Oh yeah? What would I have to do to get the recipe for that?” Javier reflexively caught Horacio’s eye across the kitchen.

“If we told you, we’d have to kill you.” Horacio shot Javier a warning look that indicated he was only half joking before focusing intently on cutting up a large batch of yuca and potatoes.

“Yeah, not even Fabián knows.”

“Papá never knew either. But he was happy for us or Mamá to make it for him.”

“My Mamá was the same with her Abuela’s morisqueta. Although, not long before she passed, she left me and my Pops the recipe.”

Alejandra paused her knife to look up at Javier, the surprise on her face soon transforming into recognition and sympathy. “I bet it’s delicious. You should make it for us some time.”

Now it was Horacio’s turn to stop, his eyes travelling from Alejandra to Javier and back again as the implication of his sister’s words hung as heavy in the kitchen as the aromatic spices of her marinade.

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Once the chicken and vegetables were all prepped and placed in a pot on the stove, the front door opened and closed, a loud chatter of voices soon filling the hallway.

Before Javier knew what was happening, he was being introduced to the children, shaking hands with Fabián, then kissing Elena’s cheek.

“Welcome, Javier. It’s good to put a face to a name at last,” Elena said, thoroughly taking in his appearance, apparently satisfied with what she saw.

At last. Javier wasn’t sure whether those words put him at ease or made him more nervous, but he managed to push such thoughts behind a smile. “Nice to meet you, and likewise.”

Javier had briefly seen pictures of Horacio’s family in the past. But he, too, spent time studying Elena now that he was close enough to smell the floral notes of her perfume. Neat oval glasses and a mix of dark and light grey hair cut short and choppy framed her sharp features, the shape of her nose and Cupid’s Bow matching those of her children.

“No thanks to this one here, mind you.” Despite her chastisement, Elena embraced her son tightly, reluctant to let go. “I think he’s been hiding from us.”

“You know it wasn’t like that, Mamá.” Although, over his Mamá’s head, Horacio gave Javier a sheepish look that said otherwise. “It is good to see you. And I’m sorry I left it so long.”

Upon greeting his nieces and nephews, Horacio was struck by how much they had all grown up since his last visit. Ana María was the spitting image of her mother. Juan José was several inches taller than Horacio and resembled his father more than ever. And Mateo and Sofía had presumably become resentful of all the matching outfits in their younger years of being twins, going out of their way to dress as differently from each other as possible. Once they had said their obligatory hellos, they scattered around the house and no doubt wouldn’t re-appear until dinner was ready.

Right on cue, when Alejandra brought out steaming and brimming plates full of sudado de pollo, everyone rapidly took their places around the table.

Silence fell as they tucked in, the warmth and comfort of childhood cocooning Horacio from what he knew was inevitable. A welcomed interruption from his thoughts came with a soft brush against his leg, his instincts telling him it was one of the cats issuing their own greeting. But he should have known better.

As they ate and endured the usual family small talk, Javier's foot became Horacio's anchor, subtle and soothing rubs against his ankle unseen under the table. Steady, grounding, home.

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Horacio carried the last few empty plates to the kitchen, where piles of dishes were already stacked high. He had left Javier with Juan José and Mateo, who were showing off the latest video games they had got for Christmas – and were comfortably beating Javier at them, too.

“I’ll wash; you dry. For old times’ sake,” Alejandra said without looking up from the sink where she was filling the basin with water and suds.

“Okay. On the condition we both tidy everything away afterwards.”

“Deal. You’ll just put it in the wrong place unsupervised anyway.”

Horacio swatted the tea towel he’d picked up in her direction, only for her to retaliate by flicking bubbles in his hair.

“We did okay with dinner, didn’t we? I haven’t made that in a long time,” Horacio said.

“You had a good teacher.”

“So did you.”

“Oh, I know. I think that’s why Papá always loved it. We were all in there somewhere.”

“Like our Christmas tamales.”

“Oh, yeah, he couldn’t get enough of those. Remember we always had to make an extra batch for him to take to work?”

“He said they were to share with his unit, but I’m not sure many made it that far.”

Now they were laughing as they worked in tandem, Alejandra changing the water as Horacio cleared the draining board, ready for the next load.

“Did you ever feel like you let him down?” Horacio asked after a long silence, both siblings seemingly waiting for the other to fill it.

“Of course. You know Papá didn’t approve of Fabián at first, right?”

“What?”

“You must’ve heard the arguments?”

“To be fair, there were plenty of arguments between you and Papá.”

“Yeah, and they were mostly about me daring to marry someone other than a cop.”

“That’s what it was about?”

“Mostly. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Fabián; I just think he had suitors picked out for me. People he knew he could trust.”

“But they got along in the end, didn’t they?”

“Once Papá had got over himself, yeah.” Alejandra let out a nostalgic laugh, which Horacio quickly joined in with. “He could be tough when he wanted to be, but…he meant well,” she settled on. “Once he saw how happy I was and how Fabián had taken after his father with the farm, he came around. It was never personal with Papá. It’s just the way he was.”

“So, you don’t think he’d be disappointed in me…” Horacio paused to swallow, his throat drier than a Texan summer. “For quitting?” he got out eventually.

Alejandra gave Horacio a look he’d seen countless times over the years. One only a big sister could give her little brother when she had to feign ignorance of something she had already discovered for herself. The perks of being the eldest.

“How did you know?”

“Horacio, are you really asking that of someone who has been surrounded by cops all her life?”

Horacio rolled his eyes but let Alejandra have that one unchallenged.

“I thought you might have been discharged on medical grounds, to be honest. I hoped you’d seen sense. Or maybe met someone.”

“I wasn’t discharged, but I negotiated a payout after my injury.”

Alejandra released a self-satisfied hum, a whisp of a smile threatening to break free from the corners of her mouth. “Two out of three’s not bad, I suppose.”

Horacio gulped hard enough for Alejandra to hear; he had no doubt about that. But no words followed, not even when he caught her eye.

“You love him, don’t you?” It wasn’t an accusation or an interrogation. In fact, it was barely even a question.

“Yes.” It caught Horacio off guard how fast he answered. How direct and concise he’d been.

“And he loves you.” There was no pretence of a question mark now, but rather a clarification of a well-established fact. A rite of passage both parties needed to hear.

“He does.”

“Enough to walk away from it all, too.”

Horacio nodded, scared the lump in his throat would give way to something else as his glassy gaze met Alejandra’s.

“His father – Chucho – owns a ranch in Laredo, Texas. That’s where I went after…” he trailed off, not wishing to dwell on the finer details of the ambush. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. I hated lying after everything we’ve been through. But I figured the less you and Mamá knew, the safer it was.”

“I had a feeling you’d left Colombia. But Texas?” Alejandra blew out a low whistle. “That’s the part we’ll need to prepare Mamá for.”

“They’re Mexican-American. And the ranch is right on the border by the river.”

“I’d lead with that part if I were you. Not sure you can avoid a lecture about fraternising with Spanish colonisers, though. Twice.”

“I got that the first time I moved over there. But she went quiet when I reminded her Madrid was good enough for Simón Bolívar.”

Alejandra’s shoulders shook in unison with Horacio’s until a comfortable silence fell between them.

“So, you were there a whole year?”

“Just over. I couldn’t do much to help for the first few months – whilst this healed.” Horacio flexed his right arm to prove to Alejandra that everything was back in working order. “But it was good to have a routine eventually.”

“Wait a minute��you worked on the ranch?”

“No need to sound so surprised when you live here. I was actually pretty good at it. And I liked it.” Although Horacio understood and returned his sister’s bemusement because even he had shocked himself.

“No, I’m not. It’s just…oh, Horacio...” Alejandra broke off to bring her hand to his cheek, her brow creased, but her eyes caught between being on the brink of a smile and tears. “Look at you.”

Horacio made a show of wiping away the suds from his cheekbone, hoping he wouldn’t still have an audience afterwards. But no such luck. “It’s not what I expected to happen – any of it. But it just....felt right. I know that probably doesn’t make sense.”

“Actually, it makes perfect sense.”

“Does it?”

“Well, for starters, I can see the appeal. Obviously. Can’t blame you for going for a younger man, either. And taller.”

Horacio rolled his eyes and hoped his face didn’t look as hot as it felt. “Not by that much. On either count.”

“Hey, no judgment from me. But seriously, of course, it makes sense. I know we all used to joke about you being married to your job, but…after Juliana, I did wonder if there was more to it than that.”

“I think burying myself in work killed two birds with one stone.”

“It was killing you.”

“I know.”

“And Papá would have told you the same.”

A hollow laugh escaped Horacio’s throat, Martínez’s words from the wedding still ringing intrusively in his ears. “I’d have been kicked out of the force. He’d have made sure of that. And I wouldn’t have blamed him.”

“Right, because you were the first officer on Colombian soil to commit violence or be used as a political weapon.”

“He was against it, Alejandra. La Violencia was enough for anyone to see in a lifetime.”

But that was just another in a long line of civil wars. Even if his father's life hadn’t been cut short, he would have seen yet another bloody outbreak in which the state did more to perpetuate the death toll than bring peace to the country. And Horacio had plenty of blood on his hands. At least his Papá was spared witnessing that.

“And you don’t think he was ever put in a compromising position back then? You don’t think La Violencia was why he didn’t want the same for you? You won’t remember much, and Mamá and Papá never spoke about it around us, but I got pretty good at listening through doors.”

“He never did talk about it. Even when I was older.”

Not that he really needed to, Horacio conceded. Even though they were kept relatively safe and away from the violence in Medellín compared to other regions of Antioquia – particularly the rural parts – he had heard enough over the years to fill in the blanks.

He remembered his Mamá’s stories of helping the displaced, those who sought refuge in the city. Thousands who had been forced to flee the violence and start over again, often in makeshift housing on the outskirts, the irony never lost on Horacio that one of those neighbourhoods became Comuna 13. But for all his Mamá’s tales and the work she continued to do until she left for Manizales, his Papá never spoke about those years.

“He was protecting you. Like Mamá was with us after he died. Sometimes silence is easier.”

“I know. I get it. Before he died, the cocaine trade hadn’t got going in Colombia yet. It was mostly marijuana. But with FARC around and the gringos spreading their anti-communist propaganda, he knew it was a question of when, not if, another war was coming. I think he hoped things would be different this time.”

“You did what you had to do, Horacio. Just like he did. Just like every generation of our family did to survive. What’s done is done.”

“I’m not sure you’d say that if you knew everything.”

“You think I never heard any of the rumours out here? Or picked up a newspaper once in a while?”

“You never said anything.”

Alejandra shot Horacio a cutting glare, the kind he was an expert at delivering, but only a select few could get away with throwing back at him. “I knew you wouldn’t talk about it even if I asked.”

Horacio scoffed. Touché. “Not all of it was true.”

It was Alejandra’s turn to laugh. “Well, I kinda figured you weren’t dead after you called.”

“I don’t just mean the ambush.”

“I know,” she said briskly.

But Horacio couldn’t ignore the relief in her body language. Even though he understood it, a wave of shame hit him for even planting a seed of doubt in her – his older sister, the mother of his nieces and nephews – mind in the first place.

“But that’s all in the past now,” he concluded, shutting down his own train of destructive thought. “And you’re right; Papá’s not here. But Javier is.”

“So your future’s in Laredo, then.”

“Are you mad?”

“Am I mad that my little brother is finally getting his shit together and is head over heels in love? Oh, yeah, I’m livid.”

An inferno had spread across Horacio’s cheeks, and he struggled to think of a response. But luckily for him, Alejandra wasn’t done yet.

“It’s…safe, though, right? For you both to live together?”

“As safe as anywhere else. Every country has its problems. I’m sure there’ll always be people with something to say. But we’ve been careful.”

“Just promise me you’ll keep being careful.”

“We will, I promise.”

“I can’t guarantee I’ll convince Mamá to visit in the summer, though.”

“That’s fair. But you do think she’ll want to visit?”

“She might be strong, but we know what she lost – what we all lost. So, if there’s a chance for you to share your life with someone as she did with Papá, to be safe – to be happy after everything – yeah, I think she'll want to visit.”

“Do you think Papá would if he could?” Horacio knew it was a loaded grenade of a question and unfair to ask. But he couldn’t help himself.

Alejandra hesitated, seemingly aware she was between a rock and a hard place. “Maybe in his old age. Or if he knew Javier saved your life.”

“How did –?”

She expelled a comedically dramatic sigh. “Keep up, manito. When you called, you told me the DEA came after you that night. I don’t need to hold a badge to guess who that was.”

Horacio was banged to rights once more as he tried to recall the exact information he had relayed to Alejandra in the hours after the ambush; evidently, it was more than he thought.

“He – and his partner, Steve – went against orders and got suspended for helping me and my men.”

“So, they took a leaf out of your book then?”

“Something like that.”

Before Horacio could overthink it, he took a deep breath and told Alejandra everything. From the blackmail to his and Javier’s resignations to their year in Madrid, it all came tumbling out whilst she kept washing and he kept drying. Just like old times. Just like their Papá was in the next room along with their Mamá. And in so many ways, he always would be, not as a ghost of their past, but forever a part of their present and future.

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Arriving during the week had its advantages, as it wasn’t necessary for Horacio to make excuses to get an early night. Work and school beckoned in the morning for most of the household, so the evening had ended in a low-key fashion.

That was more than fine by Horacio after a long drive and an overdue heart-to-heart. He lay on his side, his back nestled into Javier’s chest in the centre of the spare room’s double bed. They made up the fold-out bed for pretences, but it was purely extra space to store their luggage.

A bedside lamp and hints of moonlight peaking around the edges of the curtains cast the room in soft shadows, the low murmur of a telenovela in one of the nearby bedrooms the only sound to be heard at this hour.

“How old were you there?” Javier asked, his voice muffled against Horacio’s shoulder where he’d temporarily paused his trail of kisses after picking out one of several framed photos on the wall.

“The one from Alejandra’s wedding? I’d have been 24.”

“Cute curls.” Javier’s nose nuzzled against the back of Horacio’s head, which was sadly lacking the same unruliness as in the photo.

“Fuck you.”

Javier sniggered. “Hey, I was being serious! They suit you. Plus…more to grab hold of.” He slid a hand into Horacio’s hair as his mouth resumed its work along bare skin.

Horacio’s back arched with a sigh as he leaned into Javier’s touch. “You know we can’t get carried away. Not here.”

“I know.” Of course, Javier understood. It was one thing for him to have sneaked in and out of the guesthouse back in Laredo; it was quite another to be under the same roof as Horacio’s whole family. But that didn’t stop the almost petulant tone in Javier’s voice. He was still human, after all.

“I promise we’ll make up for it once we leave.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Despite their flirtation, exhaustion was thick in their throats and pressed heavily on their limbs, pushing them closer towards sleep as the butterflies in their stomachs finally settled.

“The wedding wasn’t that long after Papá died. Alejandra asked me to give her away instead. At first, I didn’t think I deserved to take Papá’s place. But I think she needed me there with her, so, I said yes.”

“Of course you did, and I bet she never forgot that.”

“No, and I’ll never forget tonight."

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It was still dark in the spare room when Javier stirred and untangled himself from Horacio as slowly as possible. He had woken up thirsty and threw on a precautionary pair of jeans before tiptoeing down the wooden staircase towards the kitchen.

The clock on the oven read 01:30am, so he wasn't expecting to find the spotlights above it switched on. He searched through the cupboards until he found a tumbler and filled it with water from the tap, taking large gulps until the glass was drained.

“So, you’re a night owl too, then?”

“Shit!” Javier hissed, spinning around with a sharp intake of breath, almost dropping the glass on the tiled floor.

“Sorry,” Alejandra whispered. “I was just reading before heading off to bed.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine. I just needed some water. Didn’t think anyone else would be up.” Javier was suddenly very aware of the fact he was standing half naked in the middle of the kitchen, Horacio’s necklace like a flashing beacon at his chest. “Obviously,” he added with an awkward huff, looking down at his state of semi-undress.

“Right,” Alejandra replied with a stifled laugh. “How about you avoid catching a chill whilst I find something a bit more…authentic than tap water?”

Once Javier came back downstairs with his chest now covered, Alejandra was sat at the kitchen table with two shot glasses and a bottle of aguardiente.

“Not sure my stomach can handle any more of that after the wedding.”

“Lightweight. And just think of it as an initiation.”

Javier sighed in defeat, accepting the challenge as he took a seat opposite Alejandra.

She unscrewed the bottle and tipped measures into each glass. “Wanna make this more interesting?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Three shots, three questions each. But you can only ask a question after you’ve emptied your glass.”

Javier laughed for a second, unsure what he imagined Alejandra to be like, yet somehow, she surprised him anyway. “Okay. Already sounds better than every other icebreaker inflicted on me. Who goes first?”

“Guest’s choice.”

He stared down at his glass as though it was the barrel of a gun, remembering why he had eventually insisted whiskey was his and Horacio’s go-to drink. When he first arrived in Colombia, Horacio would offer him a shot, pouring liberally from the stash of aguardiente in his office drawer, and Javier accepted on multiple occasions. But it was over and done with like a spoonful of caustic medicine. At least whiskey could be drunk slower and delayed saying goodnight.

That wasn't the order of things now, though. So, Javier grabbed the bull by the horns and threw back his glass, wincing at the aniseed burn as it slid down his throat.

“New rule: you’ve got 30 seconds to come up with a question. Otherwise, you take another shot.”

“Alright, alright, I’m thinking.”

Alejandra’s gaze fell on the oven clock, ramping up the pressure. “10 seconds left…”

“Okay. I’ve got one. What was it like growing up with a younger brother?”

“Annoying, obviously. Especially after he got the highest grade in his English class. I don’t know where he picked them up, but he knew all the swear words. Of course. He drove me crazy testing them out.”

“He did that to my old partner, Steve – his Spanish isn’t great, and Horacio sure liked to remind him whenever he got the chance.”

“Sounds about right. No wonder he liked you – best of both worlds.”

“Maybe.” Javier knew what Alejandra meant, but it didn’t stop heat from spreading through his cheeks regardless.

“He was generally pretty quiet at school,” Alejandra continued, "but not afraid to take the lead…or break a few rules.”

“Again, I’m not surprised.”

“Nope.” They both laughed at that. “He always liked to be moving, though. Doing something with his hands. Or playing sports – he was a good runner. We used to race each other around Jardín Botánico, and he would always beat me. I think he already knew he was in training for the Academy. So, obviously, he was accepted. No doubt some thought he got a free pass, but he was determined to prove himself. Then he had to grow up.”

The joviality faded abruptly from Alejandra’s face, transforming into a wistful smile.

“We both did. But at least I’d had more time with Papá. Good job I did have those few years to myself ‘cos Horacio followed him around like a shadow. Until he couldn’t. Then he thought he had to be the man of the house. Even when there were two much more qualified women for the job.”

“He thought it was his duty."

“Yeah. He did.” There was something akin to awe in how Alejandra looked at Javier, as though she was simultaneously taken aback and impressed that someone summed up and understood her brother so accurately and succinctly.

“Isn’t it your turn, now?” Javier asked after a moment of silence.

Without further hesitation, Alejandra downed her shot. “Why Colombia?”

“Why not Colombia?” He tried a feeble laugh but knew that wouldn't cut it. “I studied Gabriel García Márquez in high school. Although, can’t say I really got him at the time. Took me another try when I was older.”

Now he thought about it, Javier wasn’t convinced he exactly got him the second time around either, considering García Márquez’s views on extradition aligned fiercely with Horacio’s. But that was the luxury of hindsight.

“By then, my Mamá had long since passed, my fiancée had just become my ex, and I had no fucking clue what I was doing with my life. Guess I needed to get lost in someone else’s problems for a while.”

“Tell me about it.” Alejandra held a book up in the air that had been abandoned on the table since Javier joined her.

“Smart move. My teacher loved telling us how García Márquez moved to Mexico and wrote One Hundred Years of Solitude over there. And with how things went down in Laredo, I could see the appeal of starting over in another country. Mexico was…too close to home. The drug war was getting out of hand. More and more agents were being transferred. And what’s the line?” Javier broke off, eyes cast towards the ceiling as he licked his lips in concentration. “‘We came’, they said, ‘because everyone is coming’.”

Alejandra let a pause of bewilderment pass between them as she studied Javier with intrigue. “You’re not at all like the other gringos he’s worked with in the past.”

“Did he bring any of them home to his family?”

“No. You’re the first. As I’m sure you're aware.”

“Maybe.”

“Drink up.”

Javier did as he was told, repressing a cough as the potent liquid worked its magic. “Why did you choose farm life over being a cop?”

Alejandra laughed a little too loudly, considering the time. “There are other career choices, you know.”

Javier gasped. “There are?”

“Hard to believe, isn’t it? But that’s not quite how it went for me. The farm came with Fabián. They’re sort of a package deal. I’m sure you can understand that.” She threw Javier a knowing smile. “But I ruled out being a cop years before I moved here or met Fabián. I knew from Papá that women in the force were few and far between back then. They’re still pretty scarce now. I wasn’t up for putting myself in the firing line being a General’s daughter. They never would have respected me or believed I got there on my own merit. I didn’t want to spend my life trying to gain anyone's approval.”

“Makes sense. It’s not easy in the force if you’re…different from the rest."

“Exactly. I’m not sure it’s what Papá even wanted for me anyway. Because he knew what it’d be like. Then there was Mamá with her social work. She was in her element. Always fighting someone’s corner, especially during the suffrage movement. I think I was the odd one out in the family, ‘cos everyone else seemed to have…a calling except for me. So, I studied, got a business degree, became a buyer for various companies and ended up in the coffee industry. And the rest is history.”

“Good for you. And I guess that explains Horacio’s, er, distaste for a badly made cup of coffee.”

“Yep. He’s got no excuse. And neither do you anymore.”

“I’ll bear that in mind. Your turn.” Javier took the bottle this time and filled Alejandra’s glass.

She downed it in one go. “¿Por qué no un llanero ahora que has descartado ser policía?” (Why not a llanero now you’ve ruled out being a police officer?)

“¿Por qué no un vaquero?” (Why not a vaquero?) Javier corrected with a glint in his eye that Alejandra returned with an eye roll. “Like you said…there are other jobs. That one was just never for me. I need more variety day-to-day. Like I’m making a bigger difference somehow. But preferably without the pretty fucking significant risk of death or blackmail.”

“A fair demand.”

“Right? It’s not like I’m asking for a raise.”

“When I moved here, I didn’t know where life was taking me, especially when the kids came along. I couldn’t keep my old job because of all the travelling…and being a mother was the priority until they started school. It took me a while to find my place on the buying and selling side of the business. So, all I’m saying is, things might get clearer once you’re settled back in Laredo.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Javier raised his glass and nodded his thanks to Alejandra, touched by her unprompted advice.

His third and final question had arrived, and the pressure to make it a good one pressed uncomfortably on his increasingly fuzzy head. “If your father was here now, what would you say to him?”

For a brief second, Javier feared he had overstepped some forbidden and invisible line and been overfamiliar with someone he only really knew by proxy at this stage.

But whilst Alejandra’s smile was permanently stained with traces of grief, warmth flickered then grew in her charcoal eyes. “I’d tell him we’re fine. That we miss him and wish he’d come back for good but that he needn’t worry. Because even though Mamá didn’t always get things right, she steered us through it as best she could. And we didn’t turn our backs on the world. That we found love in the dark.”

Alejandra sniffed and wiped the back of her hand across her nose. “Sorry. I think it’s the alcohol.”

“No, don’t be sorry.” Javier paused to clear his throat, blinking his vision back into focus. “It was beautifully said.” His hand reached for hers across the table, hoping again that he hadn’t gone too far.

But she let his hand rest there until she shook her head like a wet dog and poured her final shot. “Same question to you about your mother, obviously,” she said before downing the aguardiente in one.

Javier scoffed. “Well, I guess I deserved that.” He took his time, collecting his thoughts as though he was preparing an important speech. As though he’d been trying to find the right words for most of his life – and how rarely he’d succeeded.

“I’d tell her I miss her morisqueta. I’d tell her Pops visits her every week. But then I think she already knows that. Same way I think she made sure he never re-married.”

Javier couldn’t help but laugh, seeing with perfect clarity where his own loyal streak came from when his Pops was still as devoted to Mariana as the day they married. Siempre tuyo was no exaggeration.

“I’d make sure she knew he wasn’t alone, though. That he was known as Don Chucho to most in Laredo. That she’d be proud of him for growing the community she helped start. I’d brag about all the tamales we’ve made and quote her favourite poems. I’d introduce her to Horacio.”

He envisaged showing her Horacio’s poetry book, knowing that all it would take was for her to read Javier’s message in the opening pages to understand everything about who they were to each other. He’d even dreamed of it, waking with a ridiculous hope that she had somehow intercepted it.

“She sounds as incredible as your father. I hope one day I can thank him for taking my little brother under his wing when he needed it the most.”

“I’m sure that could be arranged.”

“I can’t – and don’t want to – imagine where he would have ended up without either of you, to be honest. He told me about the ambush…and everything else. And even though it doesn’t feel nearly enough, I just want to say...thank you.”

At first, Javier could only nod and swallow the lump bobbing at the base of his throat. “He did the same for me. It wasn’t easy walking away from my job, don’t get me wrong, but it was different for him. He felt like he’d betrayed Colombia and his Papá. Yet he did it anyway.”

“When it’s the right person, the sacrifices are worth it. And I can’t think of anyone more worthy of wearing that.” Alejandra’s sightline had fallen to Javier’s neck. His chest may have now been covered, but the silver chain still poked out from beneath the seam of his shirt.

She poured them a bonus shot each and raised her glass. “Welcome to the family.”

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

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floydmtalbert · 10 months ago

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Tab + “nostalgia” from this prompts list, for @shoshiwrites

It is a hot, still evening in late August. The war has been over for a year.

Floyd steers the pickup onto a dusty side road skirting the edge of a cornfield, driving slowly, heading nowhere in particular. He holds the wheel loosely with one hand; the other hangs out of the open window. The lowering sun is warm on his forearm and on the side of his face, and glaring bright, so that he has to narrow his eyes as he stares through the dirty windshield down the road ahead, stretching away into a heat haze along the horizon.

There are no other cars on the road, no houses or farms in sight. No people. Just the cornfield, flashing yellow-green past the window, and the road ahead, long and straight, rippling in the heat. Everything quiet and lifeless, save for the pickup, the hum of the tyres on the asphalt and the rumble of the engine.

The mail that morning had brought a letter from Bill Guarnere, chatty, containing a photo of Frannie and their baby boy, and full of updates on other Easy men and plans for a reunion. Floyd can’t see the point. A bunch of fellas sitting around talking about the good old days, when they weren’t all that good, and aren’t exactly old, either.

He huffs a long sigh, makes a slight adjustment to the steering wheel. Maybe it’s only him that thinks that way.

Floyd came home nearly a year ago and picked up where he left off. He sleeps in his childhood bedroom, under the old patchwork quilt his great-aunt made, with his high school basketball trophies still on the shelf, dutifully dusted by Nellie Talbert every week, and all the old photographs pinned to the corkboard: himself as a ten-year-old with the family dog, him and his father fishing on Lake Michigan during the one vacation his parents had been able to afford, photobooth snapshots with girlfriends, all married, now, or gone to Indianapolis for work. A few months back he’d even found a bunch of dirty magazines hidden in a box under the bed, a relic of his teenage years. He’d burned them in the backyard, and filled the box instead with his medal ribbons, and his jump wings, all the patches and chevrons, and other bits and pieces, and the bundle of photographs he never looks at but still can’t bear to throw out, and kicked it back under the bed.

He turns onto another road, the pickup bumping over a pothole. The sun is behind him now. He drives past a couple of ramshackle houses, and, further on down the road, a farmhouse, with a barn and a cluster of grain silos. The road is long and straight and level, but he takes it easy. No hurry, nowhere to go.

Major Winters writes now and then—and that’s another thing, Floyd can’t stop thinking of him as Major Winters, even though the man keeps telling him to call him Dick. He’s working in New Jersey, with Captain Nixon, has already been promoted once. Chuck is doing better, working, seeing a nice girl. Joe Liebgott is getting married—or is maybe already married by now. His latest letter sits in Floyd’s bedside drawer, unopened. Smokey calls every couple of weeks, talking about using the GI Bill to go to college.

Floyd got his old job back with Mr Nelson, doing odd jobs on the farm, and in the evenings he takes his dad’s Chevy and heads out for a drive, alone, going nowhere in particular. Sometimes he circles the reservoir, watching the changing colours of the sky reflected in the water. Sometimes he drives through the suburbs on the other side of town, where the houses are tidy and painted fresh white, and have big wraparound porches and garages, and trees on the lawn out front. Other times he heads east, taking one road after another through the acres of farmland, left turn, right turn, zigzagging out and around and back on himself. Just driving, and smoking, sometimes drinking, half a bottle of whisky in a paper bag that he tosses out before he gets home.

In the rearview mirror the sun is a deep orange, flaring along the horizon.

He tries to think of what a reunion would be like. He imagines a big room in some hotel, with a dance floor, and tables set up around it. Maybe there’d be coloured paper garlands strung along the walls and across the ceiling, like they did for his high school prom, or the USO dances in England. He imagines all the fellas there, with their wives in cocktail dresses, and pictures of their kids in their wallets, catching each other up on their jobs, and their houses, and the new car. Or else their college classes, the cute girls on campus, the fraternity parties. And then the talk would turn to the war, d’you remember when and I’ll never forget that time, the jokes and the hijinks and everything else tucked away and the whole thing a big adventure, and done with, in the past.

Floyd slows the pickup and guides it carefully over a culvert. The engine chugs.

He doesn’t want to remember the war, but he can’t seem to move on from it, either. He sleeps in his old room, and works the same job he was doing at eighteen, and after work he drives around aimlessly, with nothing to do and nowhere to go. He’s tired, bored. Mostly he’s angry: at everything, and everyone, and himself most of all.

Maybe it would be good to see the guys again, he thinks as he turns onto another road. Just once. Maybe then he could get it out of his system. Snap out of it, stop holding himself back.

Twilight is falling now, and the air is soft and warm. Floyd switches on the headlights and keeps his eyes on the road ahead, dusty, uneven, patched asphalt revealed in the wobbling beam of light, and glances up now and then to watch the colours fade from the western sky.

He wouldn’t go, he decides. There was nothing to say, nothing worth remembering. He props his elbow up on the sill, and then hangs his hand out of the window again, feeling the air stream through his open fingers.

#Thanks for this prompt; Sho! It really works #And also: I'm so sorry. You might think I'm not but I really am #Floyd Talbert #Band Of Brothers #floydmtalbertfic #God this really got away from me #And yes this is inspired by the Speaking of Courage story from The Things They Carried

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wishingforloushair · 6 months ago

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✂️Sunday Snippet✂️

Thanks @larry-hiatus for the tag 🥰

This is from my Sci-Fi fic for the next round of @1dastroficfest

“You know how it is. These corridors are massive, and no one wants to walk anymore.”

It wasn’t a lie. The network of sprawling metal tunnels connecting the four residential and commerce districts to Solara, and Solara to the Goods In and Out ports ran for almost ten miles. Astra was a different sort of civilisation. Louis had heard stories, of course he had, of civilizations where people lived directly on the planetary surfaces, farming from the land directly, able to be exposed to their solar source. Astra was different. Desperate for a new way of life, the settlers had left their home planet to settle Astra in a series of sprawling glass domes, eventually renamed to the districts, connected via metal tunnels. Astra’s planetary surface was inhospitable, the solar rays deadly with even the slightest exposure. Enclosed spaces and internal combustion engines didn’t mix well, so cars, and other automated modes of transport were banned within Astra city limits. In fact, anything that could cause a spark was outlawed outside of very strict regulations. There was one, fully electric tram that connected Astra to a second colony, or at least the worksite of a second colony. But other than that, everyone had to lump it with walking, unless they were rich enough to buy a bicycle. A crappy one with a flat tyre would set Louis back over a thousand Astra Credits, so obviously he wasn’t going to do that.

The good news was there was always someone looking for him to grab their deliveries from Goods In, take their deliveries to Goods Out, or even sometimes go grocery shopping for them. And yeah, sometimes his shipments contained illegal items, but he was just a courier, so it was really nothing to do with him. If people’s shipments arrived on time, delivered with a cheeky smile and discretely, his Credits would never drop low enough for him to be homeless, and that’s what mattered. Smuggler, courier, potato, potahto.

Tagging (but no pressure to share) @petitommo @justahappycloud @babyhoneyheslt @enchantedlandcoffee @harruandlou

#sunday snippet #Astro fic #my fic #sci fi #trying a new genre yay!

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scotianostra · 8 months ago

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On March 4th 1936 Jim Clark, Formula I World motor racing champion was born in Fife.

Clark was raised on a farm near Duns, close to the border with England along with 4 sisters. After a few years, he was sent to the Loretto School in Musselburgh to finish his education, his main sporting interests being cricket and hockey.

When he was 16, however, his uncle and grandfather both passed away and he was forced to return home. Now, Clark had no dreams of being a racing driver at this point. He knew that it was expected of him, having only sisters, to take over the family business and raise sheep.

One day, in 1956, going to a Young Farmers meeting, Clark overtook another car on his way there. The driver of the overtaken car, Ian Scott-Watson, thought Clark was an idiot for driving as if he was a racing driver and, upon arriving at the Young Farmers meeting, sought out the driver to tell him off. They became best friends in little time and Scott-Watson would be the man responsible for changing Clark’s life completely...

Scott-Watson was doing local racing events in a Sunbeam-Talbot and invited his new best friend to join him. Clark accepted and started tagging along as a mechanic. One time, after Scott-Watson finished his practice for the race the next day, Clark went out to see what driving on a track felt like. And in 5 laps, he was 3 seconds faster than Scott-Watson, who couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. When he got out of the car, Clark asked his friend why everyone was going so slowly. His friend, who still could not believe what he had just seen, explained to Clark that the others were not going slow, he was just going so bloody fast... It really did seem that Clark’s ability to drive was simply something he was born with, a natural talent.

Clark went on to drive through the ranks and by 1959 was driving for the Lotus formula Junior team, about the same time his father talked to him and told him that either his racing hobby would pay for itself or he would have to give it up. Little did he know what was in store for his only son.

In 72 starts Clark was victorious 25 times during his short career, he also won numerous other races, including the prestigious Indianapolis 500. Jim competed and excelled in most forms of driving; in 1964 he was British and French Formula 2 champion and British Saloon Car champion too.

Although more recent drivers have won more races at Formula 1 level Jim was competing in an era where there were only 8-10 Championship races a season. In addition between 1960 and his death he won another 24 non-championship Grand Prix. Another feature of Jim’s ability was that when he did not win he had often not finished the race. In his Grand Prix career he only had one second place. Some of Jim’s wins and minor places were occurred when he was nursing an ailing car and only his ability got it to the finish line.

As I said earlier there were only 8-10 races in Formula One in those days, in 1968 Clark won the first grand prix in South Africa, there was however more than four months until the next big race in Spain, drivers filled the time driving in lesser races, and so it was that he ended up driving in a Formula Two race at a wet Hockenheim on 7 April 1968.

The Lotus, he was driving, on Firestone tyres was poor in the rain, and uncompetitive, unusually for him Clark was neither a front-runner nor making ground on those who were.

Then something went wrong at the fast Ostkurve. There were no barriers and Clark's car plunged at full speed into the trees, where he was killed instantly.

Fellow Scot Jackie Stewart is still angered by the crash ad the memories it brings saying, "Jim Clark died almost certainly because of a vehicle failure of some kind,There was no barrier, no fencing in front of a forest. And Jim Clark died violently in a forest, being hit by young trees and big trees alike, and his car was almost totally destroyed. And Jimmy died. It just was inconceivable."

In the most tragic of circumstances, then, Clark helped define the future of the sport, as well as bestriding like a colossus part of its past.

Clark was trying to win his third title and retire. He talked to the other drivers that he was starting to worry about what he would do once he stopped racing, since he knew he could not do it forever, even if he really did enjoy racing, and he would have to stop at some point, go back to Scotland and raise a family.

He also confided in Stewart, who by then was a very known advocate for safety in racing, that he did think of the dangers sometimes, especially if there were trees around a track.

#scotland #scottish #history #farmer #racing driver #champion #formula 1

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silverozy · 7 months ago

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ATP; 01 | Love is all around

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wc: 4.23k

date: 12/04/2024

mdi // masterlist // playlist

Early in September, just hours before midday. The sun is not high yet but shines light through the whole town. Like the weak and bright sunrays, Daphne's dad drove on the road, pushing through the fresh waves of the summer morning breeze. As background noise was crunching stones produced by the tyres.

Breeze combed the hair strokes. Morning freshness caused the rise of goosebumps. Butterflies in the stomach showed how excited Daphne was about moving. Yes, moving.

Usually, they'd come to the countryside only for the summer holidays but now she would stay longer. A smile was printed on her face as she observed. She was going to like this, she thought. She was going to like this place, this new beginning. She started regretting ever complaining about moving in the first place.

Her mother was in the passenger seat explaining how the town was beautiful, her fingers pointed at random spots occasionally. Daphne wasn't even listening to her. She only thought that her mother could save her breath because she didn't need any more convincing: the view before her spoke for itself.

Daphne lowered her window and, with an arm swinging outside, she observed, she beheld the sight. The car took a turn and now they were riding up a hill along a road surrounded by beautiful houses.

It'd been long since she last came here but she couldn't tell if the place had changed or she'd just forgotten.

Women were spreading out the laundry, dusting carpets, watering flowers. Pink, yellow, red, purple flowers. They painted the street. Some kids were playing in their front yard. Dogs barked and ran to their gates as they drove by. The bottom floors housed a variety of shops and all had a little banner on the doors that said 'open'. A flower shop. Greengrocery. Ironmongery. A bakery. A butcher's shop. And many more. The people looked friendly as they greeted them. She happily greeted back, and her smile expanded.

"This place is beautiful, Mom," her words caught the respondent off-guard as she immediately looked in the backseat to agree with her daughter, glad she wasn't angry anymore. "We're almost there," the dad informed, taking another turn.

The road they were riding led away from that loving neighbourhood of flowers—fields on the left and a few farms on the right. Daphne's dark hair waved with the breeze. The smell of manure filled her nostrils but instead of feeling unpleasant, it reminded her of how lovely living in the countryside was. Horses were munching on the grass. Bells on sheep rang as she passed by the flock. The manure smell was soon replaced by the one of grass coming from the left where tractors were working on the field. The big vehicles were shaping the dried grass into big blocks reminding her of her childhood and how she used to spend her time watching the whole process.

Their destination was her grandparents' place. It was a huge white two-story building with a dark brown roof, divided into two separated yet joined houses: one for them and one for the grandparents. They were struggling financially in the city so they opted to move to the countryside since they couldn't afford to pay the rent. She didn't fully oppose their decision but living in the countryside for God knows how long scared her but now that she was there, she wasn't bothered anymore.

As mentioned before, the place wasn't completely foreign to her: she'd come here with her family for the summer holidays and she enjoyed her stay with the difference of knowing she'd go back to the city and therefore back to her friend. Yeah, her friend. Singular. She didn't have friends here if not her grandparents' neighbours' daughter, Cleo, who, though, was her complete opposite: while Daphne liked spending sunny days reading on a spread-out blanket in her garden, Cleo liked running up and down and playing. Daphne felt like Cleo was like a child whose energy you must match, or else they just drain you out.

"We're here," the dad informed as he took another turn out of the long field-side road and climbed up towards a house slightly hidden by trees. Their new home. By the gate were her grandparents happily waiting for them with two big dogs beside them.

The road leading to the house cut through a mildly thick forest. The house was directly facing the road while their neighbours' were on the sides.

Daphne's smile broadened as she hopped down the car and then into her grandparents' arms. Kisses, compliments and continuous reminders of how much she grew as they hugged her before hugging the parents. Now her attention was on the two dogs that couldn't hold back from barking, hopping left and right with wiggling tails. Loki and Luke, the first was an Australian shepherd and the second was a German shepherd. They too have grown so much and she felt it the most when they got up to greet her and reached her shoulders.

Playing with their fur, she wondered whether to help her family with the bags but they read her mind and told her to go inside and not bother. She'd normally insist further but this time she didn't stay any second longer and rushed inside the house. The two dogs ran after her.

Her parents and she would live in the house on the left while her grandparents were their next-door neighbours on the right. The front door was unlocked. She quickly left her shoes outside before going inside.

It was just as she remembered it. Just as they had left it. Beneath her naked feet, the tiles were cold and of an umber brown that would create a mocha shade if mixed with the milk colour of the walls, a gradient colour that from the bottom starts in brown, slowly fades into caramel and finishes in a paler tone topped by the white-coloured painting ceiling. Matching was the chocolate brown curb.

The floor started with a rectangular anteroom. On the right was an umbrella rack, above it hangers for jackets and hats; on the left was space for shoes, a bench to sit on and put them on, hangers for keys and the staircase. Further in, the space was divided into three: the living room on the left, the dining room on the right and in the middle, leading to the garden, her second favourite place in the world, was a little space.

The living room was placed between two walls, the right one was covered in tall glass windows facing the garden, and the right one welcomed a door opening that led to a tiny hallway presenting two doors, one was the of the store and one of the bathroom. Cream sofa with green uniquely shaped pillows. A brown armchair on the left and a little swing chair on the right. Between the couch and the fireplace was a coffee table decorated with a vase of flowers and a cascade of books on the second layer. On the floor was a wide oval carpet. The fireplace was against a wall between two door openings leading to a study room.

The dining room was composed of a round table surrounded by four chairs. Further to the right was the kitchen, simple and traditional, light-brown in colour. The counters were covered with utensils, flower pots and miscellaneous items. On the tile-covered walls were hangers holding gloves, kitchen tools and aprons. The stove was as empty as the sink. The coffee machine on one side, the microwave on the other. Hanging by the handle of the oven was a chequered green cloth. Next to the stove was the dishwasher and in front of both, on the floor, was the kitchen mat. Pots resided in the wide drawers, plates in the cupboards. A double-door fridge finished the kitchen design.

She gently quieted the dogs and took her time to examine the room. A smile lit up her face whenever she took notice of any small details that reminded her of her childhood. She strolled through the kitchen, running her finger across the counters and was pleased to see that everything was sparkling clean. She couldn't stop grinning as she thought about how excited her grandmother must have been while cleaning the house in anticipation of their arrival. It was always heartwarming to see her grandmother filled with joy. She'd get very energetic and talkative unable to contain her happiness. Witnessing her grandmother's happiness was infectious, making her feel just as happy as her.

Daphne quickly rushed and ran upstairs, the dogs matched her vibe behind her. The walls that ran along to the top floor had a light floral print that gave the house the vintage and cosy look of a cottage.

While Loki and Luke ran around, she slowed down: in front of her was the little nook where she'd spend her time reading during rainy days while on the left, behind the railing, were four doors: her bedroom, her parents', her sister's and the bathroom. She missed her sister so dearly. They could meet only during summer break because she was studying abroad but she didn't linger on it much and proceeded to her bedroom. As she opened the door, the dogs ran inside.

It was just as she'd left it and that had her tear up a bit. On her left was her little bookshelf, on her right was her dresser and a little farther away from it, was her bed. The bedsheets were identical and not dusty to the touch. Another sign of her grandmother's hard work.

The blanket was light. Pink floral prints. White pillows in front of which sat her plushie, an adorable teddy bear her grandmother had gifted her when she was five. The nightstand welcomed a lamp and adorable miniature decorations she found in her grandparents' attic. Opposite the bed was the window brightening the room. In front of it was her desk and to its right, in a little nook, was her wardrobe.

After walking around the room for a few moments, she dropped herself on the bed, the softener scent filled her nostrils. She stared up at the ceiling. In the corner of her eyes, she could see the waving tails of Luke and Loki as they roamed around before walking by her legs and caressing her with their soft fur.

She was certainly going to miss her only friend in the city. Daphne had particular difficulties with making friends because she found it hard to vibe with a lot of people so finding her match was a real struggle. It took her a long time before she met Margot. The two matched like pieces of a puzzle. They vibed with each other so well. They had so much in common. To understand it better, Margot was the type of neighbour Daphne was wishing for rather than the one she had in reality because Margot was just like her. While Cleo would scrunch her face and call her boring whenever she'd say that she'd rather read all day than play, Margot would agree with her and sit down so they could read together. Margot was the type of friend who didn't feel as overwhelming. The type of friend whose simple presence was enjoyable: you didn't have to talk, play or do anything in general. Daphne and Margot brought ease to each other by simply being in the same room or space. But Daphne also couldn't fully blame Cleo: she'd met Margot in 10th grade while she had known Cleo since when they were kids. Any child would find reading all day boring. A straight-up form of torture.

Downstairs she could hear her family rustling with stuff. One of the dogs rushed out of the room while she still lay on her back, arms spread, looking up at the white ceiling in pure bliss. She didn't budge for a few more seconds and probably wouldn't have at all for minutes if she hadn't heard an unfamiliar voice come from downstairs.

It was a voice that sounded brighter than she'd ever heard in a long time. She was sure she'd left just her grandparents and parents downstairs but the voice she was hearing was female and sounded brighter than her granny's and mom's. So she sat up. Instantly. Almost robotically.

As her, the dog sensed the presence and rushed out of the room. Daphne followed right after but she didn't go downstairs. She was about to but she noticed the dogs weren't barking up and down which meant that whoever it was knew them. They were already familiar with them. A strange feeling settled in her, a feeling that held her back from going down the stairs and simply had her stretching over the railing to see. A bit shy, you can assume.

"She's upstairs," she heard her grandmother say, leaving Daphne increasingly confused. Who could be coming up to see her? She had no idea, but from the bubbly demeanour of the person, she could tell they were happy to see her. A shy smile emerged on her face just as the person appeared on the stairs. "Hey, Daphne," the voice sang as they saw her leaning on the railing. They rushed upstairs and were now standing in front of her. "Do you remember me?" Daphne's shy smile grew. How could she forget her? Caramel brown bouncy curls, freckled cheeks, moss green eyes, and lips as reddish as her cheeks. She hadn't changed a bit. She had grown, but it was still the same Cleo.

"Course I do," she happily answered and Cleo giggled. The bright smile that decorated her face made Daphne regret everything she was thinking about earlier. The smile behaved like a vibrant filter animating her memories. "Granny told me you were going to move here and I've never been happier. I thought we'd never meet again," she happily spoke while Daphne came out of her trance, grabbed her hands and led her to her bedroom.

As happy as the latter was, Cleo couldn't hold back from giggling all the time unaware of just how much happiness she'd put in the other girl's heart. A few moments ago, Daphne was thinking about how making friends was so hard for her only for Cleo to happily hop into her home, all happy to see her. Never would Daphne have thought that someone could be waiting for her so excitedly. It warmed her heart so much.

"How have you been?" she spoke first. Cleo's face glowed even brighter as she started talking. Amazingly bored, she said. Amazing because she's fine, no illness nor body ache or particular border to carry. Bored because, aside from Daphne, the neighbours were younger than her and therefore felt more like kids to babysit rather than people to make actual friends with. Granny started cleaning the house a month in advance, she narrated, and she helped her out on it. Said she enjoyed cleaning while listening to Granny telling stories about Daphne. It increased her excitement and her will to help Granny. She spent days here at the house with granny and never got tired. Granny tried to tell her not to worry but Cleo was just as excited. She'd spend the day cleaning and preparing and then would head home for dinner after which she'd be crocheting little cute things for the both.

Daphne listened with a never-ending smile. All of this for her? Wow. "I have them at my place. If you wish, later I can take you there and give you them," Daphne simply nodded. Eagerly. Happily. A happiness that then spiralled into taking Cleo in for a hug. "I'm just as happy to see you. I thought I wouldn't make friends here," Cleo dramatically gasped and clutched her chest, denying all of Daphne's beliefs. "You'll never be friend-less. Not under my watch," they both laughed before they heard a slight knock on the door. "Granny is going to prepare lunch and asked if the two of you would like to join".

✿..｡

"I caught enough vegetables from my farm so we could have fun," Granny spoke to the girls' happy faces. They were going to make pizza. Pizzas. Granny had already prepared the dough. They now had to set the ingredients and make unique pizzas. Cleo took on the onions while Daphne took a few zucchini to chop. In the fridge was a container of mozzarella and one of cheese. They had everything at their disposal.

They spent the following forty minutes chopping all the ingredients, blending tomatoes for the sauce, cutting the mozzarella into blocks and grating the cheese. Once done with that, Granny started working on the dough while the young girls buttered up the pans and prepared the oven. Next door Daphne's parents were unpacking and settling in.

"So, how was the city?" Cleo asked, starting a conversation. "Nice, in its way. Yeah, nice,"

"You've got friends you'll miss?"

"A friend, yeah. Margot. We met in 10th grade. She's a great person but knowing her, the distance is going to make the friendship falter," as she spoke, Granny smiled. She was listening and knew who she was talking about. Granny and Daphne's mother were more like sisters than anything else. Daphne's mom always kept her updated on her life and Daphne's so Granny knows how hard it is for Daphne to make friends. She'd suspected it since the girl was a little child because she could see how socializing wasn't on the list: Daphne could spend an eternity of time by herself and never get bored or feel lonely. It didn't bother Granny much but as Daphne grew so did her mother's worries. Whenever Daphne's mom called, she'd never forget to state how bothered she was about seeing her daughter be all reserved so you can imagine how happy she became the day Daphne asked her if she could invite a friend over.

"A friend? A friend! God, yes, invite your friend over! I told her. Ooh, I'm so happy. Like, I get it. She finds solace simply in herself which is a good thing, awesome in fact, because it means that no one can hurt her because, you know, out there are monsters in human form ready to just hurt people but just one person once in a while never hurts, you get me?" she told Granny on the phone. Daphne's mom is a talkative person who's scared of miscommunication and misunderstandings so whenever she's speaking, she can't hold back from clarifying every single thing she said making her wholly sound in panic.

Granny found that adorable, just like Daphne's dad did. But Daphne wasn't like her mom, she was like her dad and like Granny too. A person of a few words. Someone who enjoyed listening more than speaking.

"Oh, why's that?" Cleo asked. "Our friendship isn't really the type that goes on both physically and virtually. We... we don't text," Cleo nodded in acknowledgement before focusing back on transferring the dough from the board to the pan. "Thank god we're neighbours then," Cleo giggled. Her words warmed Daphne's heart who couldn't help but giggle as well. In the background, Granny struggled with holding back her smile.

"Are you still the bibliophile I used to know?" she proceeded. Another warm smile on her face as Daphne nodded, "I got tons of books at mine. I don't exactly classify myself as a bibliophile too but I do read. On special occasions, but I do"

Daphne chuckled and assured her she'd explore her bookshelf. Cleo giggled in response. She continued, "Do you have any specific thing to do these days?"

"No, not exactly. Why?"

"I was planning on giving you a town tour. A tour of my house, our neighbourhood, the neighbouring neighbourhoods, the town centre and, eventually, our school. You down?" Daphne quickly looked at her grandma in search of a nod of consent which she found and followed through with, agreeing to Cleo's plans. "We'll do all that today?"

"Oh, no. My god. If we did, it'd mean I carelessly showed you the place but that's not what it'll be. Once we've done the town tour, we'll go pre-school shopping. I know a store that sells the cutest school supplies I've ever laid eyes on".

They talked about their favourite school supplies: Daphne admitted to having a passion for decorating diaries and planners; Cleo's the same but decorates notebooks. Cleo got to know how a perfect academic performance was a priority to Daphne. She wasn't surprised. Daphne got to know that Cleo didn't change much and cherishes a good time above bending over a book and reading all day. She, as well, wasn't surprised. While Daphne is a dog person, Cleo fancies cats. Cleo adores sunny days, Daphne'd rather stay under a downpour than a burning-hot sun. Daphne's an early bird. Cleo's a night owl.

Overall, Daphne could tell that they were two different faces of the same coin. Equally different. Cleo was going to be a hit of fresh breeze to her pretty monotone life. She's someone who loves indulging in the same routines but, in that moment, she was ready to change them all for Cleo.

Can't really blame her. You have yourself someone eagerly waiting for you despite having seen you years ago and then we talk.

✿..｡

By noon, all the pizzas were ready, hot and sizzling delicacies. As they waited, the whole family, Cleo's included, helped with setting the table on the veranda. Eight chairs. A round wide dining table. A floral print tablecloth. A vase of fresh flowers in the centre. Scattered evenly were jars of water, fresh and sparkling. In front of each chair was a plate sided by a fork and a knife. No need for spoons.

Birds chirped. Dogs barked. Cutlery clicked on plates. Water hit the kitchen sink whenever someone washed their hands or rinsed a utensil.

"Food's going to be up in minutes," Cleo announced and soon everyone was sat at the table. Granny and Daphne's mom came on the veranda with pizzas placed on round wooden boards. Everyone seated exclaimed in joy, complementing the cooks.

Once they've brought enough, they finally sat at the table. They said the grace before they started sharing the pizzas into slices. One helped the other and soon everyone had something on their plate, a bite between their teeth.

Cleo sat next to Daphne. They each had a slice of the pizza the other prepared and were complementing each other on the result. Smiles never faded away. Beside Cleo was her brother, Cole. He too was smiling, laughing in fact, with the adults. Beside him, his father.

Daphne had met them and had a little conversation with them. Cole had just graduated high school and would go to the University by October. He had a car of his own and was working on getting an apartment too. Daphne didn't see the mother and no one mentioned her so she didn't pry further but that didn't stop her from wondering.

Cleo's father loved dad jokes. He couldn't help but stick one every two sentences. They made people laugh for the sole reason of being hilarious, so stupid that it has you wondering how can someone even come up with them. He had a deep voice that made everything he said sound serious which made the jokes come off even funnier. Cole took after him. He too had a deep voice but he didn't make any hilarious jokes. Everything he did and said sounded very mature. Daphne assumed that he probably read a lot or had a good academic performance. He just sounded like he could be the class president, like the type of teenage student who could argue with a scumbag of a teacher pushing sixty who feels heavily entitled.

Cleo's voice contrasted theirs. She was the bright moon on a dark and starless night. Her voice was as chirpy as her laugh. She looked like the type of person who could rock golden shades because she glowed. She glows. She looked like the type of girl you'd always want to be happy, never sad, never see cry. The type of girl whose sad face could induce the watcher into a great state of melancholy. The type of person that can make anyone empathic.

A part of her almost reminded Daphne of her mother with the only difference that while her mother talked so much in fear of causing a misunderstanding, Cleo talked so much because she was simply made like that. Her mind was a running film strip. A very fast one and she was always in a hurry to talk about it in every of its details.

The lunch went on like this. Laughter was the only thing you could hear. Some dad jokes here and there but all for fun. All in happiness.

Daphne in that moment thought that her past life wasn't a life. Was she dead the whole time because she started feeling alive only this day, in this instant, sitting between her mom and her old-yet-new friend, eating pizza in the wonderful atmosphere of the sunny day.

Yeah, she was probably dead the whole time. Or at least a zombie.

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#bts fanfic #taehyung fanfic #taehyung imagine #taehyung scenarios #taehyung fluff #taehyung smut #taehyung x oc #Spotify #taehyung!student #zy

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eaglesnick · 1 year ago

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“Earth provides enough to satisfy every man's needs, but not every man's greed.” ― Mahatma Gandhi

We know Rishi Sunak would rather he and his cronies made even more money than they already have than save the planet. Even those within the Conservative party acknowledge this fact, and this was BEFORE Sunak decided to issue hundreds of new licenses for oil and gas extraction from the North Sea, or scrap clean air policies for our cities.

“Goldsmith says Sunak is apathetic about the environment. It’s Hard to disagree. Evidence suggests PM has done little to advance green issues and is allowing the UK to fall behind in climate fight.” (Guardian: 30/06/23)

Are people really going to vote for a man who has allowed our waterways and beaches to become polluted by raw sewage? This was a headline from the Mirror newspaper only yesterday:

“Sewage pours into conservation sites including Lake District for 300,000 hours.” (Mirror: 31/07/23)

Back in January the BBC reported this warning from MP’s to Rishi Sunak:

“England's rivers are contaminated by a "chemical cocktail" of sewage, agriculture and road pollution,,, Microplastics, slurry, car tyre particles, oils and wet wipes are all part of the problem, they said. No English river free of pollution, MPs warn.” (BBC News: 13/01/23)

Clearly, Sunak couldn’t care less as he is advocating more car use, more gas and oil exploration, and has given the privately owned water companies until 2050, to clean up our waterways and coast line.

Even if you are still sceptical about global warming and the lethal consequences this could have for our planet , everyone should care about our rivers and beaches. Two years ago, it was reported “Britain’s rivers are suffocating to death" and that “water pollution (was) causing death by a thousand cuts for rivers”.

In Whitby, there have been “unprecedented levels of crab, lobsters, coral and seabirds…dying on the northeast coast”. (Guardian 10/02/23, while in Kent, Whitstable’s world famous oyster beds are being threatened with extinction from repeated raw sewage discharges into the sea.

“Sewage spills threaten to “wipe out” Whitstable oyster farmers” (The Times: 11/04/23)

Sunak is not interested in you or me. He couldn’t care less about contaminated water, be it inland rivers and lakes or our beaches. He doesn’t care if the waters around our coast are contaminated and dangerous to health, be that human health of the health of marine animals. He doesn’t care for our coastal fisheries or the businesses than make their living from marine farming.

Sunak, a multi-millionaire with a bolthole in sunny California, doesn’t have to live with the consequences of his short-sighted and environmentally damaging actions. It wont be his children paddling in raw sewage. It wont be his children swimming in poisoned waters. It wont be his children who are forced to breathe in polluted air day after day because he has scrapped his own clean air policies. Mr Sunak is an unelected multi-millionaire whose only concern is to make more money for himself and his rich friends. If that means trashing the environment in the process, then so be it – he doesn’t have to live with the consequences. Unfortunately, you and I, and our children and grand children, do.

#uk politics #rishi sunak #pollution #environment #water #raw sewage #inaction #clean air #global warming #climate change

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gard3nias · 7 months ago

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01 | Love is all around

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wc: 4.23k

date: 12/04/2024

mdi // masterlist // playlist

—Now playing: La Descrizione Di Un Attimo by Tiromancino ✫

Breeze combed the hair strokes. Morning freshness caused the rise of goosebumps. Butterflies in the stomach showed how excited Daphne was about moving. Yes, moving.

Daphne lowered her window and, with an arm swinging outside, she observed, she beheld the sight. The car took a turn and now they were riding up a hill along a road surrounded by beautiful houses.

It'd been long since she last came here but she couldn't tell if the place had changed or she'd just forgotten.

The road leading to the house cut through a mildly thick forest. The house was directly facing the road while their neighbours' were on the sides.

The blanket was light. Pink floral prints. White pillows in front of which sat her plushie, an adorable teddy bear her grandmother had gifted her when she was five.

The nightstand welcomed a lamp and adorable miniature decorations she found in her grandparents' attic. Opposite the bed was the window brightening the room. In front of it was her desk and to its right, in a little nook, was her wardrobe.

But Daphne also couldn't fully blame Cleo: she'd met Margot in 10th grade while she had known Cleo since when they were kids. Any child would find reading all day boring. A straight-up form of torture.

"How have you been?" she spoke first. Cleo's face glowed even brighter as she started talking.

Amazingly bored, she said. Amazing because she's fine, no illness nor body ache or particular border to carry. Bored because, aside from Daphne, the neighbours were younger than her and therefore felt more like kids to babysit rather than people to make actual friends with. Granny started cleaning the house a month in advance, she narrated, and she helped her out on it. Said she enjoyed cleaning while listening to Granny telling stories about Daphne. It increased her excitement and her will to help Granny. She spent days here at the house with granny and never got tired. Granny tried to tell her not to worry but Cleo was just as excited. She'd spend the day cleaning and preparing and then would head home for dinner after which she'd be crocheting little cute things for the both.

—Now playing: The Way Things Go by Beabadoobee ✫

"So, how was the city?" Cleo asked, starting a conversation. "Nice, in its way. Yeah, nice,"

"You've got friends you'll miss?"

Daphne chuckled and assured her she'd explore her bookshelf. Cleo giggled in response. She continued, "Do you have any specific thing to do these days?"

"No, not exactly. Why?"

Can't really blame her. You have yourself someone eagerly waiting for you despite having seen you years ago and then we talk.

—Now playing: Love Is All Around by Wet Wet Wet ✫

Birds chirped. Dogs barked. Cutlery clicked on plates. Water hit the kitchen sink whenever someone washed their hands or rinsed a utensil.

The lunch went on like this. Laughter was the only thing you could hear. Some dad jokes here and there but all for fun. All in happiness.

Yeah, she was probably dead the whole time. Or at least a zombie.

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papillon82fluttersby · 1 year ago

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Famous Five Art Nostalgia #08 – Part 5

Introductory post

Masterpost

🚲🦉🚪 Five Get into Trouble – Le Club des Cinq en péril

Original publication date: 1949 (UK), 1957 (France)

(Cover by Jean Sidobre, 1979)

Plot summary (adapted from Wikipedia):

Siblings Julian, Dick and Anne are spending the Easter school holidays at Kirrin Cottage with their cousin Georgina and her dog, Timmy. After George's parents, Quentin and Fanny, depart for some scientific conferences, the Five embark on a cycling and camping holiday.

(Breakfast and holiday planning)

(Onwards to adventure!)

At a lake, they encounter a boy named Richard Kent, who wants to spend the day cycling with them. He promises to stay at his aunt's house at the end of the day, if his mother gives him permission. The children agree, and Richard joins them without bothering to request parental permission.

(A gorgeous camping place)

(Anne has apparently been foisted with a third brother… what’s up with that?? 🤔)

[Please note: Dick’s wet hair lol 🤣]

(New plans!)

Richard is later chased by a car driven by Rooky, one of his wealthy father's former bodyguards, who was fired because Richard had told tales about him. Rooky's associates chase Richard on foot in Middlecombe Woods, where they mistake Dick for Richard and kidnap him. Richard finds Julian and George, who berate him for his mendacity and cowardice.

(The Five are intrigued with Richard’s behaviour, who left them quite hurriedly)

(Alerted by Richard that something is afoot, Timmy, Julian and George hurry back to Dick and Anne, who had been left behind due to a flat tyre while Julian and George went to a nearby farm in search for food)

(Julian and George find Anne hiding in a tree, from which she witnessed Dick's kidnapping)

The children trace Dick to a large manor house called Owl's Dene. On the way there, Julian observes a man changing clothes and another man throwing clothes down a well.

(Julian and George study the map to locate Owl’s Dene, the place where the kidnappers brought Dick, according to what Anne was able to overhear)

(On the way to Owl’s Dene)

(Just when the children arrive to Owl’s Dene, they see a car coming out of the gate, and they take this opportunity to walk into the grounds)

At Owl's Dene, the children sneak into the house but are caught and imprisoned, while Timmy remains outside.

(On the grounds…)

(…and into the house!)

That night, Julian finds Dick locked in an upstairs room and discovers a secret room with a man sleeping in it.

(Julian uncovers one of the house’s many secrets, namely the mechanism used to open the gate from inside the house)

The next morning, Rooky arrives and sees his associates have kidnapped the wrong boy. The Five and Richard are nearly freed, but Richard is recognised and they are imprisoned on the grounds of the house.

(Timmy is not fond of Rooky, grrr!!)

(Freed from the house but trapped on the grounds!)

(George is happy that her trick with Hunchy worked: after he provided poisoned food for Timmy, George retaliated by outwardly feeding the same food to Hunchy’s chicken – fortunately, neither dog nor chicken were actually poisoned!)

(Aggie, the house’s cook, is sympathetic to the children’s ply and provides them with a nice picnic basket…)

(… including a delicious-looking and poison-free bone for Timmy, yay! 🤩)

When one of the gang members leaves in their car, Richard hides in the boot, narrowly escapes being recaptured and then goes to the police.

(Richard prepares to hide in the villains’ car)

(Richard’s exit from the boot is somewhat acrobatic, but he manages!)

When the police arrive to Owl's Dene, Julian shows them the secret room, where an escaped convict is hiding along with stolen diamonds.

(The policemen are rather surprised at Julian’s extensive knowledge of the house’s secrets)

The Five later join Richard for a meal and praise his heroism.

~~~~~~

Thanks for reading!

#papillon82 reads #famous five art nostalgia #famous five #le club des cinq #enid blyton #illustrations #jean sidobre

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fourteen-teacups · 2 years ago

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O Christmas Tree 🎄

It’s been a long while since I posted any fic, but it’s Christmas… a bit of festive Turner family fluff, set in December 1967, just before the s12 CS

Thank you @thatginchygal and @wednesdaygilfillian for your support and for being my writing buddies! 🥰🥰

🎄🎄🎄

We're going to have a lovely spruce.

Timothy chuckled to himself as he remembered Mum’s words from that Christmas long ago. So much had changed in the eight years since Angela’s first Christmas -- and yet some things remained exactly the same. The annual evergreen tree was currently bundled into the rear of the Turner’s estate car as Tim manoeuvred the vehicle out of the last dark country lane and back into the city.

Out of necessity, he had learned to drive during Dad’s convalescence. Tim was more than grateful he could help ferry his family about during this time, but the independence it provided was equally valuable. Especially when he thought ahead to eventually qualifying as a doctor. Although he liked to think, when the time came, he’d be driving something sportier.

This evening the family had been shopping at a Christmas tree farm in the countryside, just outside of London. Mr Buckle suggested the idea to Dad, who had been similarly enthusiastic regarding the outing. Traditionally, the Turners chose a tree from the stall at the Poplar Christmas Market but, since the accident, Mum and Dad had been more intentional about seizing every opportunity.

Timothy’s heart clenched in a moment of anguish, imagining all they could have lost on that autumn night. But his distress was immediately replaced with joy, recalling the way his siblings had worn themselves out in the excitement of running around the festive lot.

*****

“Over here!” Teddy called, before ducking for cover behind a sturdy conifer, daring his sisters to seek him out.

Tim watched as May dashed forward, but mistakenly turned away from the row of trees concealing her younger brother.

Angela’s more methodical approach allowed her to spy a tiny red mitten as it contrasted with the pine needles. Her eyes shone in triumph as she looked first to Timothy, then ran ahead to claim her victory.

Teddy’s shrieks alerted May and the three of them reunited for a brief moment, then took off again in separate directions.

Several rows over, Dad was speaking with the owner of the farm while Mum circled a nearby tree, inspecting it for flaws. “How fresh would you say this is?” Timothy heard her ask, as she reached to test the needles with a gloved hand. He couldn’t hear the man’s response but saw in Mum’s smile that she was pleased with the answer. Looking up, she caught his eye and beckoned him over. “What do you think, Timothy, is it filled out evenly?”

Tim followed her around the specimen and agreed there were no bare spots. “It’s the perfect height, too,” he added, measuring it against himself. Mum made a predictable face that communicated she was equally proud and exasperated, causing Tim to laugh out loud.

Tapping his father’s arm, she put on her professional demeanor once again. “This one should do nicely.” Dad winked at her -- it was embarrassing how he not-so-secretly loved her authoritative streak -- but when he tried reaching for the tree, Mum promptly stopped him and began to explain his recent injury to the proprietor.

Taking that as his cue, Timothy set off to chase his siblings through the tree lot one last time.

*****

Now all was quiet within the estate car as the road hummed gently beneath the tyres. The newly purchased tree stuck partly out the open back window allowing the crisp December air to circulate throughout the vehicle. To Tim’s left, Angela and May slept propped against each other, still wrapped snugly in their matching pink coats.

From the back seat, the low tones of Dad’s voice reached him. “Perhaps this will be the start of a new tradition.”

Timothy’s eyes flicked to the rear view mirror, briefly meeting his father’s eyes and catching the delighted grin on Mum’s face. Tim couldn’t help but think of the lost tradition of the silver tree, but he kept silent. He was beginning to understand that his dad’s passion for healing extended beyond the physical body. And though the memory still rankled slightly, he nodded his agreement.

Despite his vexation, Tim acknowledged the positive developments brought on by the passing years: another sister, and the excitement of Teddy’s arrival. He glanced at the mirror again, but couldn’t see his brother in the reflection. More than likely, Teddy was curled up on the back seat with his head in Mum’s lap.

Dad was speaking again, but it was too low for him to hear. Timothy assumed he was trying not to wake the little ones -- that is, until he heard Mum’s giggle. With a barely suppressed sigh, he turned his head to the rear of the vehicle, only to find them beaming innocently back at him. As their long-suffering son, he shook his head and returned his eyes to the road. The more things change, the more they stay the same. While Tim navigated along streets draped in coloured lights, the car was filled not only with the scent of their lovely spruce, but also the muted sounds of his overly-affectionate parents’ sweet nothings. And perhaps not-so-secretly, he wouldn't have it any other way.

#call the midwife #ctm christmas fic #turnadette #turner family

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timemachine16606 · 1 year ago

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Fuel Leak Snowball...

Firstly apologies for it being almost 38 months since my last post. Nothing happened with 16606 for the majority of that time, what with the pandemic, and then as lockdowns started to lift we started a building project at home, so the D went for a little holiday to a storage facility on a farm in deepest Essex. I had her back in late August 2022, got it re-taxed and MOT'd with only a few outings around the block until very recently.

Trust the D to ruin a lovely day

It was a lovely sunny Sunday on 30th September when I decided to take 16606 for a short spin following some in and out TLC. After parking up on the drive something drew me to look under the car where I found a liquid dripping from the mid section of the car.

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Upon closer inspection is stank of fuel.

Side-note: Readers of this blog will know I've been on a learning journey with this car and as each issue arises I try to learn what needs to be done and then dive in, admit defeat and speak nicely to members of the DeLorean Eurotec club for assistance (who are always beyond fantastic and generous with their time), or go down the professional garage route (this is the last resort, not because I don't want to pay professional prices but because they tend to have never encountered a DeLorean, let alone a car of some 40 years old, and are actually not often able to do a "professional" job).

After taking advice from members of the DeLorean Eurotec club I tentatively started the engine and drove the D back into the garage in the knowledge that I should check the fuel pump. This filled me with dread since this was an area of the car I had no previous experience of and the thought of messing with the pump, fuel tank and fuel in general required me to pluck up courage and just go for it.

The following documents the journey I went on that comprised getting the job done over two attempts and almost giving in and asking a new business created by a club member to do the job in-between.

I got the car back into the garage and emptied my mandatory travel tools and parts out in order to access the fuel tank.

Inside the "Frunk" of the DeLorean, under the mat is this sunken area where the original spare tyre resides. I took this out, the first time I'd touched it since getting the car back following restoration in 2016. Once set aside I undid the screws to the access panel as seen above. This would expose the fuel tank and associated hoses and equipment.

For reference the photo above shows, beneath the access panel, the fuel feed and return hoses coming from the fuel pump seal that covers the pump boot (that houses the pump). The boot is set into the tank, the black area beneath and surrounding the boot. On the left the fuel hoses attach to the pipes that flow eventually to the engine at the rear of the car.

With the access panel removed I could smell the over-powering odour of fuel (and odour but one of those strangely nice ones...). Mild panic set in when I saw the remnants of spilt fuel. I could see that the boot seal was a strange shape and not clamped down by the jubilee clip. I lifted the accessible part of the seal and could see the pump covered in fuel residue. Wondering how this had happened, and how it had apparently seeped over and out onto the top of the fuel tank, I decided to start the car to get the pump working. The following video is what I was confronted with.

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The shakiness of the above video gives some idea of the "holy crap" moment I was experiencing. At this same time I had also noticed that the fuel feed and return lines were also deteriorating, showing signs of cracking all along the outside.

I had to figure out what to do next, so after switching the engine off, the fuel in the boot drained back into the tank and I stepped away from the offending car and did some research and messaging with the DeLorean Eurotec club over the course of the next week.

I watched some videos on YouTube to learn how the fuel pump assembly works and fits together so I could become familiar with this journey into the unknown. I specifically got benefit from the following two,

The first part of this video showing the extraction of the pump and it's assembly:

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The following for learning how the fuel feed and return hoses attach.

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I realised I needed to buy some parts so got on to DeLoreanGo.com and ordered,

SKU 106979 Fuel Hose - return and feed line

SKU 101391PU Polyurethane Fuel Pump Boot

SKU 106684PU Polyurethane Fuel Pump Cover Seal

SKU SP10830 W1 Steel Spring Clip for Fuel Pump Boot

SKU SP10356 Stainless Hose Clamp (lower fuel pump boot)

SKU 10349 Stainless Hose Clamp

Needless to say the turnaround at DeLoreanGo.com was amazingly fast and they arrived in a couple of days.

Next weekend

On 8th October I rolled the car out of the garage to start work. I was going to

Replace the feed and return fuel lines

Replace the fuel pump boot

Fit the W1 steel spring clip that was missing

Replace the fuel pump boot cover seal

I made sure I had noted what goes where. I took the following photos to remind me which hose was the feed and the return, and which colour electrical connects went to positive and negative terminals

The feed is the hose from the banjo to right of the two fuel pipes, and the return runs from the left.

The black wire is the negative whilst the red is the positive.

Whilst the boot was in situ, the pump was surprisingly moveable which I'm not sure it should have been. This made it difficult to pull the fuel hoses off and could have been a possible reason for why the boot was filling with fuel.

I undid the hose clamps to the fuel hoses and with plenty of tissue at the ready, in case of spills, I manipulated them until free at both ends.

So far so good. Next it was time to fit the new hoses, boot and seal and to reconnect the wires to the terminals. Easier said than done!

These were the parts purchased from DeLoreanGo.com. I had already transferred the return hose and support ring to the new boot.

Whilst removing the old hoses and attaching the new ones required a lot of manipulation and strength, I found this task to be less troublesome than the YouTube videos had implied.

The first connections were made to the pipes. It was as I was getting ready to attach them to the pump that I spotted how cracked the fuel pick up hose was.

No sooner had I noticed the state of this pick up hose, then as I picked it up to start attaching the fuel hoses it completely disintegrated and broke off.

With an almost full tank of fuel I had to find a cord to tie and secure the pick up hose to stop it falling back in.

It was clear that I would then need to get the pick up hose replaced, but that then also meant dealing with the baffle and associated parts, plus I had a virtually full tank of fuel. I realised this was as far as I was going to get for the day, and that I should pack away and spend some time thinking about how to tackle the new problem. I couldn't push the car back in to the garage due to the slope of my driveway, so I took a Stanley Knife to the pick up hose to make the end level and then reattached it to the pump. I then attempted to reconnect everything else to enable me to drive the car back in to the garage.

When trying to reconnect the wires to the terminals I could not get the rubber boots back over the connectors, they had turned from malleable to solid rubber with no give. This concerned me greatly since I was unsure what the consequence might be if fuel filled the boot once more when moving the car and these terminals were flooded. I took more advice from the Eurotec club and watched some more YouTube that some cars didn't even have rubber boots and also experienced similar flooding to me. So I risked it. Fortunately nothing happened and I was able to drive the car back into the garage.

Over the next day or two I searched more videos on YouTube and found the following one particularly useful to explain to me what it takes to replace the fuel pick up hose. It's a great tutorial.

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Watching this also made me realise that my pump/tank had no return hose to return fuel back to the baffle area as well as no Baffle Seal. After watching I also felt confident that this was a job I could do if it were not for the almost full tank of fuel. My ability to do this job flip-flopped over the course of the next week. What was clear to me however was that I would not have this fixed before the following weekend, which was the DeLorean Eurotec October Meeting, 100 miles north in King's Lynn, Norfolk.

Having replayed the above video a few times I then generated a list of the parts I would need. I ordered the following from DeLoreanGo.com,

SKU 106287 Fuel Pickup Hose

SKU 106287A Stainless Fuel Pickup Hose Reinforcement Spring

SKU 106318 Pickup Pipe Baffle Seal

SKU 106286 Viton Lower Return Fuel Hose

SKU SP10573 Stainless Hose Clamp (fuel return pipe)

SKU SP110085 Fuel Pump Terminal Connectors

In true DeLoreanGo.com form these parts then arrived less than 24 hours after ordering with just the regular free shipping option selected.

DeLorean Eurotec October Meet Weekend

That next weekend I attended the Eurotec meet and garnered opinions about how to tackle the fuel pick up hose job. Opinions ranged from "dive in despite the full tank of fuel, it'll be fiddly, messy and your arms might sting somewhat" to "you must drain the tank before starting, then it will be fiddly". I also learnt that weekend how it seemed many owners were also experiencing fuel pump related issues. This is when I came to learn of one owner who had set up his own business for working on DeLorean's. I tentatively arranged for him to come and do mine next time he was in the area, which would have been a few weeks later, however during the journey home I changed my mind.

Close to home I decided to stop to charge my daily driver at Tesla Tottenham. Whilst charging I grabbed myself a tea and biscuits at the showroom. I sat in the lounge and started googling options for pumping out fuel from tanks. It was then I found the following product from Euro Car Parts, and fortuitously there was a branch, open across the road.

I was a little unsure at first but the reviews convinced me, and at £8.99, it wouldn't be a huge loss if it turned out not to be appropriate.

I purchased said pump and over the course of the next week I managed to find sufficient fuel cans/containers for up to 50 litres.

The Weekend after that

Okay, so it's now this recent weekend, the kids are away at Scout camp, it's peaceful at home so now is the time to do this!

I decided to leave the car in the garage this time due to constant rain so there wouldn't be much room around the side of the car to work.

After preparing the area I proceeded to pump the fuel out from the tank. This turned out to be amazingly simple with the new pump, so much so that I almost forgot to film the process. The following shows almost the final fuel being pumped out. The pump can do about 22 litres per minute, which I reckon we achieved, however the clip below is a little slower as the final fuel is trickier to pick up, but it did the job.

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In the end I calculated I had taken approximately 46 litres of fuel out of the tank.

Following the pumping out I had a peek into the tank with my phone camera.

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Whilst getting ready for pumping out the fuel I of course had to remove the boot and pump. When doing this I could see that the current pick up hose had in fact disintegrated further, unattached to the pump, lying in the tank. I felt relief that I had not attempted to drive up to the previous weekends' DeLorean Eurotec meeting, since once the fuel level would have dropped below the bottom of the pump, it would not have been able to draw any more fuel and I would have been stranded.

The following piece of pick up hose is all that was left attached to the pump, surrounded by the hose clamp.

I also removed the electrical connections from the pump terminals which I would later trim to attach new connectors and boots. Those boots were rock solid!

I set the pump and boot assembly to one side and then began tackling removal of the baffle in order to fit the new pick up hose, seal and return line.

The only minor issue I faced in removing the baffle was removing the Fuel Tank Baffle Outer Retainer Spring, DGo SKU 108683. The YouTube video showed it being attached over the top of the baffle to the sides, however as can just be seen in the picture below, mine was attached through the perforations of the lower baffle assembly, which was very tricky to dislodge.

Once the baffle was removed the stud that the baffle and retaining springs attach to can be seen (near the fuel sender casing)

With all the components out of the tank I could take a closer look. Below you can see the failed fuel pick up hose complete with filter, the baffle with signs of disintegrated rubber settled on it, and the retaining springs.

I then reassembled the baffle with the new parts outside of the tank to ensure I knew how it all went together for when I would do it effectively blind inside.

As mentioned in the YouTube video I found I didn't have the clip to attached the end of the return hose to, so I used a tie to affix it to the baffle.

Since I couldn't make a video of me rummaging around inside the tank to fit all the components of the baffle assembly together, the photo below is a fast forward to the finished job.

Following the instructions in the YouTube video my only variation was that I did it from a standing position from the front passenger side wing, leaning over with just one hand in the tank. I expected to be really frustrated with this step but I think I got lucky. Everything slotted together nicely and the only minor difficulty encountered was attaching the nut on top of the washer and retainer springs to lock down the baffle. I found the arm of the baffle had an arch in it so I found a metal rod to push down on it, between the springs. Once flat the nut went on easily.

Relieved at the in-tank baffle success I now needed to replace the boots and connectors to the pump wiring.

Below shows the current state of the wires. The picture doesn't relay how solid the boots had become. These can't be replaced without removing the connectors, but even by my standards this is an simple job.

Below you can see the replaced wires with the new boots and connectors.

Now for re-connecting the fuel pump assembly and fitting it back into the tank.

Lessons learnt from my first attempt a couple of weeks back is that the positioning of the pump in the boot relative to the electrical connections, the fuel feed and return hose barbs, and the eventual placement in the tank so that hoses do not hinder the re-fastening of the compartment cover panel is very important. It would be a real pain to have to undo it all if you cannot fit the panel after all the hard work. Believe me I found out the hard way!

I'm not saying the following is the "correct" positioning, but it's what worked for me.

I think the indentations in the pump casing on opposite sides is designed to allow the return pipe to sit nicely in between, however I could not get the hoses to fit sufficiently such that the boot seal then can close nicely over the boot. So the above photo shows how I ended up positioning the pump and return pipe.

Below you can see a side on view that also shows the position of the return pick outside of the boot.

I then attached the pick up hose to the pump and the return hose to the pipe.

I inserted the boot into the tank and attached the electrical connections and the feed and return hoses.

I then completed this part of the job by sliding down the seal and after the below photo was taken, tightened the hose clamp.

As per the lesson learned, mentioned just above, I had to slightly twist the boot clockwise a little to position the hoses more pointing backwards so the compartment cover could be screwed back in.

Before closing the compartment I wanted to check to see if my low fuel indicator light worked. By my reckoning, with no fuel in the tank I should be able to turn ignition to position two and see the light illuminated in the binnacle.

Either my theory was wrong or my low fuel light wasn't working, as I had long suspected. I next put back a couple of litres of fuel and tried again also fully starting the car, no luck, then added up to five litres, repeated, and still nothing.

Finally I pumped all fuel back in to the tank.

and after starting the car for a final check, replaced the compartment cover.

Job done! Hopefully...

Upcoming jobs that I'll aim to document soon include fitting a fan override switch, and fitting new circuit breaker holder clips.

Stay tuned!

#bttf #car restoration #delorean #dmc-12 #fuel leak

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blubushie · 2 years ago

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hi ive recently happened upon your blog and if its not too weird of a question,,, how do u go and live in the bush? i dislike living near or in the city and ive always wanted to just go live in the wilds and live just in the wilds but i have no idea how to actually achive that dream. ive always assumed u couldnt just, go live in nature but im glad im wrong

if u have any resources to figure it out and u dont mind letting me know i would greatly appreciate it thank uu

I never went straight into it. I was raised on a rural farm when I was in America so I grew up hunting and learned how to do things like dress a kill and store fresh meat at a young age. As I got older I spent more and more time camping and when I went back to AUS after high school I became a licensed hunter and the rest is history. What I do is a culmination of all my lived experiences and there's been times I've stared death in the face, even with that experience.

The best I can recommend for someone with zero experience at all is survivalist classes.

You also can't really just go live out in the wild. It requires a lot of preparation. If you go into it headfirst it's nearly a guarantee you'll die (look up the story of Chris McCandless). You need to have a certain level of experience that you only get from prolonged time out in the bush. This means you should start with short, brief camping trips (NOT ALONE) and gradually increase how much time you spend out there. Bushwalks (hikes) become weekend trips, weekend trips become weeklong, weeklong becomes two weeks, etc.

Also it heavily depends on where you're planning to do this. It may or may not be illegal depending on your country. For example I have a hunting license with every state in AUS simply because it can be days of driving between states and if I run out of food and am unable to go to the shops, I don't want to get arrested for hunting to feed myself. In the US I have a hunting license for California, Nevada, Arizona, and New Mexico. Hunting licences don't carry over between states in either the US or AUS and so whether or not you starve highly depends on what you have available to you. You definitely need to familiarise yourself with hunting and taking a life before you go into the bush. You don't want to have to figure things out when your mind is cloudy because everything's gone wrong and you've found yourself out of food with no way to contact help. You need to be confident in your ability before you go out there and nothing will test your mettle like the bush.

Meat is a necessity. A part of your diet should consist of wild fruits and veggies but those won't sustain you long in a survival situation. You need raw protein. Meat should make up the core of what you survive on and everything else should be tacked on top of that. Meat is your lifeline, and you won't get it without killing.

You need to know how to properly disinfect water you drink. You need to know how to clean your clothes, how to recognize the signs of illness, how to perform first aid. How to make a fire, gather water, make snares, change a tyre, etc. Survivalist classes will teach you that. Most people change their mind about it when they realize just how difficult it is. You shouldn't go out to the bush because you dislike people—at that point just move to a rural town if you can. You have to crave the fight for survival or I guarantee you the bush will bury you.

It's definitely not for everyone, but it's a great life if you can survive. There's no thriving out here, either—it's just survival.

Also, the internet sucks and in most places there's zero reception. Bring a satellite phone in case you need help because you will be rooted otherwise.

#blu whos

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chobit92 · 2 years ago

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House Of Wax: Homecoming Part One

(Mara sings along to some crap song on the radio as she drives down the empty highway. She glances at the clock on the dashboard. Just gone 7am. She sighs and wonders what she’s doing. Leaving her life behind and going...She doesn’t even know where she’s going. But then she doesn’t really know where she’s come from either. She’s never felt like she was at home. Not since she was a teenager. She sighs again and glances out the side window frowning. She then changes the radio station and takes the next turnoff.).

(Mara has stopped the RV and is sat there smoking a cigarette staring at the road in front of her. It’s completely washed out and she doubts that this big RV could get through that. She sighs. First she gets a flat tyre and now this. It’s just not her day. She sighs. She finishes her cigarette and stubs it out in the ashtray. She then reverses the RV and turns around heading back up the road.).

(Mara is following a narrow road lined with trees. She rounds a bend and glances to the right as the trees thin a bit. She makes out an old burnt out campfire surrounded by discarded beer cans. She sighs and shakes her head. Bloody people why can’t they take their rubbish with them? She then passes an old sign, the lettering faded, reading Ambrose. She rounds another bend and glances right again. An old abandoned building looms into view, an old mill. The road up to the mill however is overgrown and thick with weeds. Mara drives on for another ten minutes. She passes rusted pieces of metal that she thinks used to be tractors and other assorted farm equipment. She then rounds another bend and a house comes into view. The road evens out and the ride becomes smoother. A town has appeared. She slows down and crawls down the road turning onto a street. She passes several more houses then a bowling alley comes into view. She turns the RV and pulls over. She looks up and down the road. There is a church right at the end along with a movie theatre, a shop and a gas station. She switches off the engine and sighs taking out a cigarette. She glances at the clock again, it’s 8.15am. It’s taken her over forty minutes to find another way around. She gets out and stands in the street looking around. The place is in a state of disrepair and in several places overgrown. Trees are starting to grow around a few buildings and one house in the next street has a tree growing through it. Like nature is taking the property back now that humans have left. She takes another drag of her cigarette and sighs again. She has no idea what she’s doing. Where she’s going, or what she’s doing here.).

(Zack is speeding down the highway singing along to Kings of Leon. His friend Gus is in the passenger seat while their friend Brady is sat in the back. They are laughing and Gus is showing them pictures on his phone of his new girlfriend in her underwear.).

Zack: Dude! I still don’t know how even scored that.

Gus: Experience and patience my man.

Brady: Yeah right! She probably only wants you because of that contract you got.

Gus: Shut up! She isn’t even interested in cage fighting.

Zack: Bet she’s interested in the money.

Brady: Right!

Gus: You two don’t know a dang thing!

Zack: Maybe not. We’re just saying be careful. She might think you’re gonna get rich and famous or something and be after some for herself.

Gus: You gotta have some more faith in people man.

Zack: Pretty hard after...

Gus: I know. But look that’s the past. You can’t let that dictate your future.

Brady: Puts you off though.

Gus: Shut up. You’ve never even had a girlfriend.

Brady: Fuck off you know I have.

Gus: Oh yeah. Who?

Zack: His mom?

(Gus laughs and shoves Zack. The car lurches to the left.).

Zack: Hey!

(Brady has leant forward and is showing Gus something on his phone.).

Gus: Who is that?

Brady: A girl I’ve been talking to.

Gus: Online? Seriously bro? Here Zack take a look man.

(Zack glances around to look at the phone before turning his attention back to the road.).

Zack: You don’t even know if that’s who you’ve been talking to.

Gus: My thoughts exactly.

Brady: Whatever. You’re just jealous.

Zack: Am not.

Brady: Are too.

(Gus laughs again.).

Gus: What are you twelve?

(He then turns the music up.).

Gus: You’re sex is on fire!

(Zack manages a laugh and shakes his head.).

Zack: Knock it off man.

(Gus shoves him again laughing. Zack shoves him back.).

Zack: Quit being a dumbass!

(Brady laughs and flicks Zack on the ear.).

Zack: Hey quit it!

(Zack turns around and shoves Brady.).

Gus: Hey watch out! Zack!

(Zack whirls around in his seat and realises too late that he’s veered onto the other side of the road. Zack swerves trying to avoid the oncoming car but it’s too late. He clips it and the car goes careening off the road and into a tree. Zack’s car spins out of control and hits the grass verge at the side of the road with a loud bump before coming to rest against a tree.).

15 MINUTES EARLIER

(Chelsea is driving down the highway with her friend Whitney in the passenger seat.).

Chelsea: I hope my mom’s gonna be okay without me.

Whitney: I’m sure she’ll be fine. Jody and Alex are looking after her.

Chelsea: Yeah I know. She’s been getting worse lately though and I haven’t been away in a while.

Whitney: I know. That’s exactly why you need to go away. You deserve a break.

Chelsea: Yeah I know. I just feel bad leaving her.

Whitney: Come on. As soon as we get to that lavish hotel you’ll see that this is just what you needed.

Chelsea: I know. I know she’s gonna be fine. I know I’m gonna enjoy myself and relax on this holiday.

Whitney: Exactly. Ah I can’t wait to put my feet up at the side of a pool with a martini or something.

(Chelsea smiles.).

Chelsea: Me neither.

(Chelsea sighs.).

Chelsea: I know I’m tired of this drive. We should have just got a plane.

Whitney: You know I hate flying.

Chelsea: I know but it would have been what a two hour flight, three tops? I’ve been driving for four and a half hours. We’ve still got...

(She glances at the sat nav.).

Chelsea: Two hours and twenty three minutes to go.

(Whitney sighs.).

Whitney: Sorry. I don’t like being stuck in the car either. But I hate flying even more. There must be a rest stop we can pull into soon. We could stretch our legs and grab something to eat. Then if you want I could drive the rest of the way.

Chelsea: Sounds good.

(Whitney leans back in her seat. A minute later her phone dings. She takes it out and smiles at the screen.).

Chelsea: Is that Alex?

Whitney: Yep.

Chelsea: He misses you already huh?

Whitney: Yep. I think he’s disappointed he wasn’t invited.

Chelsea: Oh yeah? Tough. This is a girls only holiday. No men.

Whitney: That’s what I said. He says your mom has had a bath and she’s had her breakfast.

Chelsea: He’s a good man.

Whitney: Yeah he is. Not many blokes would stay and look after their fiancées best mates mom while they went on holiday.

Chelsea: Nope. I did offer him money though. He wouldn’t take it. Neither would Jody.

Whitney: I know. My fiancée and his sister are the best.

Chelsea: They’ve been a godsend. I wouldn’t have been able to come on holiday without them.

Whitney: Nope.

(Chelsea suddenly frowns looking up ahead.).

Chelsea: What’s this idiot doing? Oh my God!

(The car is heading straight towards them. Chelsea swerves but not before the other car hits her sending her off of the road and into a tree.).

(Lester Sinclair hasn’t had a good morning. He’s been up since 4.30am checking his snares but it seems they have failed to catch anything. On his way back up the hill to his truck he fell and twisted his ankle which now hurts like a bitch. Then driving back into Ambrose he gets a flat tyre. He comes up the street and frowns as he sees a big RV parked at the side of the road. He’s sure it wasn’t there last night. Still frowning he drives past the RV and looks at it but can’t see anyone inside. He carries on driving passing the wax museum before pulling up in front of a house. He gets out and goes inside. The house is quiet. He goes to the kitchen and makes himself a sandwich. He sighs. They’re going to need some supplies again soon. He goes to the foot of the stairs eating his sandwich.).

Lester: Bo!

(There is no answer. He takes another bite of his sandwich and goes back to the kitchen. He must have slept down at the gas station again. He does that a lot. He finishes his sandwich then goes down the hall to the bathroom. He takes a piss and splashes some water on his face. He then leaves the house and gets the spare tyre. He changes the tyre and dumps the flat on the front lawn. He gets back in his truck. He’s gonna have to head back out, try and catch them some dinner. He sighs and drives off heading back down the road. He has just passed the RV when his truck makes a whining noise and the engine dies. He sighs and smacks the steering wheel hard.).

Lester: God fucking damnit!

(He gets out of the truck and lifts the hood having a look around. He sighs and takes his cap off rubbing his head. He’ll have to get Bo to look at it. He hears footsteps behind him and turns to see a young blonde girl. She is wearing jeans and knee high black boots with stiletto heels. She is also wearing a tight black top and a leather jacket with the sleeves rolled up. Bracelets adorn her wrists including one that looks like a child’s. Her hair is tied in a bun and she is wearing large earrings, silver with a black gem. They dangle from her ears like chandeliers. She has her eyes narrowed and she stops walking looking at him. He finds himself staring at her large breasts. He smiles and puts his cap back on.).

Lester: Hey there.

Mara: Car trouble?

Lester: Ah it just died on me.

Mara: Hm. Looks like it’s seen better days.

(Lester grins at her.).

Lester: Yeah.

Mara: So something wrong with the engine huh?

Lester: Looks like. Maybe the batteries flat.

Mara: Hm.

(Lester watches as she takes a look under the hood. She then reaches in and starts fiddling around with something. He walks over to her.).

Lester: So uh...You camping?

Mara: Camping? Do I look like the kind of girl that camps?

Lester: Well I don’t know. You don’t look like the kind of girl that can fix a truck but uh...

(Lester grins.).

Mara: I’ve er...Left.

Lester: Left?

Mara: Left home. Well...It never really felt like home.

(Mara fiddles around some more then walks round to the truck window. She reaches in and turns the key. The truck starts.).

Lester: Well damn.

Mara: You’re welcome.

(She closes the bonnet then turns and walks off.).

Lester: Much obliged.

(Lester gets into his truck and turns it around driving off.).

(Bo rubs his eyes and puts his cap on. He walks to the door of the gas station and stops when he sees Lester talking to a beautiful blonde across the street. The blonde is under the bonnet of Lester’s truck. She then goes to the window and starts the truck. Bo then watches as she closes the bonnet then smiles and walks off.).

Lester: Much obliged!

(Bo watches Lester drive off. Then he glances back up the street but he can no longer see the girl. Bo smiles to himself. They haven’t had any visitors for a while. Especially not any as beautiful as her. He looks down at his grease covered overalls and dirty hands. He’ll have to get cleaned up. He leaves the station and heads up the road. He glances around looking for the girl but he doesn’t see her. Maybe she’s gone into the church. He carries on walking and passes the wax museum. Vincent is most likely down in his workshop. Bo has no idea what he does down there when they don’t have any guests and he doesn’t care. He reaches the house and goes inside. He goes upstairs and into the bathroom. He takes off his clothes and turns the shower on. He steps under the water and grabs the soap. Once he’s washed he switches off the water and steps out grabbing a towel. He wraps it around his waist and goes to the sink. He picks up his razor and quickly shaves. He then towel dries his hair before combing it. He then goes down the hall to his bedroom. He takes out a suit and grins before getting dressed. He goes back downstairs and into the kitchen. He rummages around in cupboards and then opens the fridge. He sighs. He’ll have to go on a supply run soon. He checks his wallet and sighs again, he only has ten dollars. He wonders how much the pretty girl has on her. He quickly eats the last handful of cereal and tosses the empty box on the side before leaving the house.).

(Mara is walking around the wax museum. She has noticed several wax figures around the town. In shop windows, the movie theatre, the church. She frowns as she sees newspaper clippings behind the counter. She stands there staring at them then fiddles with her bracelet. She sighs and looks at the small wax figures on the counter. She picks up a ballerina and smiles at it before putting it back down. She looks around at the various paintings adorning the walls. They are all signed Vincent. She suddenly feels like she’s not alone and looks around frowning. She walks towards the back of the room and turns into a dining room. The table is set and she smiles and shakes her head. The detail is crazy. She turns her head and frowns as she sees two highchairs. She walks over to them. One of them has the name Bo printed on the back of the chair. The other reads Vincent. She runs her fingers over the highchair. She turns walking over to a doorway leading to a set of stairs. The stairs are lit by candles. She stands there thinking and turns looking around the room again frowning. She sighs. She slowly walks down the stairs careful not to lose her footing. She knew she shouldn’t have worn heels. She’s never been that great in them. She reaches the bottom of the stairs and enters a workshop. The place is lit with candles. She looks around and walks over to a desk. There are several wax masks sat on shelves and a dozen drawings. She stares at them before taking one from the wall. She stares down at it. She doesn’t even know what she’s doing here. And it looks like she’s not alone.).

#House of Wax #My Writing #Writing #Fanfic #fanfiction #Ambrose #Bo Sinclair #Vincent Sinclair #Lester Sinclair #Mara #Whitney #Chelsea #Zack #Gus #Brady #original characters #Part one

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katherinemathew · 14 days ago

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How Tyres Respond to Your Driving

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Regular Maintenance Checks

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1. Black Bear

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3. BFGoodrich

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forensicated · 5 months ago

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03x05 - Domestics

TW: As the title suggests it's about domestic violence and... yeah. There's a lot wrong with the misogynistic view of DA/DV in this episode as it was written and filmed in the 80's. Also a warning for racism.

It's not a good morning for our merry band of men (and women).

Roy Galloway is irritated by a loud motorbike pulling up beside him after an early start with a bad hangover. He's further annoyed to find Bob has parked in his space and can't move his car because of a flat tyre. Bob gets a telling off from a rather annoyed Roy!

Ken Melvin finds a car initially suspected to have just poorly parked, however the tax disk raises his suspicion as there's been a flood of dodgy ones recently. Ted won't attend because he's the only one in CID and is rushed off his feet, Tom won't allow Ken to come in for his break until CID arrive! In the mean time, Brian Kite has reported to Ted, wanting CID to 'cross-fertilise with him' "Into farming now is he?" Roy drawls.

Taffy has proposed to his girlfriend and they're due to get married on Saturday. As yet he hasn't told anyone other than Bob.

Nick Shaw complains about a numb bum in the CAD room, asking June if she gets the same. He adds that Reg definitely does given how much of the shift he spends sitting down. Frequent complainer, Mrs Robert - a warden at a new women's refuge - rings the station to complain about a man trying to break the door down.

Yorkie moans he's already attended twice that week when sent to deal. He finds a man shouting for 'Barbara'. "You've really done it this time!" he threatens, booting the door. Yorkie tells him to back off and the man threatens him. Yorkie calmly suggests that if he hit him, it'd be the dearest one he'd ever done. Realising he can't intimidate Yorkie as he does his wife, the man backs down. A group of female neighbours watch, they tell Yorkie that the man should be locked up and that the refuge has done nothing but cause trouble since it opened (meaning the estranged husbands turning up) and should be shut down. The man shouts that his 'kids better be alright!' in there and that 'the old cow of a warden' won't let him in to see his family. He insists he has rights but Yorkie tells him he has no rights and to calm down. He takes him for a cup of tea around the corner to talk it through, reporting it back to the station and telling June and Tom Penny that he thinks the local residents are up to something.

Yorkie asks the man if he's been hitting his wife and says that it must have been bad for her to leave. He asks the man if he has a job and he finally answers, snapping sarcastically that he's a brain surgeon. Yorkie reasons that there's clearly a lot of stress flying around if he's unemployed and asks if his wife took things with her for her and the children because a lot of women 'do it spur of the moment' and if their stuff is at home still then they'll likely return. He suggests that the man give it a couple of days and she might return.

Jim is sent to deal with the tax desk, sneaking up on Ken and making him jump. A man returns to fill the car boot for deliveries. Jim asks him where he bought the tax disk. He can't remember, despite it only being 2 weeks old. He says his wife must have bought it. Jim doesn't bite and brings him in. The man wants to square it with the post office because he can't face it being reported in the papers.

Brian comes to speak to a hungover Roy with a fancy talk about his 'cross fertilising' between CID and Uniform. It's clearly the last thing Roy needs as even Brian realises he's not on his usual form. "Are you alright?" "... Yeah, it's all the others." Roy covers. Brian claims that the station is clearly running at full strength manpower-wise as the uniform clearup rates are good but it's not the same for CID. Roy points out that he isn't at full strength team-wise and he's there 'to catch villains but let's just push some more paper around! That's what this police work is all about(!!)'

Taffy finally tells Viv that he's getting married on Saturday. He and Mary haven't lived together yet and Viv worries that they probably should before getting married. They find an old man trying to show another man his insurance after he accidentally hit his car trying to park. The other man is in a hurry and doesn't seem interested. He's nervous when the two PC's arrive but cooperates, telling them he's done nothing wrong and suggests he's only being checked because he's black. He tries to stop Viv looking in the back of his car which has at least 30 designer jackets hidden under a blanket.

Roy calls CID in to tell them about the meeting with Kite and that he wants CID to improve their numbers as their clear-up rates are 10% over the last month. June calls up about Leroy, the man who Taffy and Viv stopped. He's known to CID and Roy sends Dashers down, asks Jim to find out who is stealing alloy beer barrels, and orders Ted to resolve the tax disk scam.

Viv tells Mike that Leroy didn't know where he'd been, where he was going, or why when asked. "That's Leroy, the thinking man's villain." Mike sighs. They already know where the jackets were stolen from 36 hours previously. He claims he's only in because he's black and he's being discriminated against. "No, you did it all wrong, Leroy. That's why you're here."

"8 hours sat on your arse talking to a screen. This is no sort of job anymore." Nick moans. Wait till the future, son! 🤣 Brownlow rings downstairs and orders an 'unauthorised vehicle' in his parking bay to be removed.

A councillor arrives to talk to Bob about the refuge. The council wants to shut it down as it draws trouble to the street and embarrasses them but she understands the women are terrified and have nowhere else to go. Bob tells her they are aware of the problem and she asks them to keep a closer watch because the violence involved in the cases requires it. She points out the police have a poor clearup rate when it comes to domestic violence and Bob says it's hard to get the women to press charges. She asks how hard they actually tried.

Mike tells Leroy that they have had other cases of robbery over the last few days that have similar MO's. Mike says if he admits the other jobs he'll get all of an extra three months and won't be tried for them again at a later date. "Nothing personal, Leroy." Mike says calmly. "Nothing personal." Leroy scoffs. "Just black shit." There's a clear insinuation that Mike is setting him up to cough for the three extra jobs just to improve the CID clear-up rates with the promise of not hounding him as a suspect for them. "Make a statement, Leroy." "I'll make a statement. Bollocks, man. That's my statement."

The next morning, Alec tells Roy he won't charge Leroy on what they have and that he's screaming for a solicitor so he needs to get his finger out as he's almost at his 24 hour limit. Mike tells Roy that Leroy practically admitted to having done the jobs but won't hold his hands up. "He's like all the rest of them, he's got a chip on his shoulder."

In the canteen, Uniform whistle the wedding march as Taffy gets his lunch.

"Get your body over here you bloody Welsh Dresser!" They tease him about not telling them and ask about a honeymoon. Taffy says they're not having one as they're fixing their flat up first. Jim suggests that Sadie might put a buffet on for them at The Swan if he asks nicely but Taffy isn't sure as a table got broken last time. "What do you expect with these animals, you can't take 'em anywhere!" Jim smiles, promising he'll have a word with her to see if she will do it for them.

Mike enters an interview with Leroy telling him that he's guilty with Viv watching. He repeats it's only 3 months extra and it's worth it for him to admit it. Leroy tells him to go to hell. Mike pauses the tape for a refreshments break and instead of leaving the room, he speaks to Leroy, telling him he's come a long way from being a Rasta just 18 months ago. Viv looks visibly uncomfortable and Leroy snaps at Mike for discriminating again. Mike threatens to tell 'Fat Solomon that it was him who gave them the nod about him being a dealer if he helps them clear up the jobs. "If you're determined to end up at the bottom of the river..." "You wouldn't!?" Leroy looks to Viv. "...He wouldn't?" he tries again with an uncomfortable Viv looking away. "He would," Mike says calmly. "He promises you. Wouldn't be the river knowing Solomon. Probably a few dozen tins of dog food." When he's returned to Custody, Leroy keeps shouting at Alec and Viv that he wants a solicitor and that Fat Solomon was nothing to do with him.

Taffy is told to make a point of being visible on the street that the women's refuge is on. As Taffy speaks to the residents - including the man who Jim brought in about his tax disk - a woman shouts for him to go over to the refuge because a man (the man Yorkie dealt with earlier) is trying to climb the drain pipe. Luckily he doesn't make it and falls down. In his rush to escape he throws something at Taffy who ends up hitting the deck and the man escapes.

Sadie agrees to put on a buffet at the pub but Jim's attention is drawn to the men delivering the barrels as she lists what she can put on. He asks if there's a discount and she rolls her eyes and says they can have the back room and she'll put a buffet on on the house but 'no shenanigans!' as she still hasn't been paid for the table they broke last time. Jim then asks if Sadie has problems with the barrels

Viv has told Alec what happened with Leroy. He goes up to tell Roy. "She's not a happy girl and I don't want it!" Roy calls Dashers into his office and asks him if he knows why Alec would have been in to see him. Mike sighs. "Leroy's black and the Sarge wants to treat him like Mothercare?" "No...." "I've got to back off, is that it?" Roy tells him that he's heard that Mike has been offering Leroy 4 for the price of 1 and that without evidence he can't nick him. He reads him the riot act for what he'd done as he could have brought an investigation in for the entire station for the last three years of cases if Leroy complained in court about it. He warns Mike to charge him with only what he can prove and not to piss about.

Nick hands a woman back a cake that had been handed in as lost. "Happy 40th Birthday, Randy, love from Sexy Bum.' is iced on top.

Taffy's fiancée, Mary Jones arrives and asks to see him. Bob introduces her to everyone. The poor woman is very overwhelmed and only wants the key to the flat as they haven't got a spare one cut yet. Uniform are very amused when she calls him Frances and start calling him 'Frances' to each other and over CAD.

The councillor has gotten in touch with Brian Kite and told him that she's been fobbed off by Bob. Bob says he listened and has done his job. The councillor is now receiving threatening notes through the post, her car is being damaged and her bin was tipped over to prove they knew where she lived.

"It'll be one of the action comittee jokers." he sighs, telling Brian that the residents have formed a committee against the refuge.

Mary asks June if she's ever had the 'chance' to get married and June just pulls a face. Mary says it must be hard for her "because it's different for you, isn't it..." "Yeah...?" June blinks but Mary doesn't continue, sipping her coffee. Taffy soon appears but he's bearing the wounds of his run-in with the man from earlier...

Taffy is sent over to the refuge to help June who is facing an angry mob all by herself. The councillor who is being harassed lifted her clipboard to push Barbara's husband back when he was physically obstructing her away. He has a cut on his nose and claims she hit him with it. The warden tells them she had no choice because he wouldn't move and was physically intimidating her. He insists he's going to have her in court and wants to make a statement until he sees his wife and children appear at the front door. She agrees to see him - but only if the police stay. June calls in and Bob tells her that she can if she wants to. Close up Barbara has visible wounds and he promises her 'this time' he'll cut down on the drinking and promises that he won't do the 'money business'. Barbara tells June that he fines her for the slightest thing to keep her short on money and dependent on him. He insists it's not that bad and begs her to come home, asking her to talk without the police there. Barbara refuses to return home. Her husband insists he needs her and tries to force her to return home. "I can't. How can I?" she sobs to June who can't do anything official given that it's the 80's and there's no law. "You punch me Jack, you dare punch me..." He 'promises' not to. "No food is there... there'll be no food in..." Barbara and June share a wary look before she reluctantly goes to get the kids.

The councillor goes into Sun Hill, she apologises to Bob but tells him that she won't let them shut the refuge down. There is going to be a meeting of the action committee on the street that night and Bob tells Kite that he's going to attend to see what the strength of feeling is. Brian tells him not to rock the boat as he wants to set up an official committee of police and residents. He warns him anything that happens is down to him.

"That stupid woman!" June sighs at the drinks for Taffy the night before his wedding. (not that you'd know given how miserable he looks!) "How could she go back to him?" Yorkie sighs. "Cos she had no choice, what could she do?" The idiot boys go on to make jokes about how Mary will be ruling Taffy with a rod of iron "She beats me boys, she beats me!"

Bob attends the house of the man who Jim arrested earlier for the tax disk and he thinks that it's because of the disk. He tells Bob that his wife know nothing and that he's already sorted it. Bob assures him it's nothing to do with that, he's here for the meeting.

Jim insists it's an inside job from the brewery. He reckons the delivery boys are taking the barrels, claiming they only collected say 5 when they took 6 and selling the 'lost' ones for scrap. "It's delivery boy perks." Mike isn't listening, instead he's fuming that Viv went behind his back to Alec and thinks that Leroy is now laughing at them for 'getting off' with his crimes. He drinks more, rambling about how sometimes 'you've just got to!' Yorkie and Nick moan about Taffy only putting £50 behind the bar because it 'isn't enough! What's he thinking? Half a shandy each?"

Bob is told by the committee that they think the councillor is a disgrace. He tells them to stop the letters, phone calls and threats because they're serious offenses. They insist they are all innocent. Bob says he's not accusing anyone specifically but the police know it's someone in the street and they have to stop it before it becomes official.

After a hell of a day, Taffy loses his temper at Nick moaning about him being tight and he stands up, shouting at him to shut his mouth. Nick is amused and mocks him for a 'great party'. Taffy shouts at him to not take his 'being stuck inside all week' out on him and the boys separate them before a fight can start with Taffy storming into the gent's loos "He's gone to sulk!" Reg claims.

Roy sulks that they're not due any real results as there's no lead yet about where the tax disks are really coming from, Jim landed them with no real result for the barrels as they can't prove it is the delivery boys. Bob joins them and laughs that Roy must be on the gripe water as he hears him moaning. Roy tells Bob he hasn't made inspector yet because he can't spell "inter-departmental co-operation!" The fellow uniform Sergeant's tell Bob that he has at least sorted out things for the councillor as Barbara's husband will be too busy taking things out on her to make a statement against her so not only has she got the committee off her back, she's also gotten away with assault.

Outside, Jim drunkenly counts the barrels claiming that as there's 12 they will collect 10 and hand 2 into the scrap merchant. Mike rolls his eyes and walks off, leaving him to it.

Inside the toilets, the Sun Hill boys are 'treating' Taffy to his stag night ending. They've stripped him and cuffed him naked to a lampost to be found by Viv as she approaches the pub. "I told you you didn't have any secrets from me, Taff!"

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