#funk embassy

[burlveneer-music]

VA - Diggers Dozen - DJ Muro selects 12 jazz-funk cuts from Japan

DIGGERS DOZEN presents it’s first compilation on BBE Music selected by Japan’s DJ MURO - King Of Diggin'. This exciting new release offers 12 stunning Japanese jazz-funk and latin- jazz gems which fuse Japanese traditional musical instruments and traditional melodies. These recordings were produced during the 70's for Nippon Columbia by master composers and musicians of Japan’s jazz and latin scene, including Kiyoshi Yamaya, Tadaaki Misago & Tokyo Cuban Boys, Kifu Mitsuhashi, Toshiyuki Miyama and more. It's original vinyl releases that these tracks featured on have become scarce and super rare for the Japanese collectors market and now these magnificent tracks are available outside of Japan for the first time on this killer compilation. The focus and selections made by MURO for this release is a continuation from his Wa Groove Mix “Nippon Breaks” released in 2020. DJ MURO known as King Of Diggin’ rightfully owns this title being one of the world's deepest and most respected collectors of specialist rare records and music related relics. MURO first and foremost is a globally renowned DJ who has made his mark in releasing countless ground breaking mixtapes of various sounds and genres - mainly funk, soul and disco all selected with rare and original pressings. As well as this MURO is widely known for producing, remixing and re-editing many monumental titles and releases, reigning as King in the various fields he prevails.

[liveontelevision]

The Truth Part 2 | Slow Burn Lucifer X Reader

The Truth Pt. 1

This is a mini part 2 for this writing, I guess it's kind of turning into more of an AU situation? Let me know if this is something I should keep working on!

---

Lucifer was riddled with a familiar anxiety that he never expected to resurface. He paced the corridor, the heel of his boots echoing through the bright white halls. Golden tiles reflect his every move. Occasionally, he would make eye contact with his reflection on the floor, reminding him exactly where he was.

He's been avoiding Heaven's Embassy for as long as he could. Almost all his meetings were passed on to Charlie, who would take the opportunity with haste, but they specifically asked for him this time.

He's not exactly surprised that this meeting had been scheduled. He hasn't heard from anyone upstairs since the battle that occurred on extermination day last year.

No one was really sure what would happen today, but the skies stayed clear of exterminators at least.

Lucifer let's out a heavy breath, gripping the edge of his jacket with a white knuckled fist. He decided to ditch his apple and snake accessories and wore golden and blue accents instead. He'd never want to "impress" heaven, but this was different. This meeting was for Charlie. Even if she wanted to attend, she couldn't be informed of it. It broke him to have to keep this secret from her, but that's what they requested.

The doors swung open, white light blinding him for a moment before being greeted with The Seraphim.

He stood slack jaw for a moment. He didn't know what to expect, but it definitely wasn't this. His blood boiled, a flood of memories from his youth clouding his thoughts.

"Lucifer. We have to discuss something."

Her voice echoing through the conference room snapped him out of his funk, making him step in with an enthusiastic smile, making sure to flaunt his pointed teeth. It dropped for a moment after studying her appearance. Her long curls were ruffled across her shoulders, small pieces spiraling out randomly. The bags under her eyes were exentuated by her unbecoming glare. She took a deep breath, running her hands over her scalp to attempt to fix her messy appearance.

"Sera. A pleasure. Let's get on with this then. What did I do this time?" He couldn't help but let his resentment slip for a moment. It took all his strength to keep himself composed. He had no idea what would occur if he wasn't.

"She did it, Lucifer. A sinner managed to pass divine judgment and was accepted into the city. With the sudden.. success... of Miss Charlotte's hotel, there are some things we must settle." Great! More rules. Lucifer's eyes had widened, a smile tugging at his lips. His thoughts were overwhelmed with pride. His own daughter managed to do what he could never accomplish. She made her dreams a reality. He hated to admit a small jealousy sturred in his chest, but it was irrelevant in this moment.

"We-hell! Can't say i'm not proud of my little girl. She'll be delighted to hear -"

"Lucifer. She did well with Sir Pentious, but I must guarantee that the angels who are rightfully residing in Heaven aren't burdened by these new arrivals."

She was stern and got straight to the point.

"We have a way to send them back to Hell. So, we must discuss the terms of these rehabilitated souls."

She brushed her hands across her robes before placing them in her lap.

"Are you serious? You really want to send back the demons that you used to murdered out of fear of their uprising?"

"My concern is the safety of Heaven and its residents. We can.. incompasitate them. Return them to your care."

Lucifer's mind was spinning. The thought of anyone else having to go through what he did, to be banned from the perfect afterlife that he used to call home, made him shrink. Charlie would be crushed. Who knows what incompasitate means? What do they want?

"What do you want..?"

He almost hated to ask. The last time a meeting went this way, he created the very problem that was seemingly solved from this past year. As long as extermination day occurred, Charlie was safe.

"We have a list of accomplishments that must be met before we would even consider allowing them through the gates. No soul will remain with us unless you keep these in mind during this rehabilitation process." She explained.

"So.. Charlie gets demons to meet these requirements so they can ascend just to be put on probation? Sera, you have to realize how ridiculous this is. That sinner earned redemption! And you're setting even more rules for them? Charlie would be devastated to see souls be banished after all her hard work - she'll.. she'll lose her will to dream.." His voice began to trail off, looking into his hands. Where his own dreams used to flow without a care, without fear.

"They won't be banished exactly.. just taken care of. It's just a precaution. You have to understand, being a ruler yourself."

Lucifer sent Sera a frustrated glare, then sighed.

"If this is what it takes for the hotel to work, then it's a deal." He raised his hand in front of him to shake hers, but before any contact was made, a golden paper appeared in front of him. Lucifer let out an unprofessional groan and signed his name.

Sera let out a sigh of relief and snapped her fingers, a large stack of papers appearing in front of him.

"W-What is that.. what's all this?"

"These are how sinners must behave before redemption is considered."

The papers were almost an inch thick, each one listed with specific and nearly impossible commandments.

"Fuck."

"It was.. good to see you again Lucifer. I look forward to receiving your reformed souls." She spoke so blankly. It was clear that she didn't mean it, really. She was gone before he could get another word in.

"Good to see you again Lucifer, sorry i have a stick up, my ass. Here's a bunch of dumb bullshit for you to deal with! Blah blah blah!" He was mumbling a sarcastic immitation of her words as he scooped up the papers and portaled back to his office. He looked over the rules and the contract over and over, figuring out how to break the "good" news. The contract stated that Charlie couldn't be made aware of the rejection possibility. That portion is a burden only he could handle. An angelic sword appeared neatly wrapped on his desk as he read over those lines.

•••

"So... I told Charlie that Sir Pentious was redeemed, gave her the rules, and.. here we are." Lucifer was hunched over in his office chair, looking even worse than when he was a drunken mess the previous night. He weakly gestured to the "decorative" sword hanging on his wall, and you felt your whole body shiver.

"Remember to read your contracts, kid." He muttered, holding up his head in the palm of his hand. All you could do was sit there in silence for a moment.

"So.. you go through the hotel.. make it to heaven for a fucking trial period, before they decide youre good enough to stay? And if you aren't..." You gulped. "Demons are still getting unfairly executed... and no one knows? No one knows that you've been murdering these people?"

He flinched at your words that summed up the reality of the situation.

"H-How many souls have you - " You choke on your words, seeing Lucifers eyes widen before breaking contact. He shook his head, letting you know the number was much higher than it should be.

"Don't get me wrong, they don't reject everyone, but.. those who slip through the cracks? That's.. on me."

You had no idea what to do. You spent the past year trying to figure out why this couragous dreamer was barely seen around the hotel. A proud father, who seemed to only support his daughter under the table.

"I can't believe you've managed to keep this from Charlie for so long.. how- erm.. i guess i wanna know how you're doing..?" You spoke hesitantly. Everything you've been researching was piecing together, but even with these answers, new questions were raised. But in this moment, you realized that you were the only one in Hell who was trusted with this information. Maybe Lucifer felt obliged, after essientally breaking into your room last night, a sobbing mess. But at the end of the day, you were the only one he trusted with this burden: a total stranger to him.

He perked up for a moment, cocking his eyebrow, confusion read across his face.

"Oh, uh.. I guess i'm fine... it's just another chore in my routine now. I have no other choice, if Charlie know's then she might-"

"No, Sir. How are you doing? How are you handling this?"

He sat up for a moment, his eyes darting around looking for an answer. No one's asked him that for quite awhile, and he definitely tried to push feelings aside when it came to this. He brushed his hair back, only for strands of golden hair to fall back in his eyes.

"The first sinner to be rejected appeared in my office, right in front of me. They still had their heavenly get up, all pristine and white, but they looked as if they had been dragged through the mud. They were so small.. I don't know how they died. I didn't know their name - I just... did what i had to. I have no idea what Heaven puts redeemed souls through, but the look in that sinner's eyes.. I'll never forget that." He looked down at his loosely opened hands in his lap, his mind playing tricks on him. The blood covering his hands disappeared with a blink once he snapped into reality.

"You have to promise not to tell anyone. This entire thing will fall apart if this gets out and I can't do that to Charlie." He gripped onto your shoulders, desperate to get this through. Your face twisted in disgust and fear, ripping yourself away from his grasp.

"Charlie?? You're literally killing the same sinners that she thinks are safely in Heaven..! The same sinners that i've walked the streets with, that i've become friends with..! I don't even know if my friends are alive or in Heaven! I-I can't let this go on! It's better for everyone if this hotel falls.. You won't have to kill anymore, and people won't die anymore! I'm sorry, Sir, but I can't - " You rambled on as you went towards the door, your hand reaching for the handle before being suddenly frozen in place. Arms fell around either side of you, slamming into the wall and cornering you in. This didn't stop you from leaving. The doorknob was still in your hand. You wondered if he did that on purpose.

"Just go back to your room, okay? Pretend you didn't hear anything for now.. think about this, at least." His voice was becoming almost desperate." But.. i won't stop you if you decide to tell someone. At the end of the day, you're right.. I won't need to kill anyone else if this contract is broken, but i also have no idea what happens after that.. you seem smart. You got really close to figuring everything out, so just think about it, okay?" He stepped back, rubbing his wrists awkwardly and freeing you from the cage of his arms.

You stand silently for a moment. A warmth filled your chest at the comments on your wit, but the overhanging seriousness of the situation took over. You simply nodded your head before stepping out of his office and making your way to your room. You stand still in front of the door for a moment. You could either enter your room and rethink everything you've obsessed over for the past year, or you could tear down this whole operation.

---

So! This sort of became Hazbin Hotel corrupted by corporate Heaven, there's a lot going on ik. I'll take any critiques on it before getting too invested so reach out babes!

[image-junkie]

Aesthetics of Funk - Crocheted mandalas by Xenobia Bailey

Xenobia Bailey is a trash alchemist, a single stitch, urban crochet aficionado, designer, artist and community activist, whose practice industrializes the visual aesthetic of “Cosmic-Funk,” practiced by African-American homemakers since Emancipation, into utilitarian “Funktional” design. Media exposure ranges from an Absolut advertisement to a design consultancy with Disney World, and a subway mosaic commission from the MTA in New York. She has shown internationally, with such institutions as Creative Time, the Sharjah Art Foundation, and numerous U.S. Embassies. Her work is held by numerous museums, as well as in academic, corporate, public and private collections.

[thejoyofviolentmovement]

New Video: Tallinn Estonia's Lexsoul Dancemachine Release a Wild Action Movie-Inspired Visual for Swaggering "Carambola Jelly"

New Video: Tallinn Estonia's Lexsoul Dancemachine Release a Wild Action Movie-Inspired Visual for Swaggering "Carambola Jelly" @Mr_Lexsoul @willwork4funk @Wakaliwood

Formed back in 2013, the Talinn, Estonia-based funk sextet Lexsoul Dancemachine — Condor (vocals, congas), Jonas Mattius Sarapuu (keys), Kristen Kütner (keys, guitar, cowbell), Caspar Salo (drums, percussion). Jürgen Kütner (guitar) and Martin Laksberg (bass) — have developed reputation for turning venues into sweaty…

[wardenparker]

Broken Road - part 4

Javier Peña x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Javier’s high school sweetheart turns up at the Embassy, it shakes him right to his foundation. How will he cope when he learns that everything he thought he knew about his first heartbreak was a lie?

Rating: Explicit. 18+ my lovelies! Word Count: 14.7k Warnings: Javi with feelings deserves his own warning. Cursing, tiny Javi getting embarrassed, cooking/food, guilt, arguments/fighting, domestic turmoil, Lorraine just generally being terrible, pregnancy/family planning talk. Oral sex (m receiving), road head, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, technically outdoor sex.  Summary: Javi deals with the fallout from his involvement with Los Pepes, and the two of you decide it’s time to head back to Laredo. But there is a very twisty rollercoaster that lies beyond that decision. Notes: So much drama for these babies! Thank you to everyone following along on this journey. There’s a lot going on here, but it will flow nicely into next week’s conclusion. Just one more part 💖

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5

February 2, 1974:

Saturday mornings have been the same for months now, and propping your bicycle up against the big tree in front of the Peña’s house is sort of like having your own designated parking space waiting for you. Mr. Peña’s truck is conspicuously absent this morning, but that doesn’t stop you from knocking loudly on the screen door and grinning at the way it rattles under your eager fist. You can hear the radio in the kitchen, always tuned to the local soul and funk station and just a touch staticky because of it, but Javier’s mother sings lightly along with every song anyway. “He said he’s going back to find…what’s left of his world…The world he left behind not so long ago…” She croons along with Gladys Knight, and you crack open the door rather than interrupt her favourite song. “He’s leaving…on that midnight train to Georgia…” You can’t help smiling, leaning just inside the doorway of the house that pours directly into the kitchen if you so much as turn to your right. She’s dancing and singing along, and there’s even a big pot in the stove already. Ingredients cover every surface - very different than your chain-smoking mother sitting at the kitchen table trying not to drop ashes on Vanessa’s new jeans while she hems them and watches the morning news.

“Buenos dias, mija.” Even as she is stirring, Javi’s mother turns to the door and gives you the widest smile. She’s liked you from the first and that has just turned into absolute adoration the more she has gotten to know you. “Javi is already gone with his papa to town.”

“Morning, Mrs. Peña.” You shuffle your feet slightly in the doorway and drop your book bag in the corner under the coat rack. “I-is It okay if I stay?” Bring here is always infinitely more comfortable than being at your own house, but you’ve never been alone with just his mother for longer than a few minutes before.

“Of course you can.” She turns back to the pot. “Do you want to help?” She asks you. “I’m making one of Javier’s favorite ‘garbage’ dinners he loves so much.” She rolls her eyes but there is a smile on her face when she thinks about how her son had begged her to make the unhealthy food.

“Frito Pie?” One of your eyebrows immediately raises curiously at the bag of corn chips on the counter. Just because you and Javier have only been going steady for a few months doesn’t mean you haven’t picked up on things. Plus, you had never heard of the concoction before meeting him anyway. “I don’t know much about cooking, but I can follow instructions.”

She chuckles and moves to make room for you at the stove. “Cooking isn’t done with recipes.” She tells you. “Most of the time I follow a recipe one time and then change it to fit Chucho or Javi’s taste.”

“So…more chilis.” It had been a serious wake up call, coming from the bland, generically creamy foods that your mom and all the church ladies in your town in Colorado had cooked. In Texas the two most important ingredients are meat and spice. You move up to the counter beside the stove and peer in, laughing at the facial you get from the big pot of sautéed onions and things you can’t quite identify by smell alone. It makes you grin and sigh happily. “I wish my mother could cook like you.”

“I will teach you and then you will teach her.” She tries so very hard to keep her opinion of your parents to herself, although she has mentioned to Chucho more than once that she doesn’t understand how a girl as sweet as you are can come from such a strict and domineering household. “And if you help, you get to eat some of your hard work, too.” She tells you with a wink.

“Now that is a motivator.” It’s useless and would simply be rude to tell her that your family couldn’t survive her cooking for the most part - god forbid they eat something with flavor. But you hang your - Javi’s - letterman sweater on the back of a chair and stick your hands under the sink to wash up. “What can I help with?”

“If you want to make the pico.” She nods towards a cutting board. “Chop the tomatoes and onion finely.” She firmly believed that while the Frito pie was a bastardized version of unholy hell, Javier loved it and the only way it was palette able was with fresh crema and pico de gallo. She would not budge on that point.

It doesn’t take long to get a cutting board and knife in front of you, though your skills with a knife are definitely limited. You’ve been hunting with your father since you were eleven, but cutting vegetables requires a slightly lighter hand. The radio hums pleasantly in the background, playing the newest song from Stevie Wonder, and Javier’s mother knows every word. She dances at the stove, stirring and moving her feet, and for about the hundredth time you find yourself admiring the way she always seems to have a spring in her step. That’s the kind of sway and smile you want to have when you’re her age, too.

******

September 10, 1993:

If the kitchen of your apartment smelled any better, you would swear it was Mama Peña smiling down on all those cooking lessons finally paying off. The music on the radio is salsa, but you know most of the words and can fake a few steps as you dance with your wooden spoon in between stirring the pot of chili on the stove. Javi’s been having a tough time lately and you decided this morning that the best thing to cheer him up is a stomach full of nostalgia. Frito Pie with his ma’s pico de gallo chilling in the fridge and a pitcher of sweet tea beside it. You even managed to find real Fritos at the bodega on your lunch break earlier. If this doesn’t cheer him up, then the lack of lingerie under your clothes definitely will…

There’s a moment where he doesn’t want to put the key in the door. Shame and anger weigh heavily on him and he knows you will spot it the second you see him. You’ve always read him like a book. How is he supposed to tell you that he’s being sent home in disgrace? That he’s being punished for trying to catch Escobar, albeit the wrong way? After Carrillo was killed, he just wanted to take the fucker down, and working with Los Pepes seemed reasonable. Now, because of it, he was off the case, maybe out of the DEA. He sighs as he slides the key into the lock, hearing the rasp of the tumblers as he twists it, and the door opens to the apartment he shares with you.

“Hey, babe!” You can hear the door creak open from the kitchen and reach to turn down the radio while you call out to him. “Whiskey or beer? Dinner’s almost ready!”

“Hey.” You sound so damn happy. He drags his jacket off and sighs. “Whiskey. Set the bottle out.” He calls back and takes off his boots. You insist that he doesn’t need to be fully dressed in the apartment all the time unless he was working and his boots coming off at the door had been the first concession towards that.

“Bad day?” It’s in his voice before he even rounds the corner, and you quickly pour a few fingers into a glass for him. On the rare occasion that he’s home first, he’ll do the same with your glass of rum. It’s the little things, you’ve found, as you settled into married life together. The moment you see his face, though, your heart drops into your toes. “What happened? Are you okay? Is Steve okay?”

“Steve’s fine.” He assures you, knowing you will worry about it until he tells you. You and Connie becoming thicker than thieves and he’s ruined that for you. “I—” He shakes his head. “I fucked up, Gacelita.”

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.” His glass is pressed into his hand at the same time you press a reassuring kiss to his lips. If he’s straight-out telling you it’s a fuck up, though? That’s pretty bad. Normally Javi goes straight to making a plan to fix whatever is broken. “Do you…want to talk about it? Or do you want to drink about it?” You know he’ll talk to you eventually, but sometimes he needs to brood first.

He shakes his head, knowing that you deserve to know. This affects you too. “I—I’m being sent back to the States. Immediately.”

“…Fuck.” The way your eyes blow wide is definitely not the supportive, optimistic tone you were hoping would come out of your mouth, but it is what it is. “What happened?”

Javi sighs and drops down into a chair, his hand curling around the drink you poured for him. “I—I fed information to Don Berna and Los Pepes when my hands were tied.” Guilt eats away at him, and he can’t meet your eyes. “Judy Moncado talked.”

“Javi…” Honestly your gut instinct is to be pissed. To ask him what the fuck he was thinking. But you know what he was thinking. He was trying to end this godforsaken, bullshit drug war that only ever seems to get worse. By whatever means necessary. You drop down at the table beside him, slipping your hand into one of his and squeezing. He doesn’t need his wife to give him a lecture - he looks like he’s been given one by anyone who knows and himself all before getting home. You’re supposed to be his partner. His support. “Are you being sent home, or are you being discharged?” You ask softly, hating the way he winces slightly at your touch, like he doesn’t deserve it. After all the work he’s done - every ounce of literal blood, sweat, and tears - for the DEA to just fire him would be unimaginably cruel. But organizations like that can’t afford to have a heart.

“I—I don’t know.” He admits quietly. “They are going to call me to Washington after Escobar is caught. They— they want to see if my actions impeded the case.”

“Okay.” After everything he’s put into this… You swallow a heavy sigh and widen your fingers a little, lacing them through his to hold his hand tight. “So, we don’t have to go to Washington yet.” But you will eventually - and fuck that’s going to be hell on him. “Honey, I’m…shit. I’m so sorry. You’ve been working harder on this than even I knew.”

“I—” He takes a deep breath. “Crosby— uh, he said you can stay.” He breathes out, his heart clenching in his chest at the idea. However, you loved your work and you shouldn’t suffer because he fucked up. “I understand if you want to.”

“Fuck no.” Your brow furrows, looking at him like he’s grown three extra heads in half a second’s time. “Not a chance in hell, baby. Crosby can find a new secretary. We’re going home together.” The idea is completely ludicrous. There’s no reason for you to be anywhere that he isn’t, especially if it’s a completely different country. “They keep both Peñas or they get none at all.”

His shoulders relax slightly. The worry that you will want to stay fading. “I’m sorry, Gacelita.” He murmurs. “I was— I fucked up. It, I got in over my head after Horacio died.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me.” Leaning forward, you wrap your arms around him and kiss his temple before pressing your forehead to the very same spot. “You did what you thought would help, come hell or high water.” You aren’t the one he’s wronged here - not really. You always knew you would give up your post at the embassy eventually in good order, happily turning in high heels for cowboy boots. The person he’s hurt most here is himself, and he doesn’t need you to tell him that. “I’m not mad, and I don’t love you any less, so please get that guilty bullshit out of your head.”

“I’m pissed.” Javi admits, his arms coming around you. “I’ve worked this fucking thing for nearly ten year and now— right when we are so close, they are sending me home. I’ve fucking done so many horrible things, all to catch this bastard.”

“Oh, I’m pissed at them for sending you home,” you clarify, realizing the distinction is important here. “I’m not mad at you for doing what you felt was necessary.”

He clings to you for a moment, basking in your scent, the safety of your arms and the love that you so generously heap upon him. “We are leaving in two days.” He sighs. “They won’t give me anymore time. They want me out of the country.”

“I’ll hand in my resignation and clear out our desks tomorrow, then.” Practically crushing him to your chest doesn’t really fix anything, but it does make you feel a little better to have him solidly in your arms. Whenever things go wrong, you both always seem to hold each other a little tighter for a few days. “We should call Pops.” You murmur into his hair. “Assuming you’re still on board with going back to Texas?”

“Where the fuck else am I going to go?” The words come out more bitter than he intended them. But it’s the feeling of being sent to the corner for time out like a bad boy that has him bristling.

“Wherever we chose, Javier.” It’s not you that he’s angry with, you remind yourself when his tone makes you jump a little. “There’s two of us, and we’ve talked about settling down other places besides Laredo, so I’m making sure we’re on the same page. That’s all.” Discussions about California had dusted the debate of where to settle down after you’d convinced Javi that he would hate New York. You had even briefly considered New Mexico or Florida. But you always came back to Texas in the end.

“I’m sorry.” His tone mellows, his hands rub over your back. “I’m just feeling like a fucking failure.” He admits softly. “I don’t mean to take my shit out on you.”

“Let me take dinner off the stove.” Arms squeezing him tight once more before you step across the kitchen, your turn the knob on the radio until clicks off and set the large pot of chili aside. There’s no telling if he’s too upset to eat, or if this is a rare occasion when he wants to eat his feelings. “Baby…if this goes south…are we looking at jail time?” There are a lot of men deported from Colombia in the American federal prison system because of him, and you dread the thought of what could happen to him inside.

He shakes his head. “No.” He knows that wouldn’t happen. It was more the ass chewing he got from Crosby that confirmed that than anything else. “Nothing like that.”

“Thank god for small favors.” Pacing back over to him, both of your hands smooth over his tense shoulders and you sigh. “Then fuck it. Let’s go home. No more people shooting at you and no more unwinnable war.” It’s not as simple as that, either emotionally or mentally, but you know that for his sake you can’t dwell on it. Better to take the thing that is being forced on him and try to put a positive spin on it if you can.

His small bark of laughter is rough. But his hands tug you down into his lap. The need to hold you and use you to anchor him is too great to ignore. “You made Frito pie.” He mumbles against your shirt.

“You’ve been stressed lately.” Now, of course, you understand why and you shrug lamely. “I thought it might cheer you up a little.”

“You cheer me up.” He promises, head still buried between your breasts, and he sighs. “But half that pie is mine. As long as there’s pico.”

“As long as there’s pico.” You huff, mimicking him in a high voice. “That’s the first thing your mother ever taught me to make, do you think I would forget it?”

“No.” He actually pulls his lips up in a smile. “Because you are a good wife.” He teases.

“I do my best.” Your hands frame his cheeks, bringing his eyes up to yours. “You stood next to me proudly when I started over, now it’s my turn to do that for you. Whatever you need, all you have to do is ask, okay?”

“I just need you.” He promises softly. “I’m upset, but I’m okay as long as I have you.”

“I’m right here with you.” Dropping a kiss on the tip of his nose, you grin when he wrinkles his face at you reflexively. “We can make the best of this, baby. I promise.”

“I hope you aren’t too upset at me.” He murmurs softly.

“I’m upset that they took you off the case.” You try always to be completely honest with him, so claiming you’re not upset at all isn’t going to fly. But at least you can be specific about what’s doing it. “But I’m not upset that we get to start the next part of our lives together. Even if it’s a little sooner than we expected.”

He pulls away from you with a sigh. “Let’s eat, baby. I remember you don’t like Frito pie cold.”

“Cold chili is for maniacs and supervillains.” You tell him, moving across the kitchen again to get the pico and sweet tea out of the fridge.

“So which category do you place me in?” He asks with a small chuckle. He groans at the sight of the pitcher of tea. “I swear I’m getting a gut because of you.” He complains, rubbing his hand over his belly.

“You could always start getting up with me in the morning to work out a little.” You can barely get the sentence out with a straight face, giggling at the very idea of Javier doing sunrise runs with you. “Or I guess I can just stop cooking all your favourite foods.”

“Do I fucking look like I like running anymore?” He huffs playfully at you. “You get me up to run and there won’t be any fucking at all.”

“I can think of another form of exercise.” You mumble into the glass of tea you’ve just poured for yourself. It’s not that you want to push him, but your heart definitely leapt up into your throat when you realized what else going back to the States could mean.

He grins, hearing you. His eyes might be shit according to Steve but his ears were still sharp. “You wanna roll around in the hay loft like we’re sixteen again? Is that what I’m hearing?”

“Think you can manage it without throwing your back out, old man?” Javi’s constant bitching about how everything hurts after 30 - as if you don’t already know - definitely leaves him wide open for that teasing.

“Fuck off.” He huffs playfully. “I haven’t seen you jumping off rooftops and chasing fucking sicarios across a comuna.” He does the incredibly mature thing and mean mugs you.

You’re sorely tempted to make a joke about how chasing sicarios is just a warm-up for chasing his own kids, but you falter. It’s never something he wants to talk about, seemingly preferring it stay a topic of the amorphous future. “There will be plenty to do around the ranch,” you say instead, nodding your head like a bobble-headed doll. “A little roll in the hayloft now and then will be well-earned.”

He snorts. “That’s gonna be where our firstborn is conceived.” He jokes, reaching for his glass of tea. The one bright and shining moment out of all of this is maybe that conversation can happen.

“It’s a miracle that it didn’t happen back then.” You hum, trying to keep the conversation light and easy while you fix your bowl and sit beside him at the table. Almost like Javi is a horse that could spook.

“Maybe it should have.” Javi mutters, reaching for your hand. “He wouldn’t have dared tried to keep us apart then.”

“Can you imagine?” The fact that he actually sounds wistful takes you off guard and you quirk your head at him. “They’d be seventeen by now.”

“God, we are old.” He sighs and squeezes your fingers lightly. “What do you think about - uh, stopping your birth control?” He asks. “Is that something you’d want to do?”

“Jeez, Javi.” Squeezing his hand right back, you practically deflate with visible relief. “I thought I was going to have to pry this conversation out of you with surgical precision.”

He snorts. “I did say once I was done with Escobar.” He reminds you wryly. “And I think I’m done.” He doesn’t tell you that talking about something good in the future is helping him deal with the loss of being kicked off the team. He knows you understand that. Like marrying him helped you get through resigning your commission.

“I just didn’t think it would be a light switch kind of situation.” Scooting closer to him, you shift your whole self to give him the comforting warmth of your body just like you have his. “I’m ready when you are, mi amor. Hell, I’ve been ready, I just didn’t want to disrespect the rules we set in place.”

“We are adults.” He rolls his eyes. “If Connie and Steve could adopt Olivia, we could have talked about this if you felt strongly about it.”

“But we didn’t, and that’s okay.” Knowing what kind of stress he’s put himself under, you’re actually glad you didn’t say anything. You can’t even imagine what he would have done if your baby had been born in the middle of this war. What you would have done. “Instead, I have a stupidly long list of baby names stashed in my jewelry box.”

"As long as we don't have a fucking 'Junior', I'm good." He shakes his head and shoots you a smile, trying to find something good in all of this. "We will pack and go home. Start planning our life outside of Colombia and narcos."

“I know damn well you don’t want a junior.” You snort, shaking your head at him. “Maybe this is just the universe telling us it’s time. Giving us a good thing out of a bad situation.”

He's quiet, not answering you but he pokes at his Frito pie and eventually nods before he forks up a bite and shoves it in his mouth. It's not that he disagrees, he's just still a little too raw to look on the bright side. Maybe by the time he gets to Texas he can look at it from that perspective.

The meal is mostly quiet. Every once in a while, one of you will make a quiet comment or mention something you do or don’t want to bring to Texas with you. It’s like an awkward working dinner, almost, because you know you don’t have much time to get things packed and shipped back to the States. Some things - the lumpy couch and cheap pans - you’ll be glad to say goodbye to. Others will be more of a debate.

Javi is quiet and he enjoys the pie, but he wishes there wasn't this cloud hanging over the meal. "I— it's not the way I wanted to go home." He tells you. "I know I'm going to be moody, upset. I just don't want you to think it's because of you."

“I know that.” Your hand curls around his thigh under the table not to distract him, but as an anchor. “And I don’t want you to think that I’m disregarding or ignoring your pain because I’m trying to look for bright spots on the horizon.” Encouraging yourself to look to the future is what has gotten you through all of the hardest patches in your life, but you know not everyone copes that way.

"I love you." He is so fucking grateful you are here. If it had just been him, he would be drunk already, wallowing in self-pity. Instead of doing that, he is eating dinner with his wife and discussing the future.

“I love you, too.” Squeezing his leg gently, you do offer him a gentle smile. “I know it fucking sucks right now, but we’ll be okay.”

******

“So your little Gacelita…how are things going?” Javier’s face burns when his dad mentions you. Turning to stare out the window at the passing fence posts, his stomach flips just thinking about you. He’s never had it this bad. Sure, he’s always liked - no, loved - girls, but you are completely different. “It’s good, Pops.” He mumbles quietly. The rattle of the truck on the rough roads is loud and he hopes that’s all there is to this conversation.

Chucho glances over at his son beside him in the bench seat and chuckles softly to himself. Javier is nearly red just from you being mentioned at all. He’s going to set fire before they make it back to the ranch. “Good?” He asks, voice laced with amusement. “You made plans for Valentine’s Day next weekend?”

“Yeah, um—” He blanks out and his eyes widen in horror. He’s not planned a damn thing beyond the flowers he ordered from Mrs. Rodriguez. “No. I’m gonna blow this and she’s gonna dump me.”

“Whoa, mijo, whoa.” The ferocity of his teen’s reaction makes him chuckle again. Everything is life or death when you’re sixteen - he remembers that well enough. “She not going to dump you, Javi. And you’re not going to mess anything up. Let your old man help you brainstorm a little.”

Javi bites his lip, embarrassed because the idea of you dumping him has him close to fucking tears. He shakes his head. “Nothing to fucking do here. Not unless I take her somewhere else.” He spits out more harshly than he intended, trying to cover his emotions.

“Where would you take her?” This conversation might be easier to steer than he first expected, and Chucho glances at Javier expectantly. He’s sixteen, and even though his girlfriend is a few months younger that doesn’t stop all those hormones from raging. Sixteen was how old he and Maria were when they started going steady, too. He’s not naive enough to think Javi is any different from him.

“Nice dinner.” He sighs. “Something better than the diner.” He looks over at his father and wonders what he did for his ma on their first Valentine’s Day. Not that he tries to wonder too hard about their relationship. That makes him queasy, especially since he knows they wanted more kids. “She’s special and she deserves more.”

“Do you want to borrow the truck? Get out of town for the night?” Chucho was planning on taking Maria out for dinner and a movie - a rare date night for two people who continuously keep busy - and they can easily take Maria’s little car into downtown for that. These kids…Chucho tries not to sigh. It’s obvious how crazy they are about each other, and he wants to make sure Javi is being safe and responsible. Too many things can go wrong when you’re young and impulsive and so clearly in the throes of puppy love. “I want to help, mijo. She’s a good girl and I know you…like her. A lot.”

Javi sighs. “I don’t think her dad will let me take her out of town.” He admits. It was too far away for somewhere really nice. He sighs again and gets an idea. “What about a picnic. Girls like those, right?”

“Girls like picnics.” His father agrees easily. His feelings about your parents don’t belong in this conversation. “Maybe you could take the truck into town and get a nice dinner from someplace nice? Eat under the stars?” It’s not so far off from his and Maria’s first Valentine’s Day, actually.

“She loves going down to the river.” He tells his dad. “I could put some blankets in the back of the truck and we could eat on the riverbank.” He straightens up slightly, cheered up by the idea. “That would be good. Romantic, right?”

“Very romantic.” Chucho nods approvingly as the truck continues to rumble down the road toward home. “Have you thought about getting her flowers? Or a gift?” It’s not that he thinks you’ll expect any of this - no, it’s that he knows that if Javier realizes these are things other girls get from their boyfriends and he didn’t do any of it? He’ll beat himself up for weeks.

“I ordered flowers from Mrs. Rodriguez.” Javi nods. “I went with pink roses. But I still haven’t figured out if I should get her something, too. What do you get a girlfriend?” He feels more comfortable now that he knows he’s not being judged. His dad is honest with him. “We’ve been dating for months but those promise ring ideas are stupid and I— I want it to be something she loves.”

“Well, you know her better than I do, son.” He raises an eyebrow at the mention of jewelry being stupid, but keeps his mouth shut. Promise rings are things teenage boys give their girlfriends when they want to stake their claim. “What does she love?”

“Rings.” Javi chews on his lip and crosses his arms over his chest and glances over at his dad. “Promise rings are stupid, right?” There’s a sense of un surety in his tone, having convinced himself that it was dumb. “People always break up after they have them, for stupid reasons.”

“If you’re not sure, then don’t make yourself crazy about it.” It’s some of his best advice about almost anything, but he snaps his fingers at the idea of jewelry. “What about a necklace or a bracelet?” He can’t remember if you have your ears pierced, never having paid that much attention. “It’s still jewelry, but without any of that hidden meaning.” The creases around his eyes crinkle when he smiles. “Girls like jewelry, mijo. Trust me.”

“She likes necklaces.” Javi admits. “She mentioned a cameo, how she was kinda hurt that Vanessa got her abuela’s.” He mulls it over. “I could get her one for Valentine’s Day.”

Chucho tuts but doesn’t say anything, tucking away one more slight against you by your parents before he simply nods. “Cameos are very beautiful.” He agrees instead. “How about I give you an advance on some extra chores so you can get her something nice?” Maria will probably roll her eyes at him later and call him a softie, but damned if Chucho doesn’t want to help Javi make the celebration a nice one. He knows his boy is in love - he knows it as plain as the noise on his face - and he wants to teach him early that going the extra mile for someone you care about is a responsibility that is worth undertaking.

Javi grins. “That would be great! I’ll make sure that I make up for it.” He promises. “I’ll take over the morning feedings before school for the next two weeks. Let you sleep in a little.”

“So I’m getting a present, too?” He chuckles at the way Javier perks up, glad to see his son feeling more confident. But it’s not the end of the conversation. “Mijo…” Chucho clears his throat and shifts a little in his seat. “You are - you’re being responsible, verdad? Safe?”

“Pops!” His face feels like it’s going to burst into flames, and he slumps down into his seat on the bench. “We aren’t having sex! She’s too— we aren’t ready yet!” He wasn’t going to admit that it was something he thought of— a lot. What teenage boy didn’t? But he knows you aren’t ready yet, and he would rather die of blue balls than pressure you into sex. His ma would kill him, his pops would kill him after his ma got done with him.

“Okay, but mijo, it’s not just sex that needs to be safe. Sex isn’t the only kind of intimacy out there and I know you know that.” If the ground could just swallow him whole, he would be okay with that. Nothing quite prepared a man for having to talk to his teenager about sex, no matter how good the relationship between father and son is. “I was your age once, too, Javito. I just want you to know that you can talk to me.”

“She’s 15.” Javi squirms in his seat and stares at the bugs on the windshield, wishing he were one of them right now, so he didn’t have to go through this embarrassing conversation. “I’m not disgusting. I’m not like the assholes who push for blow jobs.” He practically whispers the last two words in embarrassment. “I love her.”

“I know, mijo.” How is it possible for him to actually get choked up during this conversation? Yet hearing that out of Javier’s mouth nearly does it. Those are the words of a young man, not a boy. Someone growing up to be respectful and good. Nothing could make him prouder than that. “And I know she loves you.” Javier huffs and it makes his father chuckle. “Anybody with eyes knows she loves you, too. But that’s exactly why I’m saying this. Things happen when you’re young and in love. And that’s okay, just as long as you’re responsible.”

“I— uh, they g-gave out condoms in, uh, health class.” Javi lifts his ass off the seat and pulls his wallet out from his left right back pocket. Pulling the foil wrapped rubber out just enough for his father to see. “If we do anything, I know to use it.” He swallows harshly, concentrating very hard on putting it away so he doesn’t have to look at his Pops.

“Okay.” Chucho nods, no more comfortable with the conversation than Javi is, by the looks of it. He can practically hear his son sigh in relief as the truck passes through the ranch’s open gates. “One more thing and I swear I’ll shut up,” he promises. “I don’t care how excited you get, how ready you are, anything of that.” He looks over at his son carefully. “Your first time is in a bed. End of story. If you respect her enough to take that step, then respect her enough to make her comfortable.”

“Yeah Pops.” Javi rushes out. “Can we please stop talking about this? Forever? Tell ma you gave me the talk and I’m good.”

“Yeah, mijo, we’re done. For now.” He chuckles again, mostly in his own relief, but points out the windshield at where your bicycle is leaning against the big tree outside the house when he pulls the truck to a stop. “Go say hi. You can unload the truck later.”

“Thanks Pops.” He hops out of the truck before it stops and shoots off like a rocket for the kitchen and you.

******

September 15, 1993 Laredo, TX

“Hey, there you are.” You wipe your damp hands on your jeans when you hear the front door and wander out of the kitchen with a smile. It’s been hours since Javi and Pops went into town to do a supply run and you just took a break from unpacking to come downstairs and get a drink. “How did everything go?”

“It went.” Javier rolls his eyes and presses a kiss to your lips. He had spent way longer in town than he wanted to, having to sit through too many conversations and avoid questions of why he was back in Laredo. “You aren’t working too hard, are you?”

“I have one box left from Fort Dix and then I’m all unpacked.” Both of your arms come around him instantly, the unopened can of Diet Coke in your hand completely forgotten in favour of holding him close. It’s only been a few days since you arrived back in Texas, but you have spent every waking hour relentlessly voracious in your unpacking. This place is home now - it had been years ago and it’s where you’ve decided to spend your future - and the last thing you want is to stare at half-full boxes in the corner of the master bedroom for months after Chucho was so kind as to move his things into the old guest room so you two could have the big bed and private bathroom.

“It feels weird being here.” Javi tells you, sighs into your arms. “Not bad, but you know I almost went to my old bedroom last night when I got up to take a piss?”

“You would have been lonely when you woke up.” The image of him sleepy and discombobulated makes you grin.

“I’d have been pissed before I realized what happened.” He argues. “Thinking my wife went to sleep on the couch.”

“That couch?” You huff, looking over at the threadbare living room couch a few feet away. “No, that thing is getting replaced as soon as I can convince your Dad that’s what has been causing half of his back issues. I’m not sleeping on that thing.”

Javi chuckles. “We can get Pops a recliner for his birthday. I know he’s been wanting one.”

“Perfect.” Nuzzling into the crook of his neck, you sigh happily at his familiar scent and hum. “Wanna help me with the last box? Then we can finish yours and maybe we’ll be done by tonight.”

“I’ll help you with whatever you want.” He promises, kissing your head. “I know you are ready to be unpacked and settled in.”

“It will do both of us good to feel like this is home and not some kind of weigh station.” Tipping your head back, you steal a kiss from his lips before snagging his hand and heading for the stairs. He may think you’re throwing yourself at all the unpacking a little too hard, but he’ll thank you when it’s done.

“What all do we have left to unpack?” He asks. “I think I’ve just got a box of physiology books. But I’m not unpacking them right now.”

“You have a half a box of stuff left that looks like albums and VHSs. I’m not sure what’s in my last box, to be honest.” At the top of the stairs you turn left instead of right, reminding yourself silently (like he had needed reminding last night) not to go to his old bedroom. “It was all sealed up at Dix and I just threw it in the truck.”

“Oh yeah.” Javi smirks and waggles his eyebrows at you. “Uh, don’t put those VHS tapes out in the living room.” He warns you. “Might give Pops a heart attack.”

“It’s those tapes. Got it.” Steve and Connie had given Javi a beautiful, sleek new camcorder last Christmas and the two of you had been putting it to good use ever since. But they are definitely not the sort of home videos you’ll be sharing with your father-in-law.

Javi snickers. “You don’t want your father-in-law to see you naked?” He asks playfully, slapping your ass as you walk into the bedroom.

“That’s not exactly on my list of good things in life.” You laugh, shaking your head at him as he follows you into the room and plops down on the big bed. “I love him, but the biggest eyeful he’ll ever get of me is in a bathing suit.”

He chuckles and hefts the last box you have up into the bed and reaches into his pocket for his knife. “Come see what this stuff is.” He motions you over.

The only labeling on it is your last name, and considering it’s your maiden name, the box has to be considerably older than just the most recent move. “Oh shit…” you murmur, when the first thing to catch your eye on the top of its contents is your high school letterman sweater. “No wonder I can’t remember what’s in this box. It’s been packed up since the Stone Age.”

“Oh?” He perks up slightly. Javier is nosy by training and snooping through your things sounds appealing. “Your very own time capsule huh? Like my old bedroom?”

“You could say that.” Holding up the sweater, you throw him a lopsided grin. “Remember these?”

“Oh God, you kept that?” He huffs, taking it from you and holding it up. “We’re going to have our twenty-year reunion soon.” He shakes his head.

“I guess I know what I’m wearing.” You grin when he wraps it around his shoulders like a shawl. “And then when we come home, I can wear just these, just for you.” The smile on your face turns a little naughty when you pull a white satin sash and dainty little rhinestone tiara out of the box next. Connie and Steve had nearly lost their minds when you told them (after a little too much rum) that you and Javi had been prom king and queen your senior year. “I guess this is all my high school stuff. I just kept bringing the box with me every time I moved instead of tossing it.”

“I’m surprised.” He admits softly. “I figured you would have gotten rid of it all.”

“Honestly?” Setting the prom tokens aside, you shrug at him and dig back in to pull out a photo album next. “I probably just shoved it in the back of my closet when I left for boot camp and just eventually forgot what was inside.”

He sighs, knowing there is no reason for either one of you to feel guilty about anything. You open the album, and he rests his chin on your shoulder as he smothers the guilty feeling of how he should have tracked you down. “Oh my god. Kids.” He mutters. “We were kids.”

“Look at you!” It comes out as a squeal, immediately followed by manic giggling as you flip through page after page of you and Javi as teens when it finally dawns on you what this box is. “Oh my god…” You shove the album aside and dive back into the box, knocking things around a little until you prove to yourself that you’re right. “This is…this is my Javi box…” Holy fucking time capsule Batman.

“Your ‘Javi box’?” His brow shoots up and when you open it, he waits for you to get the dreamy, awe struck look off your face and show him what’s inside.

“Yeah, it’s—” Completely overcome with all of the memories you didn’t know you still had, you tip the box over on the bed and watch his eyes widen as a time capsule of your early years together spills out in front of him. But the little blue velvet box in your hand is cradled safely in your fingers for him to see inside. “It’s all the things about us that I boxed up and put away after…after everything happened. Photos, mementos, all your gifts…” Gifts like the little cameo necklace from your first Valentine’s Day currently nestled in your hand.

“Jesus.” His fingers trace over the ivory of the silhouette. “I remember this so clearly. I almost got you a promise ring, but I was worried that it would be a bad omen.”

“A bad omen?” Lifting the necklace out of its box, you immediately reach to clasp the necklace around the back of your neck and adjust the collar of your shirt so the pendant sits comfortably on your chest. It’s wonderfully nostalgic to wear it again, and you lift one eyebrow at him as you remember the other very important detail of that particular night. “Because you knew I was going to give you a hand job in the bed of the truck?”

He smirks at the memory. “No, I definitely didn’t anticipate the hand job.” He huffs at you. “It seemed like everyone gave their girlfriends promise rings only to break up two weeks later.” He shakes his head. “It’s stupid looking back on it now, but I was scared it would happen to us.”

“That’s not stupid.” You promise him, but you have a shit-eating grin plastered on your face that belies the sweet tone in your voice. “You’re just a big softie. Always have been. Big, bad Javier Peña is really just a teddy bear when he’s in love.”

“Fuck off.” He rolls his eyes, even as he pulls you into his arms. “Remind me why I married you again?”

“Because you looooooove me.” Giggling against his chest, both of your hands come up to cup his cheeks so you can press your lips to his. “You’re my teddy bear.”

He huffs but doesn’t pull away. “Jerk.” He smirks against your lips, his hands sliding down to grip your ass.

“Your jerk.” You giggle evilly, rolling your hips a little to push your ass further into his hand. He hasn’t been particularly playful over the last few days - which is completely understandable - but it’s nice to see little glimpses of humor from him like this.

“Yes, you are.” He winks at you, leaning in and kissing you again. He pats your ass in a playful spank. “You can make it up to me. Wearing that tiara and sash tonight. No.” He changes his mind. “Just the cameo.”

“Scandalous.” Your tone is all faux shock, but the way you nip at his bottom lip is pure agreement. “Just the cameo, just for you.” If you’re honest with yourself, it will probably be at least a week or two before you go without it again. Finding back such a precious memory is something you hadn’t expected.

“Always hated how sad you were that your sister got your grandmother’s.” He murmured. “Imagined you passing it down to our daughter.”

“We can pass down this one.” It’s unbelievable to you, how he still remembers such seemingly small details so many years later. If you asked him, he would say that it’s not small at all, but that doesn’t stop you from appreciating the way he really listens to you and always has. It’s a highly underrated skill, the way he listens. “If we have two girls, we can let them pick from my jewelry box.”

“If we have two girls, I’m finding a cameo that is exactly the same.” Javier huffs. “We’re gonna be communists in our household. One will not be more important than the other.”

“How about we just let them have their own personalities instead of deciding for them what they’ll like?” You grin and kiss him gently before shrugging a little. “Vanessa didn’t even want it. Dad just never wanted me to get girly gifts.”

He snorts and shakes his head. “Idiot.” He kisses you again. “So, you know Danny’s wedding is this weekend.” He reminds you softly.

“Mmhmm.” Another stolen kiss and you grin against his lips. “I gotta wear more than just the cameo to that, though.”

“Yeah…Lorraine’s been invited.” He tries to break the news gently, knowing you still feel things about her part in the lies.

You frown instantly, unable to hide your reaction to her name. Her existence. It’s not that you haven’t had plenty of time as a couple to work past what happened, it’s that you haven’t seen her since you found out what she did, and you can’t completely guarantee that you won’t want to smack the Aqua Net right out of her hair. “It’s Danny’s wedding, I won’t start shit.” That much you can promise. “But you bet your ass I’m going to dress the fuck up and drag you onto the dance floor as many times as you’ll let me.”

He groans at the prospect of having to dance. "I'm not dressing up." He warns you. "It would be weird if I did. But I'll dance with you. Just to say thank you for not starting shit."

“Will you at least wear slacks instead of jeans?” No one in his family is very fancy, and you sort of love that about them, but you do want to be respectful of how important the day is. “I’m not even asking for a tie, baby. We both know I’ll be in my cowboy boots with my dress. Half-fancy, if you will.”

He huffs and gives a small shrug. "It's supposed to be jeans." He reminds you. "I was going to wear the new ones you bought me and that red plaid shirt you bought with it."

“Alright, alright, jeans.” Huffing and rolling your eyes as though it were a big deal, you slip your hand down to his ass and squeeze. “All that matters is that I get to be there with you. It’s Danny’s day and we’re just there for them.”

******

He's more relaxed than he honestly thought he would be. It's been years since he's really been to any of the large family gatherings. Even though family and friends used any opportunity they could to get together and celebrate, Danny's wedding was still fun. People he hadn't seen in years, Danny included - dressed sharply in his Marine uniform - all talking and catching up. It was nice. His Nicorette gum keeps that craving for a cigarette at bay, knowing you will kill him if he sneaks outside for the rare smoke, his eyes roam the community center room, looking for you.

“You lose her again?” Chucho chuckles when he plops down beside his son at a table, obviously craning his neck to find you in the crowd. “Your tía Juanita caught her getting a sangria refill. You’ll be lucky to pry your esposa away in about five years the way Juanita is talking at her.”

Javi chuckles and shakes his head, "Well I guess I won't be getting her back anytime soon." He tells his pops. "All of this reminds me that I need to get my wife an engagement ring."

“All this reminded you?” That makes Chucho laugh again, but he shakes his head at his son. “You really didn’t have time for yourselves down there, did you?”

“I went the day we got married to get her ring.” He huffs, feeling a little self-conscious. “It was about making sure she could stay in Colombia and then…I was trying make sure I got everything done.”

“Okay, so she needs an engagement ring.” The elder Peña nods in authoritative agreement. “I don’t know what you’ll find here, but they just opened a new jewelry store in the mall.” The place he had bought Maria’s things closed down years ago, and it’s not as though Chucho has bought much jewelry lately. “You might have to drive out to Corpus Christi.”

Javi purses his lips. “Yeah.” He looks around and reaches up to rub the back of his neck.

“You’ve got a couple of months before your anniversary.” He tries to be encouraging, wishing he had held on to the engagement ring that Javier had bought when you were kids. What he wouldn’t give to be able to return it to the two of you now - but Maria had taken charge of selling it years ago. “Plenty of time to find something she’ll like.”

“Yeah.” Javi’s mind whirls as he imagines giving you a ring for your anniversary. “I just have to see if her taste has changed.”

It takes a moment, but Chucho sighs slightly and takes a sip of the beer that has been sitting in front of him since he sat down. “You’re welcome to give her anything of your Ma’s, mijo. I have her jewelry box in my closet.” He hasn’t been able to even open it since she died. It had been sitting on the dresser collecting dust like a relic until he moved his things into the spare room so the two of you could have the master bedroom. But he knows it’s what Maria would want him to say. She loved you like a daughter even back then. She would be proud to see you wear her things.

"Thanks Pops." Javi reaches over and squeezes his father's arm. He knows how much his mother's death was felt by the older man every day. He could honestly say that he had an amazing example of what true love was in his parents and he had never felt it with anyone other than you. It was the reason he had never settled down after getting out of marrying Lorraine. "We can look through her jewelry after. I know she would be honored."

“She cried the night I told her you wanted to propose.” Chucho huffs at the memory, a watery smile creeping across his face. “She was so proud of you. Growing up so fast and ready to jump in headfirst.” She had also been devastated right alongside her son when you had left, but at least Maria had had a better idea where to lay the blame.

Javi sighs, remembering that time when he was so very happy and then upset when you told him you were moving. That upset turning to bitter anger, your name a curse in his eyes and he refused to talk about you, to anyone. "I wish she could have seen where we ended up." He murmurs softly.

“Tu madré está mirando.” Chucho promises, his voice just as quiet. “Ella sabe.” (Your mother is watching. She knows.)

Both men are quiet as they think about the woman that each of them had loved in different ways. Javi looks over at you again and gives a soft smile. "I better go save her, so she doesn't starve to death." He jokes. "That's a sin at a party around here."

Talking to Tía Juanita is a little like having an overexciting happy dog nipping at your heels - it’s fun for about two minutes before you’re already exhausted and wishing she weren’t so sweet, so you’d have an excuse to run away. But as the youngest of Chucho’s sisters, you smile and nod and make delighted sounds at all the right places in the stories about her kids, waiting for the ball to drop on the question. “Ay, querida, when are you and Javier going to give us some beautiful bebitas?” You smile, and sigh inwardly at the inevitability and how often you’ve been asked that today by his various relatives and all your old friends. “We’re working on it,” you tell them all with a breezy chuckle, wishing you knew where Javi is.

Javi moves through the crowd of people, nodding at various family friends and smiling at a couple of cousins. Jesus, when did Isabella have twins? He finds you and his hand automatically goes to your waist. "Gacelita, Tía." He murmurs.

You turn in to kiss his cheek immediately, hiding the quick way you pinch his arm as if to ask Where have you been? but his tía jumps in before you can say a word. “Javito, why are you not dancing with your bride?” Juanita scolds, obviously considering it the greatest injustice in the world that you have been neglected. “How do you expect to give her a baby if you will not even dance with her?”

His grin is hidden when he leans in to kiss your neck. “Because dancing leads to babies?” He whispers in your ear. “Let me steal her from you and correct that. tía.” He guides you away from his aunt easily with her waving the two of you away.

Burying your amused chuckle in his shoulder, you lean easily into your husband’s side on the makeshift dance floor and wrap your arms around him. “Everything leads to babies if you ask Juanita.”

“Well then we should already have about twenty.” Javi teases you softly, tugging you close and starting to sway to the country song.

“Thank god for birth control,” you joke quietly. You’ve only been off the pill for about two weeks at this point, having made the decision to start trying for a baby the night the Miami Herald story broke and Javi was told he was being sent home. It was the silver lining in all the bad - a thing to look forward to despite all the heartache. “Twenty is definitely too many.”

“What? You don’t think you could have that many?” He teases. “I’m honestly surprised I don’t have any mini Peñas running around.”

“I am completely okay with you not having a bunch of kids with other women.” You grumble, knowing your possessiveness is showing.

He chuckles, smirking at the way that your hands tighten around him. His gaze roams around the room and he spots the blonde hair of probably the biggest embodiment of that statement. “Nope, no kids and no other women for me.” He promises.

“Danny looks happy.” The last time you saw Javi’s young cousin he was maybe six years old. He had grown into every inch a typical Peña man - broad shoulders and black hair with a hint of mischief always in his eyes. “I’m glad we came, mi amor.”

“Me too.” He sees Lorraine turn and her eyes widen slightly when she catches sight of Javi. “Although that might change in a minute.”

“Did she see us?” True to your word, you hadn’t said anything when you spotted Lorraine across the community center about a half hour ago. You had just excused yourself to powder your nose and stopped to get a refill of your drink, and then been blindsided by tía Juanita.

“Yep.” Javi pops the ‘p’ and looks back at you. “Head out or head on?” He asks, wanting to know how you wanted to handle this.

You blow out a breath, sending the hair on the back of his neck waving in the breeze, before you turn your head slightly to kiss his cheek. “Head on. Let’s just deal with it. Otherwise it’s only going to get more dramatic and awkward.”

He hums in agreement and squeezes your waist before he pulls away and you turn slightly as you walk off the dance floor. Javi moves his hand to your back and rubs it slightly when Lorraine walks up.

“Well, you could just blow me over with a feather. Lookit what the cat dragged in.” The smile is painted on her face and you can’t tell if her twang has deepened with the effort of trying to keep her faux delight in place, or if it’s just got thicker over time. Her eyes dart over you nervously, and you can feel the shock at seeing you roll off her in waves. “Good of y’all to come celebrate with Danny while you’re in town.”

"Town gossip apparently isn't what it used to be." Javi muses, looking over at you with wry amusement. "You didn't hear that we've moved back? We aren't just in town, we're here to stay." He tells her with no little amount of glee in him over watching her smile tighten.

“Ya don’t say?” Of course she had heard. Cindy Hightower had practically run to her house with the news after seeing you at the supermarket last week, deeming it much too important for a phone call.

“Mm.” Your noncommittal hum is punctuated by the way you rope your arm around Javier’s waist to deliberately flash your wedding band in the buzzing halogen lights of the center. “Married almost two years now. Guess the universe just couldn’t keep us apart. No matter how hard it tried.”

It’s interesting to see the color flood her cheeks. “Well, it’s good and all to see that some childish things never get old.” She gives a wooden smile. “Two years and no babies? Not for you? I’m sure that it’s a horrible downgrade from being in the Army. Although I'm sure Chucho gave up on grandbabies when Jav ...left."

“Not everyone measures their marriage by how many children they’ve had,” you remind her, simultaneously reminding yourself not to just straight up punch her in the jaw for her part in what happened. “But since you’re ever so curious—” Nosy. “Our work has kept us plenty busy, but this time next year I’m sure there will be another little set of feet pattering around the ranch.”

“Really?” Lorraine arches a brow and her lips purse in a smile that is not quite genuine. “Well, I’m happy to hear that! I’m sure the doctors know what they are doing.”

What the fuck does that mean? You refuse to show confusion in your face though, simply smiling back and squeezing Javi’s side a little. “I’m sure we’ll see you around town,” you say, trying your best to sound polite as you step backward to nudge Javi back toward the dance floor.

Javi nods, and his eyes drift past Lorraine to where Randy is minding the two children that she had created with the man she married after he had left her at the altar. "Give Randy my best." He tells her as he turns and gives you his total attention. "I think she was taking a pot shot at us having kids at our age." He huffs as he pulls you into his arms. "Or I am reading too much into that doctor comment?"

“Is that what she meant?” Burying your frown in his shoulder, you huff when he starts to away lightly with you in his arms. “She remembers I’m younger than her, right?” Mid 30s isn’t exactly ancient, even if it feels like it sometimes.

"Don't listen to anything she says." He huffs. "She's just bitter that no one is upset that I left her at the altar."

“Cunt as dry at Chihuahuan Desert.” You’re grumbling - you know you’re grumbling - but passive aggressive church lady rivalries aren’t your style. You’d much rather land a right hook and then call the whole thing over with. You can take the girl out of the Army, but you can’t take the Army out of the girl. “Don’t know how you survived her sometimes.”

Javi flashes you a grin. “I was drunk most of the time.” He admits, leaning in a kissing you softly. “Enough beer you don’t care. I think my liver was happy I went into the DEA.”

“Jesus.” The grimace you give him is pronounced. “The DEA was light drinking?” You’ve both cut back since leaving Colombia, just out of reduced stress.

“Yeah.” Javi shakes his head and looks around the reception hall. “Are you ready to leave, baby?”

“Might as well.” Things are suddenly feeling less festive, and Chucho drove separately to the church, so you don’t have to feel guilty about asking him to leave early. “Maybe we can sneak out the back without your tías noticing.”

Javi's hand slides down and he squeezes your ass. "If we run into any of them, we will just tell them that we are going to make babies." He teases.

“They’ll throw us a damn parade.” You snicker and press in to kiss him softly. “Let’s go home, baby.”

You both make your way over to Danny and his bride, congratulating them again before both of you are out the door and hustling across the parking lot with the mid-evening sun of September still blinding everything and making him hand his aviators over to you. He's learned that you refuse to carry sunglasses and he keeps a spare pair in the truck for just that occasion.

“I missed the way Texas smells.” Living all over the world has given you the odd insight that places have very distinct natural aromas the way people do, and the dry southern Texas heat with its particular flora carries a particular scent you’ve never encountered anywhere else. “I know that’s weird. But it…it smells like home.”

"Sweat, dirt, and cows mixed with the Grande?" He lifts a brow at you as he starts the truck and puts it in drive. "That's home?"

“Yes.” You roll your eyes at him and snort. “All that, plus your boot stink.”

He huffs at you, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. "you" incoherent mumbling "- stink."

“Excellent comeback. Very mature. Very articulate.” Dissolving into laughter beside him, it’s all you can do not to fold in half in the passenger seat from his ridiculous rebuttal.

"Fuck off." He turns his head to hide his own grin, even though his hand slides across the console so he can grab your thigh. "I'll just have to take my boot stink somewhere else." He threatens playfully.

“Why do you think I make you take them off at the door?” The playful bickering is easy. Just teasing between two people aimlessly crazy about each other who are still ball busters.

"I honestly thought it was because you didn't want cow shit tracked through the house. But apparently it's because the boots stink." He shakes his head. "Not like your bras don't smell like shit before you wash them because of your tits sweating."

You snort in amusement, raising at eyebrow at him as he drives. “If my tits are so gross then why do you like to suck on them so much?”

"I did not say your tits are gross." He corrects you quickly. "I said your bras get gross." He chuckles. "I could ask the same question about my dick." He doesn't know how the two of you really got on this conversation, but he loves the fact that he can joke with you. Even as he hates being sent home, there is a certain light heartedness about being back home.

“I can just stop sucking your dick if you’re concerned about hygiene.” Honestly, if Javi had issues with cleanliness, you would have cured them with shower sex by now. But making you kiss an ashtray was his worst offense, and he switched over to nicotine gum more than a year ago.

"Got it...no bitching about the gross bras. Noted." He smirks over at you. "You could do it now, if you wanted." He teases, waggling his brows and glancing at the road before he looks down at his crotch.

“You want road head after teasing me about under-boob sweat?” Your tone is fully teasing, but you’re already shifting in your seat to lay across the bench.

"It's only cause I'm jealous of the bra." Javi confesses, his tone serious. "It's my job to hold up your tits."

“Are you going to walk behind me all day every day? Just be my human bra all the time and hold up my tits?” The image makes you giggle again, even as your fingers dance across the front of his jeans to pull open his belt.

“Shit, are you really?” He chokes when you cup him through the jeans. “Fuck.”

“Eyes on the road, handsome.” The warning is sing-song, as you pull open Javi’s belt and pop the button on his jeans to be able to drag his zipper down easily. True to form, he didn’t bother to put on boxers or any other kind of underwear today, and the moment his jeans are open you practically drool at how he’s half hard just from having you nearby.

“Fuck baby.” He hisses when you reach in and pull him out. Feeling himself grow and harden while you start to lightly stroke him. “You look so fucking good today.”

“My ass is about to be hanging out of this dress,” you giggle, feeling lighter than air in this moment of indulgence. Feeling Javi’s cock grow under your attention is one of your favorite sensations and you’re savoring the hell out of it as you roll back his foreskin and kitten lick the tip of his cock.

“Shit.” His dick jumps at the feeling of your tongue. Fingers are white knuckling the steering wheel because the last thing he wants is for him to crash and you to get hurt. Or bite his dick off. Your tongue drags around the sensitive head, and he moans quietly. “Good goddamn thing we left.”

You hum as you lick a hot stripe up the length of his cock, loving the way he has turned to steel in your hand. “Get some alone time.” Not that Pops doesn’t give you plenty of privacy, but you’re always hyper aware of your volume when your father-in-law is home. “Make me scream your name.”

“Fuck.” He hums and sneaks a glance down at you. You always look like you love sucking his cock. Which he could understand since burying his mouth in your cunt was his second favorite pastime, fucking you narrowly beating that out. “Wanna go up to the hayloft?”

The sound you make when you pop off of him is obscene and beautiful. “Fuck yes,” you moan happily. “Our spot.”

“Pops was pissed I didn’t take you to bed the first time.” Javi muses. “Had to convince him you didn’t want to go into the house.”

“Too awkward.” You barely get the words out as your tongue swirls around his blunted head. “And too eager.”

He groans and squeezes his eyes closed for a second before he has to look back at the road. Damn near misses the turn to the ranch. “Shit.”

“Eyes on the road, cowboy.” Your hand dips into his jeans to cup his balls, rolling them gently between your fingers while you fill your mouth with his length. Inch by inch he disappears until you have to swallow around him, feeling that beautiful stretch and burn in your throat instead of your pussy.

“Goddamnit.” He huffs and grips the wheel even tighter. “Don’t want— fuck.” He bites his lip and smothers another moan. “Wanna be in you.” He’s technically on Peña land when he jerks the wheel and the tires skid when he stops the truck. Knowing he’s not going to last long, and he wants to be buried in your cunt when he does bust.

Swallowing once more just to hear him moan, you carefully pop off of him and sit up in your seat again. “Back, bed, or bench?” You ask, giving him the option of how he wants to fuck you, since you’re out in the middle of nowhere: on his back in the back of the truck, bending you over with the truck bed for leverage, or right there on the bench seat.

He’s already out from behind the wheel and reaching for you. “Right fucking here.” He growls, dragging you over his thighs to straddle him.

“Needy.” You tease, not that you mind one little bit. It’s that much better though, when he reaches between you to shove your panties aside and finds nothing but a bare, dripping cunt waiting for him. “Whoops.” You grin and nip at his neck. “Looks like I forgot underwear too.”

“I fucking love you.” He groans and lines himself up before he’s thrusting up into you with a groan.

The unapologetic way he needs to be inside you makes you whimper, holding on to his shoulders while you roll your hips in his lap and sink down to take him fully. “Fuckin— fuck baby I love you, too.”

“Jesus.” He wraps his arms around you and starts to move under you. “One social, fuck, event and we’re fucking like rabbits in the truck like we-we’re teenagers again.”

“Except this time there’s no lecture f-from, oh god,” the words slip for a second when the flat of his hand comes down on your ass sharply. “From Father Martín.” One time you got caught making out behind the church after sneaking out of a Sunday service and wow had the lecture about purity and self-control been lengthy and condescending.

He huffs out a chuckle. “And I fucked you twice right after.” He reminds you, the urge to rebel had been strong and he was seventeen and horny.

“I talk to god a fuckton more with you than in church.” You giggle, but it turns into a throaty moan when Javi shifts his hips to snap them up, filling you again in one powerful thrust.

“Yeah?” He pants out, already breathing heavy but he’s bracing his feet on the floorboard so he can drive up into you harder, keeping you close to him so he doesn’t slam your head into the roof.

“So— oh my fucking god, baby — so good to me.” The fingers of one of your hands wind in his hair, tugging his head back so you can kiss him while you whimper and clench down on his cock. “Always so fucking good to me.”

He groans into your mouth and one of his hands moves to your clit. Pressing his thumb to the bundle of nerves and starts rubbing while he continuously moves inside you. You whine, hips bucking as you grind down in desperate search of your orgasm. “So close.” The way the coil in your belly is tightening, you could burst at any moment.

“Do it.” He growls out, continuing to rub your clit and bouncing you on his cock. His teeth nip at your neck, and he hums when you clench around him. “Cum, mi esposa.”

“Fuck, fuck, Javi!” You slam down in his lap twice more behind your whole body tenses up and draws him in, bearing down on his pulsing cock as you shudder with pleasure in his arms.

He’s immediately following after you, burying his nose against your pulse and groaning out your name while his body gives into that need. His cock twitching and pumping his seed into your womb and flooding you with heat.

Your whole body relaxes, slouching in his lap and making you yelp in surprise when your ass nudges the steering wheel just enough to press the truck’s horn. It sends you into a fit of giggles instead and you hold on to him for dear life while you both shake with laughter.

“God it’s never boring with you.” He murmurs, kissing your lips and sighing while he feels himself start to soften inside you. “Sorry, I couldn’t wait.”

“If you wanted a boring wife, you should have married Lorraine.” You throw him a wink and lean down to kiss him softly. Shifting carefully off his lap, you spin around on the seat and lay with your head beside his ass, feet and half your legs dangling out the open window and you grin up at him when he tilts his head at you. “Can’t waste it,” you explain simply, shrugging up at him. Any chance at making a baby is precious - if that means sitting like a weirdo in his truck on the way back to the house instead of your normal position with some pillows under your knees, then so be it.

“Never thought I’d see you trying to keep my cum inside you.” He chuckles. “Although 18-year-old me never got to experience you without a condom.”

“I’m fucking proud of us for never even having a scare.” It would have been terrifying, and even if it would have potentially kept you together, teen parenthood would ultimately not have been a good idea for either of you “Besides, it was recently pointed out to me that I’m old, so I’ll take any extra help we can get.”

He snorts. “You aren’t old.” He promises you. “We haven’t even hit our 20-year reunion. Then we can be old.”

“Jav…” You reach up, fingers trailing along his jaw as he tucks himself away and turns the key in the steering column. The warmth of the night is seeping into your bones and making you sleepy on the heels of your little emergency quickie. “Take me home, baby? I’m feeling snuggly.”

“Hmmm.” His hand cups your cheek and then down your neck and between your breasts to your stomach. “My wife needs to curl up with her husband?” He asks softly.

“Yes, please.” Batting your eyelashes daintily, the weight of his hands on your skin makes you hum with contentment.

“Then we will go to bed, baby.” He doesn’t mind that at all. Nothing beat the sleep he got when he was wrapped around you. The sleep here in Texas better than Colombia.

“Nooooo.” The protest is positively childish but you don’t care, because it makes him smile as he starts pulling the truck back out into the beaten path to the house. “I’m not sleepy, just snuggly. Might even want to ride you again before we fall asleep if you’re up for it later.”

“No one said we were going to sleep.” He amends. “I said we were going to bed. But don’t blame me if I fall asleep. Having you naked, post orgasm in bed makes me sleep like a baby.”

******

You scamper upstairs when you get back to the house, boots rejected by the door and purse hung on the coat rack with his leather jacket. It’s more than wanting to get in bed and snuggle up, the need to pee from all that sangria snuck up on you, too.

Javi starts laughing before he even closes the bedroom door. You’ve always sounded like an elephant pissing. The loud sound coming from the open bathroom door. “Feel better, Gacelita?”

“Yep.” You do, but you a still flick clean water at him and wrinkle your nose when you come out of the bathroom. “It’s only gonna get louder and more frequent when I’m pregnant, babe.”

He snorts and starts unbuttoning his shirt. “Yeah, but the cute little waddle will make up for it.” He teases. Pulling the shirt out of his pants, he shrugs it off and tosses it into the clothes hamper.

“I hope you still think it’s cute when you’re giving my waddlers a foot rub every night.” Your dress follows his shirt into the hamper, and you unhook your bra with a sigh before falling into bed naked.

“Considering you’d be waddling because of me; I’d be a dick if I didn’t.” He shoves his jeans down and peels off his socks and leaves them on the floor before he crawls into the bed beside you. “Shit.” He huffs and sits up. “Forgot. Be right back.”

“Okay?” He pads out of the room in all his naked glory, and you just shrug and cuddle up under the covers. You’re far too relaxed to really care what he’s up to. He’ll be back in a minute, and you can curl up to him instead of his pillow.

It was easy to find the box, up on a shelf above the hangers. It makes him pause when he sees the box with his ma’s wedding dress, something he had seen countless times growing up. Now that he’s back with you and married, it makes him realize how deep losing Maria had cut Chucho. Fingers wrap around the wooden box, and he pulls it down carefully and carries it back into the bedroom.

“What’s that?” You sit up in bed when he walks back in with what looks like a keepsake or jewelry box of some kind.

“It’s ma’s jewelry box.” Javi tells you as he walks over to the bed and sets it down in front of you before he goes back to close the door and join you. “Pops said— well, he said Ma would have wanted you to wear and enjoy some of her things.”

“Oh my god.” Your fingers brush the stained wood carefully and when your eyes flick back up to meet his, they’re definitely a little more watery than usual. “Is this okay with you, mi amor?” Pop’s permission is only half of it for you, these are as Javi’s mother’s things and as honoured as you would be to inherit them, you don’t want to upset him at all.

“Baby…” He bites his lips and his fingers curl around yours on top of the box. “I know my mother would have been thrilled to have you as her daughter-in-law and insisted you have anything you loved.” He tells you passionately. “I – her wedding dress is still in Pop’s closet, and it made me think about how he must have felt.

“Your mom was great. So many other girls had horror stories about their boyfriend’s moms and I just…she was always so nice to me.” Slipping your fingers along the side of the box, you pop the latch carefully and open the top to reveal perhaps two dozen pairs of earrings carefully tucked into velvet lined indentations and several dainty fashion rings in various finishes with brightly coloured stones. “Maybe…maybe if we have a girl…her middle name could be Maria?” It’s a sentimental idea, one you’ve bandied back and forth with yourself over the last few months without ever mentioning but you know it would mean the world to Chucho, and Javi loved his mother fiercely. You would be happy to honour her legacy of love and support.

“Y-yeah.” Javier whispers quietly, more touched than he can ever tell you. “I would like that.” He looks at the jewelry and recognizes most of the pieces. Some he had ‘given’ to his mother when he was younger and his Pops had really picked out the gift, others some he had seen her wear religiously, like the small gold crosses. She had been buried in a similar pair.

“Oh wow…” Chuckling a little, you pick up a small pair of gold hoop earrings with green glass beads at the stud. “I gave her these for Christmas one year. I can’t believe she kept them…”

“She was a sentimental woman.” He murmurs, reaching up and squeezing your shoulders as you both sift through memories. “She never lost faith in you.” He tells you. “Only time I really yelled at Ma was when she was trying to tell me that you wouldn’t move on, and I told her I never wanted to talk about you again. Surprised she didn’t beat my ass.”

“She wanted you to be happy.” That much you’re sure of, looking back it’s obvious that she saw how you complemented and challenged each other. She was the biggest fan of your relationship. Your fingers dance over her wedding rings and you smile softly. “Let’s save these for our kids,” you hum, feeling yourself get misty. “Maybe they’ll go to the next Peña bride.”

“Yeah, I don’t want Pops to give them up just yet.” He leans in and kisses your shoulder.

There are some beautiful things here. Of course there are, Maria had great taste. Timeless pieces that will never go out of style alongside some particularly 60s and 70s looking things that she accumulated over time. When you open up the drawer underneath the main compartment there are some beautiful necklaces carefully pinned into the velvet lining so the chains don’t tangle, and you smile at them each as you run your fingers over them. There is a small jeweler’s box tucked into the back corner of the drawer and you expect a pair of fine earrings - Maria loved green so maybe emeralds? - but something very different is sitting inside. A gold ring with small diamond chips - seven in total. Six in a circle to represent flower petals and one in the center ringed in silver to complete the flower. You’ve had this ring described to you before and you gasp instantly. It can’t be…

“Oh my god.” Javi chokes out, his hand reaching out and taking the box from you and stares down at the ring he had thought was long gone. “I— this is the engagement ring I bought for you. How—” He blinks back tears. “She kept it. She gave me the money for it and kept it.”

“Oh my god…” The words are on your lips too, the same disbelieving tears in your eyes, and wonder on your face. “She…she really never did give up on us, did she?”

“No.” Javi shakes his head, and he bites his lip. “Ma loved you.” He reaches out and laces his fingers with yours. “I— I never told you but— she, uh, at the end she talked about you. How she missed you and wished she could see you one last time. Tell you how much she loved you.”

“Can we go see her tomorrow?” The tears in your eyes fall freely at that, guilt twisting your gut as you squeeze his hand tightly. You know she’s buried at Nuestea Señora Del Rosario but haven’t ventured out there yet. Not even when you came back with Connie last year. “I—I just want to talk to her. Tell her that everything’s okay. I know your dad says she’s always watching but…I don’t know. It’s silly, but I feel like she’ll hear us better there.”

“Of course.” Even if he didn’t ever go to his mother’s grave, he would never deny you that. Holding the box still, he wraps his arm around you and tugs you to his chest. “We can go visit her, Gacelita”

“It’s beautiful, by the way.” Pressed against his chest, you wrap both arms around him and hold on tight. The way your heart is pounding, you just can’t hear anything else except the blood in your ears and his deep voice. “The ring…it’s…it’s stunning.”

"I— would you want to wear it?" He asks you softly. "The real reason I wanted you to go through the jewelry was to see what you might like so I could get you an engagement ring for our anniversary."

“Baby.” You look up at him with a fully incredulous expression, and a smile that betrays it. “I would be honoured to wear it. It— I mean —” You huff a little, sniffling through the words and trying to get yourself to form a coherent sentence. “This is my engagement ring, mi amor. It doesn’t matter how long it took to get to me.”

He flushes slightly, ears burning and rubs the back of his neck. "I don’t— I bought it as a kid. I didn't know if-if you like it, considering - you know, tastes change." His own inability to string together sentence is pissing him off but he's a little less sure about the ring now than he was when he bought it.

“I love it.” You promise him, pressing a kiss to his burning cheek. “I love it now as much as I would have loved it then.” Putting aside the fact that you love flowers with your jewelry, it actually is a beautiful piece.

"Okay." He grins at you, boyish and shy and even though he's butt ass naked, he slides off the bed and down to one knee. "Gacelita, will you wear this engagement ring that should have been yours nearly 18 years ago and make me smile every time I see it on your hand?" He asks with a wink.

“Get up here.” You’re laughing and smiling through the tears when you beckon him back up on the bed. “I love you, and I can’t wait to wear my ring proudly.”

“Well, let’s see if it fits.” He huffs, knees popping slightly, and he plucks the ring out of the box and tosses the velvet container aside.

It slips onto your finger easily and you practically giggle when he leans down to kiss it and your finger. “It would have been so big when you bought it.” You tell him, holding back a full guffaw. “I would have been wearing it in my thumb until we got it sized.”

"Yeah, well, I figured you had fat fingers to go with that big head of yours." He jokes, smirking at his juvenile comeback.

“Don’t be a butthead.” You elbow him square in the ribs, never taking your eyes off the beautiful ring now sitting beside your wedding band. “My head isn’t as big as your big mouth.”

"You don't mind my big mouth when I get your entire cunt in it." He teases, kissing your shoulder and his thumb brushes over the ring again. "It's perfect on your hand just like I knew it would be, mi esposa."

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt

Broken Road: @shakespeareanwannabe @pascalesque @hnt-escape @xaestheticalien @supernaturalgirl20 @samzie @blub-senpai @dobbyjen @vanered15​ @vanemando15​

My Masterlist!

[nyxshadowhawk]

Dark Royalty Core Playlist

People seemed to really like the Beltane playlist so I thought I’d post more of my playlists! I started making this one when I learned that the Dark Royalty Aesthetic was a thing, and I am so happy that it is a thing! It’s now one of my favorite aesthetics, and it got me into more traditional classical music. This is intended to be a “master playlist” -- some of these pieces are taken from oliviaalee on youtube, but many are favorites of mine.

“Masquerade - Ballet Suite: 1. Waltz” by Aram Khachaturian, London Symphony Orchestra, et.al. “Expectation” by Herold Kittler, Nikolai Sergeyev, et.al. “Leopoldine” by Ez3kiel “An Extraordinary Tale” by Peter Gundry “Ghost Waltz” by Abel Korzeniowski “Dance of the Damned” by Peter Gundry “Lestat’s Recitative” by Elliot Goldenthal “Amur Waves” by Max Kyuss, Nikolai Nazarov, et.al. “Gnossienne no. 1″ by Erik Satie, Alena Cherney “Tocka” by Оркестр "Классика" “Midnight Waltz” by Adam Hurst “The Secret Garden” by Adrian von Ziegler “The Second Waltz” by André Rieu, Johan Strauss Orchestra “An Embassy Waltz” by Mickymar Productions Ltd and Failbetter Games  “Tonight Ve Dance” Peter Gundry “Gramophone” by Eugen Doga “Merry-Go-Round of Life” by Joe Hisaishi “Cinderella, Op. 87, Act 1: No. 19, Cinderella’s Departure for the Ball” by Sergei Prokofiev, André Previn, London Symphony Orchestra “Valse sentimentale, Op. 51, No. 6″ by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, Josef Sakonov, et.al. “Wood Carving Partita” (cover) by Tim Stoney “Danse macabre, Op. 40: Poème symphonique d’après une poésie de Henri Cazalis” by Camille Saint-Saëns, Rudfunk Sinfonieorchester Berlin, et.al. “Legacy of Sorrow” by Nox Arcana “Nocturnal Waltz” by Johannes Bornlöf “Incantato” by Adam Hurst “A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Op. 61: Scherzo No. 1″ by Felix Mendelssohn, Staatskapelle Berlin, et.al. “Serenade for Strings in E, Op. 22: 2. Tempo di valse” by Antonín Dvorák, Academy of St Martin in the Fields, et.al. “The Shadow’s Bride” by Peter Gundry “Nocturne No. 20 In C Sharp Minor, Op.posth” by Frédéric Chopin, Alice Sara Ott “Ghost Bride” by Adrian von Ziegler “Suite Gothique, Op. 25: I. Introduction et choral” by Léon Bollëmann, Michael Phol “2 Romanian Rhapsodies, Op. 11: Rhapsody No. 1 in A Major” by George Enescu, Heinz Rögner et.al. “Bagatelle No. 25 in A Minor, "Für Elise", WoO 59” by Ludwig van Beethoven, Lang Lang “The Nocturnal” by Peter Gundry “Piano Sonata No.14 In C Sharp Minor, Op.27 No.2 -"Moonlight": 1. Adagio sostenuto” by Ludwig van Beethoven, Daniel Barenboim “Insomnies” by Ez3kiel “Dance of Gold” (cover) by Tim Stoney, Kristin Naigus, et.al. “Parliament of Owls” by Agnes Obel “An Amalgamation Waltz 1839” by Joep Beving “Dance of Pales” (cover) by Tim Stoney *** “Symphonie Fantastique, Op. 14 (Episode de la vie d'un artiste) : II. Un Bal (A Ball)” by Hector Berlioz, Tbilisi Symphony Orchestra et.al. “Ritual” by Adam Hurst “Forest Tale” by Wilhelm Becker, Nikolai Nazarov, et.al. “The Awakening” by Peter Gundry “Ceremonial Spell” by Adrian von Ziegler “Autumn Moon” by Eternal Eclipse  “Phantastic Dance No. 1″ by Dmitri Shostakovich, Christian Funke, et.al. “Waltz of Souls” by Adam Hurst “Agnus dei” by Samuel Barber, Roderich Kreile, et.al. “14 Romances, Op. 34: No. 14, Vocalise” by Sergei Rachmaninoff, Jan Vogler, et.al. “Holberg Suite, Op. 40: IV. Air” by Edvard Grieg, Staatskapelle Dresden, et.al. “Gaspard de la nuit, M. 55: No. 3, Scarbo. Modéré in B Major” by Maurice Ravel, Cecile Ousset “Waltz” by Eugen Doga “Dorian’s Theme” by Charlie Mole “Children's Corner, L. 113: IV. The Snow is Dancing” by Claude Debussy, Peter Rosel “Duo in G Major: II. Air” by François Couperin, Barbara Sanderling, et.al. “No.9 - Finale - Swan theme (Andante)” by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, Royal Philharmonic Orchestra  “Organ Sonata in C Minor: I. Grave - Larghetto” by Julius Reubke, Michael Pohl “Requiem for the Gods” (cover) by Wayne Strange, Chad Schwartz “Death Waltz” by Adam Hurst “Lacrimosa” by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Lisa Beckley, et.al. “Weeping Willow” by Gabrielle Aapri “Eternal Slumber” by Yonder Dale “Midnight Masquerade” by Nick Murray “The Vampire Masquerade Organ Version” by Peter Gundry “Cloak and Dagger” by Eternal Eclipse “Appassionata” by Rolf Lovland, Secret Garden “String Quartet No. 14 in D Minor, D. 810 "Death and the Maiden": II. Andante con moto - Arr. Gustav Mahler” by Franz Schubert et.al. “Reflections” by Toshifumi Hinata “Mariage d’Amour” by Jacob’s Piano “Carnival of the Animals: XIII. The Swan” by Camille Saint-Saëns, Yo-Yo Ma “Victor’s Piano Solo” by Danny Elfman “Sofia’s Waltz” by Carvajal “The Nutcracker, Op.71, TH.14 / Act 2: No. 14a Pas de deux: Intrada” by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, Mariinsky Orchestra, et.al.

Spotify Link:  https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3yFvAGB5xdoOELbmiJ136U?si=1d1f15e826ac445b

[dindjarindiaries]

A Bullet For You

summary: When your office comes under fire by Escobar’s men, Javier and his men come to the rescue, where he promptly offers you his bulletproof vest to keep you safe.

note: translations included at the bottom

pairing: javier peña x colombianf!reader

warnings: violence, blood, death, shooting, smoking, angst, fluff

rating: R

word count: 2.723k

masterlist

“Te amo muchísimo, cariño.”

Those were the last words you’d said to Javier before this very moment, where you now find yourself cowering in the corner of your office with your coworkers—pinned to the spot by the guns of Escobar’s allies.

You’ve never expected to see such action at your accounting job in Medellín. You’ve lived in Colombia your whole life, watching the drug crisis unfold before your very eyes. Nevertheless, you’ve always avoided it, simply desiring to live your day-to-day life with a job that, honestly, could be more boring—just so you could play it safe.

That was, until Javier Peña walked into your life. Or, rather, stumbled.

You’d been hoping for a hookup that night at the bar, needing some kind of change in your everyday life. When you saw the man who practically glowed even under the shitty lighting of the bar, you instantly knew who you’d wanted to go for—but you felt something you weren’t supposed to. After the first few drinks, casual conversation, and sharing the heated dance floor together, you realized you were in deeper than you’d first bargained for. Javier, on the other hand, was completely gone by the time you wanted to head out with him, in no good shape to do anything other than put one foot in front of the other.

So, you’d helped him get back to your apartment, providing him with a glass of water and your bed before he passed out for the night. You took the couch, and by the time he was wandering into the kitchen the next morning with a furrowed brow, you’d already prepared something for him to eat. According to him, that’s when he knew he was in love with you—and you’d told him that you had the same realization around the same exact time.

Now, it’s been a few months, and you’ve at least gotten to the point where you don’t have to sleep on the couch anymore. Javier told you all about his job with the DEA and his life growing up in the States, and you were impressed that a gringo could have such skill with Colombian culture and the language. You’d taught yourself English by watching American television growing up, and Javier helped you fill in the gaps. Though he was very solid at Spanish, you still helped him whenever he needed it, and it’s become just another way in which you’ve bonded over these past few months. If you’ve noticed anything about Javier, though, it’s his protectiveness. Even in the first few weeks of your relationship, he was hesitant about letting you go out on your own—despite the fact you’d been doing so ever since you could remember. He was relieved to hear that you had such a normal job, one that wouldn’t easily be infiltrated by the chaos he witnesses on a daily basis.

Yet, here you are, watching Escobar’s allies violently interrogate one of your coworkers—who you’ve now discovered has been doing some work for Escobar—while you and the rest watch on with horrified eyes.

“¡Puta rata!” one of them shouts, giving your coworker another punch across the face. “¡Has estado hablando con la policía!” He chuckles darkly, placing the barrel of his gun against your coworker’s temple and giving it a nudge. “¿Pensaste que podrías safarte de nosotros tan fácilmente?” The man clicks his tongue, shaking his head as he gives your coworker a hard hit with the barrel of the gun. “¿Qué les dijiste?”

Your coworker looks on with a terrified gaze. “¡No dije nada!” they insist, their voice cracking in their panicked emotion. “¡Por favor, créeme!”

The same man from before gives his head another shake. “Es demasiado tarde, rata.” With that, he lifts his gun and pulls the trigger, and you along with your coworkers give a terrified shout as you try to look away from the gory sight. You close your eyes and keep your face tucked away, feeling your heart race a mile a minute as your mind only starts to think of Javier.

“Voy a regresar a las cinco esta noche,” Javier had said to you this morning, his hands resting so gently yet so securely on your hips as you stood just in front of your apartment door.

“¿Me lo prometes?” you’d remarked, your voice barely above a hushed whisper as your fingertips trailed down his cheek.

Javier had given you one of his infamous smiles, making you drown in his dark gaze of deep affection. You knew he was going to stay true to this one—because the recently late hours and time spent away from you had been taking even more of a toll on him than it had on yourself. “Tienes mi palabra,” he’d assured you, placing his soft lips against yours. The touch had left you a melted puddle of pure love on the apartment floor, leaving you to grip onto his neck for fear of your knees giving out beneath you. When he pulled away, Javier had left another tender kiss on your forehead, reestablishing his eye contact with you. “Hasta pronto, mi amor. Cuídate.” He took your hands from around his neck, holding them in his as he left a kiss on your knuckles. “Te amo mucho.”

“Te amo muchísimo, cariño.” Your lips couldn’t stop smiling despite the fact you were watching him walk through the door, unsure of what would befall him that day but knowing you’d see him sooner than you were getting used to.

And now, you’re not so sure you’ll get to see the end of Javier’s promise—but at least, you try to comfort yourself, it’s not his fault. The thought of your lover keeps you relatively calm until Escobar’s men cock their guns at you and your coworkers, giving you their full attention. The man who’d shot your other coworker steps forward, raising a questioning eyebrow.

“Entonces, ¿quién sabe qué le dijo la rata a la policía?”

You and your coworkers begin looking at each other nervously. No one even knew that man’s been working for Escobar, and since none of you have any information for these men, that means you’re going to die at their hands.

Meanwhile, at the embassy, Javier’s had a pit growing in his stomach all day for no good reason. It’s only just past noon and he’s already almost gone through an entire pack of cigarettes. When Javier lights his last one, Steve’s whistling pulls him out of his funk, drawing his attention to see a raised brow looking back at him.

“What’s up, Peña?” Steve asks almost cautiously.

“What do you mean?” Javier remarks, taking his first puff with agitation.

“I’ve lost track of your cig count for the day,” Steve says, leaning forward on his desk in a questioning manner. “So, you’re stressed over some shit. What is it? Is it your girlfriend?”

“God, I hope not,” Javier mutters, temporarily setting the cigarette onto his ash tray. “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me, Murphy. I’m just…” Javier trails off, shaking his head as he tries to justify his odd feeling.

“… paranoid?” Steve tries to finish. “I know that sometimes I can start thinkin’ about Connie and get all worked up for no good reason.”

Javier shrugs, picking up the cigarette again at the thought of you being in danger. “I just gotta be home by five,” Javier mutters, tossing a file from his desk onto the large pile behind him. “I’m probably just worried I won’t make it on time.”

Steve’s about to say more, no doubt asking why Javier had to hold such a tight schedule, but gets cut off by the ringing of his phone. He raises a curious eyebrow at Javier before picking it up, his eyes widening the more the voice on the other end speaks. The pit in Javier’s stomach begins to grow, to the point where he has to put his cigarette down again in fear of making himself sick. Steve writes down an address and gives a reassurance, hanging up and rising from his chair. Javier stands up with him.

“What’s goin’ on?” Javier asks, trying not to make his nerves so obvious.

“Hostage crisis, with some of Escobar’s men,” Steve informs him. “Guess the police has had contact with an accountant who was working for Escobar and was giving them information—and Escobar found out about it.”

At the naming of the profession, Javier’s blood practically turns to ice, and he takes an urgent step towards Steve as his brow furrows. “Accountant? At a company?” When Steve gives a nod, Javier’s heart nearly stops. “What’s the address?” Steve offers the piece of paper, and Javier takes it in his shaking hands to see exactly what he feared: your workplace. “Shit. Fuck!”

Steve’s slightly surprised by Javier’s outburst, watching as he lunges for his gun and bulletproof vest with intense urgency. “Javi, what the hell—?”

“That’s her office,” Javier explains in a quick breath, already starting to head out of the office. “We gotta go!”

Upon hearing that, Steve’s soon going at the same speed as Javier. His heart’s practically in his throat the entire way there, his mind only able to go back to the same memory as yours—the morning that could be your last one together.

Back in the office, you’re thankfully at the end of the line, watching as your coworkers endure violent tactics in an effort to get them to reveal something—anything. You try to think of bullshit excuses in your mind, wondering if you can offer them something that’ll keep them from killing all of you. But you’re not that quick on your feet, and you suddenly wish more than ever that you had the quick thinking of Javier to assist you.

“Mentirosos, todos ustedes,” the main man scoffs after he’s given another one of your coworkers a hit of their gun to their head. “Alguien tuvo que haber oído algo de lo que el puto soplón dijo.”

“¡No sabemos nada!” someone speaks up, their voice full of nothing but fear as they look pleadingly up at the man in front of them. “Si supiéramos, ya te hubiéramos dicho todo.”

“Habla por ti mismo,” you scoff, your eyes widening as you realize you’ve said the thought aloud.

All eyes turn to you, and the man’s soon making his way over. “¿¡Qué dijiste!?” he questions, his voice hauntingly dark. “No te escuche bien.”

Instead of freezing up like the others, you think of Javier again, and your blood boils. These are the men who would shoot at him in a heartbeat, with the intention of taking him out. These are the men who keep him away from you each day. These are the men who make his life a living hell and take such a heavy toll on him that some nights, he just has to cry to you. So, rather than taking back your words and offering some bullshit, you tell them the truth. “Come mierda,” you mutter, spitting on his shoe.

The man’s face darkens immensely, but before he’s able to do anything to you, there’s the sound of footsteps coming from the hallway stairs—a practical stampede of them. Every head turns to the door, and you barely have time to see it fly open before the bullets start flying. You gasp and keep yourself ducked down, trying to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. Your arms remain over your head as you kneel on the ground, shaking in your sudden horror. Despite the threat of your own safety, you can’t stop thinking about Javier—until you feel a familiar touch on your arms. When you lift your head, you see him kneeling there in front of you, and the pure sight of him practically brings you to tears.

“Mi amor,” Javier breathes, barely audible over the shooting as he holds your face in his hands and inspects you for injuries. “I thought that… that…” Javier can’t finish the thought. Instead, he reaches to take off the bulletproof vest he’s wearing, beginning to put it around you. “Wear this. You’ll need it while I get you out of here.” He straps it on you as quickly as he can, but you’re unsettled by the idea of it.

“No, Javi,” you insist, grimacing with disapproval as he finishes securing it. “It’s yours. You need—.”

“I’ll be fine,” Javier insists, still having to raise his voice above the gunfire. “But we have to get you out of here, now!”

You give him a nod, letting you wrap both your arms around one of his as he holds his gun securely in his free hand. Javier begins to guide you back to where he’d came from, looking around whenever he can for any potential threat. You’re still shaking as you grip onto his arm for dear life, still unable to believe that you’re back in the security of his presence. Javier notices this, and he looks back for a moment to calm you with his dark eyes.

“Relájate, mi amor,” he assures you softly. “Voy a sacarte de aquí sana y salva.”

You offer him a nod, but soon find yourself gasping when a bullet whizzes by your ear. Javier turns around to shoot the man who’d almost gotten you, and you see him fall to the floor in pain immediately. Javier continues to move forward quickly, taking you with him as you refuse to loosen your grip on his arm. When you reach the staircase, you can barely descend them with the shakiness in your legs, but thankfully Javier keeps you propped up as you’re soon exiting the building and entering the security of the blockade that surrounds the perimeter. Javier tries to get you to sit on the hood of his car, but all you can do is wrap your arms around him tightly, hiding your face in his shoulder. He holds you back, running his hand through your hair to calm you.

“I’m so glad you’re alright, hermosa,” Javier mumbles in your ear. “When Steve showed me that address, I thought I’d never get to hold you again.”

You hold him tighter, pressing your cheek against the fabric of his shirt. “Solo podía pensar en tú, Javi.” You sigh shakily, feeling Javier run another hand down your head at the sound of it. “I wanted to say that I loved you a thousand more times.”

Javier’s smile is nearly audible, but he continues with an interrogation of your wellbeing. “Did they hurt you?”

You shake your head, still keeping it against his shoulder. “They were about to.” When Javier tenses, you let out a quick chuckle and continue. “When they asked us for information, I may or may not have told them that I wouldn’t have told them even if I knew—and then told them come mierda.”

Javier lets out a low laugh at your words. “Ay, mi amor, eres muy fuerte. Estoy orgulloso de ti.”

You chuckle once again and then pull yourself away from him, holding onto his shoulders as you’re suddenly very aware of the bulletproof vest you’re still wearing. “You walked through a shootout without a vest for me.” You bite your lip to keep your emotions tucked away as Javier gives you a small smile and a nod. “How?”

Javier tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “I would take a bullet for you any day, mi amor.” He says the words without hesitation and with such certainty that you can practically feel the truthfulness in his core—and as much as you love it, you always feel terrified by it. Javier sees this, and he cups your cheek in his hand before he goes on. “But hopefully I won’t have to.”

You finally give him a smile at that, leaning up to brush your nose against his. “Te amo más que a mi propia vida, cariño.”

Javier leaves a short yet very sweet kiss on your lips, pulling away to leave an additional one on the tip of your nose. “Te amo muchísimo, mi amor.”

translations:

Te amo muchísimo, cariño. = I love you so very much, sweetheart.

¡Puta rata! = Fucking rat!

¡Has estado hablando con la policía! = He’s been talking with the police

¿Pensaste que podrías safarte de nosotros tan fácilmente? = Did you think that you could get away from us so easily?

¿Qué les dijiste? = What did you tell them?

¡No dije nada! = I didn’t say anything!

¡Por favor, créeme! = Please, believe me!

Es demasiado tarde, rata. = It’s too late, rat.

Voy a regresar a las cinco esta noche = I’m going to come back at five tonight

¿Me lo prometes? = Promise me?

Tienes mi palabra = You have my word

Hasta pronto, mi amor. Cuídate. = I’ll see you soon, my love. Be careful.

Te amo mucho = I love you so much

Entonces, ¿quién sabe qué le dijo la rata a la policía? = So, who knows what the rat told the police?

Mentirosos, todos ustedes = Liars, all of you

Alguien tuvo que haber oído algo de lo que el puto soplón dijo = Some had to have heard what the fucking snitch said

¡No sabemos nada! = We don’t know anything!

Si supiéramos, ya te hubiéramos dicho todo = If we knew, we would have told you everything already

Habla por ti mismo = Speak for yourself

¿¡Qué dijiste!? = What did you say!?

No te escuche bien = I didn’t hear you well

Come mierda = Eat shit

Relájate, mi amor = Relax, my love

Voy a sacarte de aquí sana y salva = I’m going to get you out of here safe and sound

Solo podía pensar en tú, Javi = I was only able to think of you, Javi

Ay, mi amor, eres muy fuerte. Estoy orgulloso de ti = Oh, my love, you’re so strong. I’m proud of you.

Te amo más que a mi propia vida, cariño = I love you more than my own life, sweetheart

Te amo muchísimo, mi amor = I love you so very much, my love

[dweemeister]

Mad Monster Party? (1967)

You may not be aware of who Rankin/Bass are, but if you have seen a Christmas television special in the last half-century, chances are you have seen one of their works. In an increasingly fragmented popular culture, those Christmas specials remain touchstones. Among those specials from animation director-producers Arthur Rankin Jr. and Jules Bass are Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (1964), Frosty the Snowman (1969), Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town (1970), The Year Without a Santa Claus (1974). Primarily known for their stop-motion animation television specials, Rankin/Bass also made theatrical films at the height of their popularity. Their third feature film, despite not being released in mind for Halloween, extended the studio’s stop-motion wizardry for the first time to all things spine-tingling and spooky.

Distributed by Embassy Pictures, Mad Monster Party? is a bizarre comedy that will delight the youngest set (frankly, I have never encountered a Rankin/Bass production that wasn’t bizarre), perhaps introducing some of them to the most famous monsters in film and literature. For Rankin/Bass’ older fans (or those not acquainted with their work), this film is one of their most ambitious projects; but it is underseen, rarely televised or programmed by independent movie theaters.

Residing in a castle on the Isle of Evil is Baron Boris von Frankenstein (voiced by Boris Karloff in his final Frankenstein-related work), who also cohabits the castle with his Monster (Alan Swift, who voices all other non-female characters in the film), the Monster’s more intelligent mate (Phyllis Diller), assistant Francesca (Gale Garnett; whose character might be the most buxom Rankin/Bass character ever), and the head zombie butler Yetch (who looks and, thanks to Swift, sounds like Peter Lorre). Baron Frankenstein has just successfully concocted a formula that can destroy any matter and, as the head of the Worldwide Organization of Monsters, wishes to announce his discovery and his retirement from the organization. A who’s who of monsters receive summons: Count Dracula, the Mummy, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, the Werewolf, the Invisible Man, Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde, and “The Creature” (the Creature from the Black Lagoon). Francesca notices there is one name on the list who is not a member of the organization – a pharmacist named Felix Flanken (Swift impersonating James Stewart). There has been no mistake, assures the Baron, because Felix is his intended successor. Francesca, who wanted the Baron’s position, is upset and plots to disrupt the succession. But when Felix arrives late to the mad monster party, Francesca is surprised to find that the heir apparent is inept, asthmatic, astigmatic.

Due to the filmmakers not wishing to pay royalties, some of the monsters that appear are called alternate names, even though each one is recognizable. Occasionally, Frankenstein’s monster is referred to as “Fang” (a reference to Phyllis Diller’s comedy acts, as she referred to her husband by this name during those acts); the Bride of Frankenstein becomes “The Monster’s Mate”; the Creature from the Black Lagoon is simply the “Creature”; a well-known monster that will go unnamed here due to spoilers is “It”; et cetera.

The screenplay by Len Korobkin and Harvey Kurtzman (a writer for and the founding editor of Mad magazine) contains plenty of comedic padding. Thus, Mad Monster Party? feels like an hourlong Rankin/Bass special that cannot justify its additional half-hour. Not that I minded too much in this case, despite the redundant character introductions and overlong slapstick scenes. Felix’s cluelessness onboard the ship ferrying the Baron’s guests to the Isle of Evil is situational hilarity. The variety of characters attending Baron Frankenstein’s gathering provides plenty of opportunities for them to interact with each other as a collection of dysfunctional colleagues. Their factionalism and widespread distrust between each other result in scheming and dry one-liners (including double entendres!) that complement the signature surreal humor of Rankin/Bass productions.

In a decade where monsters were having a resurgence in American popular culture (capped off by Scooby-Doo, Where Are You!), the relationships between the monsters in Mad Monster Party? feel influenced by earlier television series like The Addams Family (1964-1966) and The Munsters (1964-1966). Other influences and references will pass over the heads of most under a certain age; behaviors such as slapping a hysterical woman to make her come to her senses is deeply rooted in outdated ‘60s behavioral norms. Mad Monster Party? is funnier if one understands that there are stand-ins for certain actors: Baron Frankenstein resembles and is voiced by Karloff, Felix sounds like and acts like a Jimmy Stewart character from every romantic comedy he starred in, Yetch is obviously Peter Lorre, and the Monster’s Mate looks like and acts like Phyllis Diller. The band that plays at Baron Frankenstein’s dinner party seems to be a parody of the Rolling Stones. Though these decisions may need explaining to younger viewers and draw out the film’s runtime, the film’s comedy is just as weird as anything Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer offers. This is especially true in the final third of the film, defined by an out-of-left-field romance and an uninvited guest that wreaks havoc. These scenes give Rudolph’s “elf practice”, the reindeer’s interactions with each other, the Woodsman, and the Island of Misfit Toys a run for their money.

For almost all of Rankin/Bass’ television and film productions, the animation was entirely outsourced overseas. Such was the case for Mad Monster Party?. Using Rankin/Bass’ “Animagic” process, the film’s animation was spearheaded in Tokyo by Tadahito Mochinaga (Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, 1965’s The Daydreamer) of MOM Productions. In tandem with the character designs sketched by Jack Davis (an original artist for Mad magazine), the Japanese animators under Mochinaga meticulously moved the six-to-eight-inch puppets frame-by-frame – building open the advances pioneered by George Pal’s Puppetoons series of short films (1934-1947). The dolls’ realistic motions (or at least as realistic as such motion can be) were accomplished by using live actors standing nearby as reference. Mouth movements during dialogue was expressed using fine Japanese paper pasted for one frame and removed for the next. Each doll cost about $5,000 (just over $40,000 in 2020’s USD) to make and the animation itself was time-consuming.The production design for Mad Monster Party? represents some of the art direction in any stop-motion Rankin/Bass piece – especially the moody, cobweb-filled interior of the Baron’s castle.

Interspersed across Mad Monster Party? are several songs composed by Maury Laws (1964’s Return to Oz, The Year Without a Santa Claus) and lyrics by Jules Bass. Like almost all songs from Rankin/Bass pieces, the songs are not well-integrated into the story, but it is nevertheless difficult to imagine skipping any of them. The songs – though a vast majority are novelty songs – provide a bolt of energy where dialogue may have been trite. “Do the Mummy” by Little Tibia and the Fibias (reportedly real-life band Dyke and the Blazers) has absolutely zero lyrical interest along with its funk rock keyboard melody – but hey, we get the puppets to dance! “One Step Ahead” is just as repetitive, but arrives with the added benefit of Karloff speak-singing his parts (and who doesn’t want more Boris Karloff?). Phyllis Diller gets a solo number as the Monster’s Mate in “You’re Different” – a number to chastise Frankenstein’s Monster for his “roving eye[s]”.

But there are two songs by Laws and Bass in a different league than the rest. The first is the title song, “Mad Monster Party”, sung by jazz singer Ethel Ennis. On my first viewing of Mad Monster Party?, I never expected an opening tune as badass as this – replete with blaring brass, stabs of percussion, and string flourishes. It sounds like it was composed by John Barry for a James Bond movie; it makes a lyric like, “Did you sell your soul to Mephistopheles?” not feel awkward. “Mad Monster Party” is a snarling, unorthodox accompaniment to the monsters’ initial introductions over the opening credits – and the most pleasant surprise of the film. Almost as brilliant is a song for Francesca, with Gale Garnett singing the ballad “Never Was a Love Like Mine”. If only the context for that song (which I will not reveal to those who haven’t seen the film) was not so peculiar.

Upon viewing the final cut of Mad Monster Party?, executive producer and Embassy Pictures founder Joseph E. Levine expressed his disappointment in the picture and decided to limit the film’s theatrical release. The half-aborted theatrical release destined Mad Monster Party? to Rankin/Bass obscurity, even though it would be carried by select American television stations as a holiday special. The studio would remain focused on Christmas material, but would infrequently dabble in non-Yuletide projects. In 1972, Rankin/Bass directed a cel-animated television movie entitled Mad Mad Mad Monsters. The film is a “prequel of sorts” and includes many of the characters from Mad Monster Party?. To this day, Mad Monster Party? exists in the shadow of the better-known Christmas television specials. It also does not help that, since Rankin/Bass’ ultimate dissolution in 2001, the studio’s theatrical feature films have been separated from the rest of the Rankin/Bass library (pre-1974 specials are owned by Universal; specials from 1974 and after are owned by Warner Bros.). At the time of this review’s publication, Lionsgate holds the rights to Mad Monster Party?.

For a time, Rankin/Bass’ stop-motion animation films and television specials were popular in North America – their projects standing out from an animation industry beholden to cel animation perfected by Disney. Mad Monster Party? is Rankin/Bass craftsmanship (and lunacy) at a feature length, and necessary viewing for students of stop-motion animation. The film plays on the horror archetypes that audiences are now accustomed to, amid some of the most beautifully-designed sets in the studio’s history. It is an ideal Halloween viewing experience, but unfortunately it does not seem it has ever reached the audience that it deserves.

My rating: 6.5/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

[plus-low-overthrow]

The Typhoons - I Feel Fine (Embassy)

1964.

search: The Beatles Funk Orchestra

[burlveneer-music]

Lexsoul Dancemachine - Lexplosion II - a funky blast of disco-soul from Estonia (Funk Embassy Records)

Lexsoul Dancemachine’s 3rd album "Lexplosion II" will be out via Funk Embassy Records on May 29th. The 8-track LP provides fire power for the funk-soul-disco DJ, albeit remaining a pleasure treasure for the leisure listener. First time ever, the 6 piece Estonian group has invited collaborators: the loose-wristed guitar funk icon Cory Wong from US; the Brazilian percussion maestro Luiz Black who’s gigged with James Brown and recorded with gigs on his résumé; and a local dame with staggering licks on the violin - Liis Lutsoja. LSDM crosses genre borders with tunes in soul, disco, boogie and even house lines. The tracks are produced by the Solid Gold Sound, written by record selectors themselves. The listener is treated to a DJ-weapons itching to be exploited. Made available on vinyl, CD and digitally, the record comes with original artwork by Estookin - a painter who did portraits of all the band members in addition to the volcano that couldn't hold them inside for much longer! The records are 180g vinyl, pressed in Estonia; the CD version opens up to form a 3D volcano. All songs written by: Lexsoul Dancemachine Lyrics by: Robert Linna Special Guests: Cory Wong, Luiz Black, Liis Lutsoja Produced by: Solid Gold Sound Mixed by: Martin Laksberg Mastered by: Jörgen Hermaste Recording engineers: Martin Laksberg, Robert Linna Recorded at: Salme Stuudio & EFN HQ Album cover & portrait paintings: Estookin Andreen Photographer: Taavi Muide Graphic design: Estookin Andreen Executive producer: Henrik “Lava Juice” Ehte Lady of Merch: Raili Ots Released by: Funk Embassy Records Made in Estonia

[seanmorroww]

Andras Fox feat. Oscar S. Thorn - “What They Say”

Embassy Café [Dopeness Galore, 2013]

[romansinsparta]

I was tagged by @iwanna-knowy0u . Thank you!

Nickname: Kayla Bee🐝

Height: 5’6”

Hogwarts House: Slytherin🐍🐍🐍

Last Thing I Googled: Harp Lyres

Song Stuck in my Head: Bad Guy Number One by Ska’d 4 Life

Favorite Instrument: Those electric violins

Number of followers: on this account... 476

Amount of Sleep: 3 hours and 15 minutes. I just woke up.

Lucky Number: 7 or 14

Dream Job: Foreign Embassy Officer

Wearing: Golden girls pajama pants and a cropped X-Men tee shirt

Favorite song: Talia by King Princess

Aesthetic: Light Academia plus femme fatale plus the remnants of my emo phase holding on for dear life.

Favorite Author: Cornelia Funke?? Maybe?? I don’t really have a favorite YA or adult fiction author

Favorite Animal noises: cats chirping

Random: this is the first thing that I can remember ever being tagged in after almost a decade on this hell site and I’m so frickin excited!!!!

I tag @teddywufkh @thelatestcontender @gaymixtakes @yin--yu @amiserableseriesofevents @ceilingwontbreak @sapphicinternetaddict and anyone else who wants to do it!



[bornitereads]

Wanderlust - Elisabeth Eaves

Re-read: Jan 2020

Eaves wrote a kind of biography/travelogue about her 20s. When I first read this book, back in my 20s, it had a resonance with my soul. I was in a kind of funk and I wanted to run away into the world. This feeling comes and goes. I low key always want to move to another country and travel books are my way of doing it without really doing it. Helps a little bit. Anyways Eaves wrote a lot about her feelings of wanderlust, which are so strong I couldn’t relate. She almost incurably wanted to go and go and keep going. She made some questionable decisions but so do most people in their 20s. Another aspect of the book I couldn’t relate to were her relationships. I think its maybe the fact that it wasn’t queer. I have a hard time with strictly het relationship stories. Plus it felt like I was just along for the ride with all her relationship problems, so it was kind of cringey. Despite all that I did relate to her unrest in her relationships, I’ve experienced similar feelings before so it spoke to me. The best part though, was the actual travel parts. Eaves made some amazing trips to Yemen, to PNG. I was especially interested in her internship with the US Embassy in Pakistan. This is what really made me feel for this book. Her travels around the world. Something I will eventually accomplish myself.

Info: Seal Press, 2011.

[mizmahlia]

Long-Distance Call

Summary: Bruce sits at the Ethiopian embassy trying to ready himself to make a call he really, really doesn't want to make.  So, yeah. There’s angst here.

A/N: This is the kind of stuff that happens when I'm in a funk and can't quite snap out of it.

A/N #2: I’ve always wondered what this conversation would have been like.

Let me know if you want to be tagged in future stuff.

Bruce sat in a deserted office in the American embassy in Addis Ababa, watchful eyes staring out into the pre-dawn darkness. The desk lamp and overhead lights were off, since nothing he was doing required any light, and he sat motionless in a plush, high-backed arm chair. In his left hand, a glass of the expensive bourbon the ambassador kept in his desk went unnoticed, the ice all but melted. His right hand rested atop the landline receiver still in its cradle on his lap. His cell phone was likely in the car down in the parking garage, completely useless, as the embassy didn’t allow civilian mobile devices anywhere near the ambassador’s office. 

He’d been sitting there for over an hour and hadn’t moved a muscle. His joints were growing stiff from the inactivity and the wounds hidden by his bespoke suit itched beneath cheap gauze bandages. His body had been on autopilot and his mind on overdrive after the events of the last twenty-four hours, and the numbness was just starting to ease, bringing with it pain and grief he hoped he would never experience again.

The stillness was shattered by an ear-splitting alert from the building’s messaging system. It startled him, his body flooding his bloodstream with a surge of adrenaline.  The glass of watered-down bourbon slid from his fingers and fell to the carpet, the last of the ice cubes clinking against Waterford crystal. The announcement referenced a protest, which began late last night, had traveled too close to the embassy, and they were going into a sort of lock-down mode as a precaution.

Had he been in Gotham, there was no doubt he would have been monitoring the situation from afar while keeping an eye out for anyone who might try to take advantage of a stressed police force. Tonight, however, was a very different night. And he was certainly not in Gotham.

Instead, he was thousands of miles away, sitting in the U.S. ambassador’s office while Jason lay dead on a gurney in the basement. Medical personnel and government officials were waiting for Bruce’s flight plan and mortuary arrangements, and the security staff had yet to obtain clearance to leave the compound via the helicopter that would take both Bruce and Jason’s remains to the airport for repatriation.

He used his now-empty left hand to pinch the bridge of his nose before running it through his hair. He forced his right hand to lift the phone from the cradle and he began dialing the number to the Manor. Before he dialed the last two digits, he glanced at his watch. Ethiopia was seven hours ahead of Gotham, so Alfred might still be awake, even though Dick wasn’t in Gotham and there was no one patrolling the city.

A robotic voice interrupted his thought process and advised him he’d have to re-dial the number, making sure to use the correct country code. He knew the longer he waited to make this phone call, the more difficult it would be. But he couldn’t bring himself to admit Jason was dead, let alone say it aloud. With a grimace, he tapped the switchook with a fingertip, resetting the call, before dialing again, hesitating a moment before tapping the last number. After a slight delay the line began to ring.

A tired, yet professional voice answered after the third ring.

“Wayne Manor, Alfred Pennyworth speaking. How may I help you?”

Upon hearing Alfred’s voice, Bruce closed his eyes and sunk further into the chair.

“Alfred, it’s me.”

He cursed the delay in Alfred’s reply due to using the landline. His nerves were shot, and he was too frazzled to be able to handle this right now.

“Master Bruce, thank heavens. Are you alright?”

Bruce closed his eyes to stop the tears from falling, only to see images of the wreckage from the explosion: a torn, bloodied yellow cape peeking out from beneath a pile of concrete and charred wood. He fought the urge to be sick and forced his eyes open, focusing on the empty glass and bourbon stain on the carpet.

Absently, he realized he’d have to remember to reimburse the embassy for the cleaning costs.

“I’m… I’m alright.”

Alfred’s worried reply came through several seconds later.

“And Master Jason? Did you find him?”

He looked down at his bandaged palms and fingertips, only then being aware of the burns on his hands. He hadn’t realized he’d removed his gloves before digging Jason out of the rubble, only remembering he wanted Jason feeling his hands against his skin, not the leather of Batman’s gloves. In the end it hadn’t mattered anyway because once he’d dug Jason out, he was able to see Jason had been burned so badly he wouldn’t have been able to feel anything, anyway.

He choked back a sob.

“There was a complication. The Joker was involved and Jason…” He paused and cleared his throat, wincing at the irritation from the smoke inhalation. “He’s gone, Alfred. Joker killed him.”

Whatever Alfred said next was drowned out by Bruce’s muffled sobs as everything he’d been trying to hold back broke loose. He leaned forward until his elbows hit his knees, and still holding the phone in one hand, the other tangled itself into his hair.

Once Jason had settled at the Manor, he’d thrived. He’d gone from a life spent hungry, cold and alone on the streets of Park Row, to having everything he needed with Bruce and Alfred. He was supposed to continue growing and learning and realizing his potential, not spend his final moments looking at up Bruce through the shredded remains of his domino, bloodshot blue eyes trying to focus on Bruce’s face while his last breath rattled in his chest.

One last thought went through his mind as he told Alfred he had to hang up and get ready to leave.

It wasn’t supposed to end this way.

Jason had probably thought so, too.

[musicmoney]

Adrienne Mack-Davis teams up with Rhythm Hitters for a #musicmoney certified summer house anthem

Adrienne Mack-Davis is a classically trained singer/songwriter originally from Rochester, NY. For over a decade she has traveled the world performing over 1200 live shows both nationally and internationally opening and collaborating with the likes of Dead Prez, Talib Kweli, Rhakim, Red Man, Pharoah Monch, Hannibal Burress, Homeboy Sandman, Swiss Beats and KRS One to name a few.

In addition to being a feature artist on major national festivals [SXSW, A3C], she has also been featured on the So Far Sounds Live series and has the versatility that allows her to play a spectrum of different performance spaces, from stadiums to small coffee shops and family gatherings to the American Embassy in Vietnam to live radio and TV studio recordings.

She has participated in dozens of service workshops in over 9 countries on such topics as anti-human trafficking, entrepreneurship and women’s empowerment. Having lived overseas she’s had the privilege of being able to experience different cultures abroad allowing space for deeper self reflection, self development and maturity in her sound.

Hard hitting soul and RnB melodies fused with infectious Hip Hop and Dance instrumentals she emanates positivity and self love to inspire compassion and self confidence in people from all walks of life, “Be yourself! It’s good for your health!” is the motto. Currently based between New Hampshire and Maine you can catch her either performing with The Bulkheads, a live soul, hip hop, funk band, alongside Nate Winter her accompaniment on guitar for acoustic stripped back sets and also performing solo hitting stages with big instrumentals and even bigger vocals!

Now Adrienne has team up with the Rhythm Hitters, and House is how she will bring the FIRE!

Rhythm Hitters

From The Music Minds of Dirtyhauz, David Bowes and MingSon comes Rhythm Hitters. From The Stomping Grounds Of Brooklyn, And Queens, New York! “It Is Where We Get Our Inspiration For What We Call Dope Fire Music! With That Said, Let A Dance Floor Near You Be That Proof!”

https://rhythmhittersbkny.com/ https://www.instagram.com/rhythmhittersbkny/ https://www.facebook.com/Rhythm-Hitters-NYC-106350915358916 https://twitter.com/rhythm_hitters https://rhythmhitters.bandcamp.com/releases