#BADDIE BADDIE BURN A CHURCH!

[shrivinglust]

2nd wave norwegian black metal in a nutshell.

[lunatic-pudge]

Postal Doe Headcanons (Cause I Love Her)

-Aight, so, I know Postal Doe is supposed to be the female counterpart Postal Dude, BUT, I think it'd be cooler if she was her own separate entity. She's a bad bitch who deserves to be her own person

-Which leads me to my next headcanon that Dude and Doe are twins. When they were younger, they were very close since they were really all they had due to having a wonderfully shitty childhood. Caring for each other cause their parents couldn't be bothered too. While they did have similar intreats, there are some differing things between them.

-For starters, Doe wasn't a religious nut like Dude was. No matter how much people tried to indoctrinate her, it just didn't work like how they wanted. If the family was going to church, she was doing whatever she could to avoid it. If people tried to corner her and tell her how she's gonna go to Hell if she doesn't repent, she tunes them out and dismisses them. This has put a strain on her and Dude's relationship, especially when they got older and Dude's schizophrenia started to worsen. Now, Dude and Doe know everything about each other (obviously, they're twins and have always been there for each other), she knows about his deteriorating mental health, she knows she could just ignore him and his ramblings about how she's gonna burn in Hell for all eternity and that he doesn't want that for her, but Doe found it easier to just distance herself away from her own brother.

-When they were in their early twenties, the two had a huge falling out which resulted in them not talking for a few years. Doe took this as an opportunity to skip town and have a little reset on her life. Also, before the falling out, she was there for Dude and the Bitch's wedding. She never liked the Bitch, finding her to be stuck up and just not a good person for her brother. The Botch was quick to help drive a wedge between the siblings cause she hated Dude interacting with other women, even including family

-It was a rough start at first. Having to start from the bottom and work her way up. She was able to make a name for herself in the Arizona punk/metal scene. I can see her being a musician, playing the guitar and bass, and even being a bit of a singer as well. Being apart of several bands throughout the years. She would have side jobs on the side to help keep money coming in and was able to get herself in a more comfortable position than what she used to be in.

-Definitely a lesbian, but I can also see her being asexual. An asexual woman enjoyer? I'll let you decide on it. I just know that she likes women and isn't afraid to admit it. She's had her share of lovers in the past and WILL flirt with you if you are a fellow baddie. I need this woman to be with a cottagecore girl ASAP. I really like the opposites attract trop

-No back to the more sad stuff! It took a bit for the news of what happened in Paradise and Dude's hospitalization to get back to Doe. To say she was shocked when finding out would be an understatement. Poor thing felt horrible. She has basically abandoned her brother and had let him get worse. She tries to get in contact with the mental hospital, but they wouldn't let her visit him. She had to go on with her life knowing what her brother did and how she wasn't there for him like she should've been

-Doe tired to get updates on Dude but the hospital was rather unhelpful and uncooperative with her. When Dude got out of the hospital, Doe was able to get back in touch with him. It had taken a while for them to repair their relationship, but they're on way better terms now. Doe does what she can to help Dude. Doe wasn't happy to be dealing with the Bitch again, but she put up with it for the sake of her brother. Homegirl celebrated when Dude and the Bitch finally divorced. It was a dream come true

-Now while Dude and Doe were able to patch things up, they aren't very involved with each other's lives. They do get into some disagreements though, like Dude's health pipes. She gets on him about using them but he argues that he can do whatever he wants. I can see them also just being like typical siblings and picking on each other. But for real, Doe does not like that her brother smokes crack. She'd rather he smoke weed but he really can't cause it makes his schizophrenia worse

-Conclusion: I want Postal Doe just as much as I want Postal Dude❤️

[tiktaalic]

Here is my kind review of camp Damascus. It’s not my thing. Here is my unkind review of camp Damascus. Sloppy in about every way it’s possible for a book to be sloppy. Zero interest in emotions or build up or prose. There are no emotional stakes. There is no Build to villains (and to be clear, these are villains and not antagonists). There is a pastor who is mentioned a couple of times and then shows up at the end of the book to have The Big Showdown. But it has no weight because he’s been mentioned like twice in passing there are no personal connections or experiences with him nor is he a mythological figure that’s been built up. He just shows up because demons already killed the guy who was creepy five pages in so they can’t use him as the Big big bad. Three people get dropped in a car and you’re told ok. Some of these people are friends and some of these people are in love with each other. And that’s as much development as you’re offered. Sentences are constructed as to be functional and get you from point a to point b and nothing else. Boggling politics. BOGGLING politics. The protag’s best friend is a gay guy who worked as a counselor at conversion therapy camp after he got converted and it’s posited as no you didn’t know what you were endorsing it’s okay. Cut to the end of the book where every current camp counselor gets murdered. Same with the demons - they’re being controlled by The Church, they’re not in control of their actions, but it’s fine to burn them to ash and not think about it even a little bit even when you learn that it was Not Their Fault and they aren’t homophobic. There is no reflecting on this. There is no reflecting on anything. The entire thing i very much styled as what if an #itgetsbetter ad from 2013 had fantasy elements. Much smaller gripe but there’s a scene where her parents are going to send her to conversion therapy again and her mom is helping her escape and she wonders if her moms last words to her are going to be I love you I forgive you etc and then she snaps You are so selfish and walks back in the house. Which DOES land but only because it’s a shock to the system. Probably the one part of the book that I liked but it’s severely soured by the fact that I know it was done to place her parents unilaterally on the Baddies side instead of allowing them any nuance. Very much plays out as someone’s fantasy of how they wish being gay while raised conservative Christian went for them. Which is enough meat for a daydream or one therapy session it does not merit a book. Like. The church is using demons who punish sinners for conversion therapy but as soon as they’re left to their own devices and not having their free will wiped by the church they ignore all the gay teenagers (free of sin) to kill all the camp counselors and pastors who work at conversion therapy (sinners). That’s a two line joke at MOST. Not. Whatever that was. Also I think it’s pussy shit to write a horror novel where your main character does not maim or be maimed by another person (not creature) even a little bit

[teecupangel]

...Have you considered: instead of being assholes, Templars putting in some serious time to recruit Desmond, instead? Doesn't matter which ones - Order of Ancients, Templar Order of Crusade/Renaissance/Civil War era, or Abstergo. And, surprisingly, being quite smooth doing that. It's the nice (kidnapper) organization vs Desmond's morals and he tastes temptation

There was this passing idea I had of Vidic finding a sixteen year old Desmond who just ran away from the Farm. The idea was Desmond would be indebted to Vidic and become loyal to him because Vidic pretends to treat Desmond like a son that he volunteered to be an Animus subject. I didn’t really get that far into the idea other than the main point was that Desmond’s bleed will be more aggressive and volatile like Cross’.

Putting that aside, let’s see how it would be possible to make this work. In this setup, Desmond would be time-traveling after the Grand Temple so I think that the best temptation the Templars can give Desmond is ‘power’.

To be more specific: the power to change the world so that humanity would be ready for December 21, 2012. A kind of ‘the end justifies the means’ type of deal.

Now, let’s talk about the different (Proto-)Templar situations:

The Order of The Ancients

During the Peloponnesian War: the Order of the Ancients would have Deimos on their side. Now, it can go either way, Deimos’ violent tendencies could easily be a turn-off for Desmond but Desmond would most definitely see the pain and loneliness that Deimos tries to hide. However, the Order of the Ancients’ ‘interest’ in the Isus is a definite red flag for Desmond. The most I see him doing is accidentally taking over the Order with Deimos’ help (whether he wanted Deimos to do all that morally questionable things or not)

During the end of the Ptolemaic period: it would be much harder for Desmond to be seduced during this time. For one, he knows that Cleopatra will be killed by a proto-Assassin (thanks to Amunet’s statue in Villa Auditore). Another is there isn’t really any Order member I can see him thinking “Oh, maybe he has a point”.

During the 9th Century: now, this one, we can work with. In this setup, the Hidden Ones technically allied themselves with the Vikings, to be more exact with the Raven clan. If Desmond was to see how the Vikings looted and raided innocent villages, burning down homes and churches, it’s a solid case for him to team up with someone sorta sus but still sounding like a good person, King Ælfred. Not to mention, Ælfred wants the Order to die so he could push for his idea of a Templar Order. Desmond would probably be unfamiliar with Ælfred’s history so, as far as he knows, he would be allying himself with someone with a similar agenda of ‘Stop the Vikings, Kill the Ancient Order’. It’s only when King Ælfred gives him the title of Grand Master of the newly created Templar Order that Desmond would think “Am I… the baddie?”

The Templar Order (Desmond Saga)

The 3rd Crusades: Okay, so this one would be moving towards more of my Yew Branch idea of Desmond being reborn as Richard the Lionheart’s brother but I think that the main reason why Desmond would even consider joining the Templar in this scenario is if he sees the other side of the Templar Order. The ones not in Robert’s inner circle. Maybe even get close to Maria Thorpe. In this scenario, I think that the one who has the highest to ‘convert’ Desmond isn’t a Templar per se but someone like King Richard or one of the other high-ranking members of the Crusaders who are doing this for, well, not the right reason but a reason they believe in. Desmond would infiltrate and take over the Templar Order and suggest a truce between the Assassins (hopefully, by this time, are now under Altaïr’s) and the Saracens then grow his power to make preparations for the Solar Flare with Altaïr’s help.

Renaissance: This is absolutely the hardest to think of. Like… Desmond wouldn’t even entertain the idea because of the Borgias in general. Anyone who could ‘seduce’ Desmond to the Templar Order has a hand in the Auditore’s deaths and that’s… that’s the reason why this wouldn’t work. Unless… Desmond time-traveled maybe a decade or so before the execution? Kind of “I’m keeping an eye on all these assholes so they won’t hurt the Auditores” which would snowball to him being the more ‘reasonable’ figure in the Order in comparison to the Borgias. (Desmond vs Rodrigo power struggle? Templar Order civil war while the Assassins just watch with wine and cheese? XD)

American Revolution: Okay, this one is probably the easiest to think of. Desmond tells Haytham about Connor early on and has this weird ‘I can fix him’ mentality concerning Haytham. Haytham, on the other hand, thinks he can ‘indoctrinate’ Desmond. Desmond thinks he’s winning because Haytham is making changes in his plans to build a beneficial alliance with the natives, not realizing that Haytham is just keeping Ziio and Connor safe and trying to get ‘I’m a good dad’ points. Haytham thinks he’s making progress with Desmond because Desmond is okay with a lot of dubious things he’s doing, not realizing that Desmond counts it as progress because Haytham was more vicious in the original timeline.

The Templar Order (Nameless MCs Trilogy)

Golden Age of Piracy: Honestly, the Templar Order in Black Flag has the weakest pull to Desmond. Anyway, I can see Desmond working with the Templars because the Assassins have joined with pirates and he mistakes it as the Assassins reaching Abbas-level low. (I kinda like the idea of Edward not being an Assassin in this setup but more of Desmond’s second-in-command and driver thanks to the Jackdaw. Edward believes Desmond would lead him to gold and glory while Desmond is just soft on him because he knows he’s Connor’s grandfather)

French Revolution: Okay, I think this is the easiest. The Templars during this time period are mainly moderates and de la Serre wanted to have a truce with the Assassins. Desmond would probably have a soft spot for that as he still feels Connor’s desire to reconcile with Haytham and he knows that not all Templars were bad people… just look at Maria (although she did leave the Templars because they were assholes). The moment Germain and his cronies makes their move, Desmond would be accidentally leading the moderates of the Templar Order.

Industrial Revolution: ngl, this is like the opposite of Borgia for Desmond. Starrick has total control of London, sure, but this is the same dude who raised his workers’ salary after Jacob… well… assassinated someone who was pretty much keeping the economy stable. Starrick and his cronies were keeping London stable (or another way to see it is that they have taken over the important sectors of London that assassinating them without any follow-up plan was bound to backfire really hard on everyone). The easiest way to seduce Desmond to the Templar side is for Starrick to focus on the consequences of Jacob and Evie’s (and, by association, the Rooks’) action.

TL;DR: If Desmond does become a Templar, dude’s gonna end up accidentally becoming the Grand Master most of the time and broker peace with the Assassins or whip them back to shape.

[samanthaandlife]

Sally the survivor!

Sally was born in her home, like all of her siblings, in a small town in Idaho. Her dad (George) is a high school dropout and works in the local lumber mill, like almost the rest of the community. Her mom (Reagan) is the product of incest and was born with some level of brain damage but she was absolutely beautiful. They all attended an ultra conservative church, where here parents were essentially introduced. They had their first child when her mom was 13 and they continued having children every year for six years, they had a 5 year break then had Sally; she is child number 7! There was a baby after Sally but she died in childbirth. The family decided to homeschool all of their children, even with neither parents having graduated high school!

Sally’s oldest brother (John) has some special needs and he will probably never be able to leave home. Her other siblings left home at 16 to live with friends, got married, or simply moved out. The issues in that home were clearly bad to make so many kids to leave! Poor Sally was basically an only child by the time she was 10 while John was 18. She told me that her brother started rapping her after he discovered she had her first period, age 11! Her parents had to know, in such a small home, there was no way they didn’t hear her cries! She had her first abortion at 12 and her second at 14. It was after the second abortion that Sally snapped and set her home on fire! Nobody was hurt but she did burn the house down! Sally was arrested but while in custody the police quickly realized there was more to the story and Sally, for the first time, told her story. Children services got involved, investigators looked into the family, and removed Sally from the home. Sally’s mom had a sister living in Georgia and was willing to take her!

Biologically, Sally was ready for high school by age but her lack of education left her unprepared. She was assigned to special education classes her first year but it was clear Sally was really smart! Some very kind teachers heard some of her story and were happy to help prepare her for general education classes. She had to basically do 4 years of school in 3 years with the loss of her freshman year. She did it and even managed to make the honor roll her junior and senior years! She did so well, she was accepted to UGA in the fall!

When I met Sally, she was obviously involved in a relationship with a powerful man that was clearly abusive. I was interested in how those two got together? Sally is the baddie, she was looking for a man just like she found! She understood that he was driven by sex and if she could made his dick happy she could be a powerful woman! Sex was nothing to her and she knew how to dress, act, and speak to lure men to meet her own needs. I initially believed that Sally was a victim, given her history, and how she was sexualized by the group, it seemed logical. I couldn’t have been more wrong, Sally was always in control, even if she was bound to a bed! She loves men and sex and doesn’t confuse the idea that penetration does not lead to love.

With graduation nearing and it looked like an engagement ring was coming her way, Sally started hatching a plan! It turned out that Sally was never interested in her bf for a long term but was using him for his money. She also knew that he would never let her just leave or break-up with him because he would never leave her alone. However, if she could get him to break up with her she could be free! It was our last St Patrick’s Day party and she knew that one of the bf’s “enemies” was in town because he wouldn’t stop talking about him being at the party. It was the opening she was looking for and planned a very public display. While the “group” was upstairs with a new girl Sally remained downstairs with the party. She made sure everyone else was having a good time and started a strip show. She was so lucky to be born with such a beautiful body and she immediately became the party! She made her rounds making sure to give all of the men, and some women, the opportunity to touch her perfect tits! Naturally, she really cozied up to Brad, while looking for signs the upstairs “party” was over, she straddled him, and giving the rest of the party a sex show people in Amsterdam would be proud! The bf got to see the show, resulting in a very irate and violent reaction. He tackled her off his lap and then commenced to beat on Brad. The whole party saw the fight and the police was called. The bf was arrested but quickly released, naturally. He told Sally to never return but she got the last laugh having used him by having a full wardrobe of expensive clothing, a car and many contacts.

After graduation, Sally was hired by Dow chemicals and moved to Huston. She is now seeing a guy that is a lot older than her but she seems happy now and has a bright future. I’m proud to call Sally my friend and hope that we will continue to be best friends!

[panarchie]

tag game! shuffle your “main” playlist and post the first 10 you get, then tag 10 people! I was tagged by @bisexualstruggles, I will use my on repeat spotify for this and will as always add unnecessary commentary to each song. *touches ground* there's kpop and female indiepop here.

cup runneth over by kiki rockwell. I have been so into whatever genre she represents. her, chapelle roan and delilah bon are three separate parts of a spectrum I'm feeling quite at home currently. angry, whistful, queer women. there is yearning but also fire. cup runneth over especially makes me feel grounded, and right.

ring ding dong by shinee. almost single handedly got me through the final two weeks of my master's thesis. whenever I was slacking, losing focus, felt my eyes get heavy or wander, I put on this absolute banger and at key's first "BAYBEH" I was back in the game, with a dance party.

haegeum by agust d. his new album slapped me out of this life and into the next one, the documentary brought me back and I've been crying about min yoongi ever since.

harbinger by kiki rockwell. "we are the tale keeper, we are the field reaper, we are the mother, the virgin, the church steeple. we are the bible sin, we are the sisters grimm, we are the faithful, the siren, the whore within." if I could kiss kiki rockwell on the forehead for their lyricism (consensually), I would.

burn your village by kiki rockwell. she's angry, and now so are you, but not without a little bit of self-satisfaction.

2 baddies by NCT 127. 2 baddies 2 baddies 1 porsche! another hype song.

venus in gemini by DEZI. my venus actually is in gemini, just like my sun and third/fourth houses. this is for all my zodiac gay baddies.

holy by lexie liu. I already talked about this one in may, but it stays in my playlist for the insane flow.

breaking the habit by linkin park. this one is helene's fault because it was also an integral part of my "crushing my fucking thesis" playlist.

lilith by halsey feat. suga. holy shit, holy shit, HOLY SHIT that song has been stuck in my head - and it better not leave because I love it. this song just fucking gets me. I have listened to nothing else for, like, three days after it came out. has for sure already secured its spot on my spotify wrapped.

tagging @gryphae and @luziferonholiday.

[cheesybadgers]

Ahhh Maria, bless you once again for your kind and thoughtful words 😭😭❤️

I shall put my rambling under the cut:

"I think there is no better way to create a realistic ending than one in which people, despite everything, find happiness in the simple."

Yesssssss!! This is exactly what I wanted for them after so much chaos, violence and angst. I feel like their life in Laredo is stripping everything back to basics, where they've both still got quite demanding jobs but not in the destructive way their old ones were. And of course, they get to live together in peace and quiet in their cute little cottage ❤️

"It's a very attractive paradox, so to speak, like two people who don't deprive themselves of traditions and customs that could be exclusionary."

Oh wow, I love this observation so much! And yep, I wanted them to keep a lot of their cultural traditions they grew up with because that's still part of their identities and childhoods (and connections to their families/roots). And whilst I think they feel very differently about the Catholic Church by the end (especially Horacio), they've turned their religious upbringings and the prejudices of the church into something more spiritual and personal within their relationship. Their faith is primarily in each other now ❤️

So glad you liked the Día de Los Muertos scenes as well! I had always intended for them to celebrate it properly together at the end, now they've started to process their grief properly and I was pleased with the way it turned out.

Including this intense and burning love in everything, placing two men who are symbols of that abrupt masculinity with so much vulnerability and feelings (them together under the tree 😭😭😭😭) is very right. I've always loved this story for that reason.

I think the subversion of the machismo trope and the way they behave in canon is one of my absolute favourite things about writing fic for this show. It's so, completely and utterly NOT what the writers intended for these characters lol.

The hypermasculine, violent, stoic male archetype is at the centre of so many shows like this one and their target audience is clearly cishet men....although in Narcos' defence, there is at least Pacho, whose homosexuality is sort-of tolerated by the Cali cartel but only because of certain conditions and rules that exist between the group of men. That dancefloor kiss scene in season 3 shows us he's clearly an anomaly in the narco world and he's probably faced a lot of homophobia for being so open about his sexuality (and if he wasn't so high up in the ranks/feared/respected, it would likely be a very different story).

But in terms of Javier's and Horacio's characters in canon...we are supposed to think of them as the the most heterosexual men to ever have heterosexual-ed 😂 It's ok for one of the 'baddies' to be queer in this universe, but not our beloved 'heroes' or 'anti-heroes' lol. So yeah...I love subverting that idea in fic, especially when most of the conversations I've seen on places like reddit involve the cishet men the show is clearly aimed at (and I don't imagine the show's creators expected a bunch of horny Pedro fans to write a library of reader insert fics for Javi either, but that's fandom for you 🤣).

Glad you liked the scene of them under the tree as well...I did love writing that 🥺

"I couldn't see a better outcome: Javier's work, Carrillo's efforts on the ranch. There is such a resistant symbolic peace, and you managed to build it in a very convincing way; enough to look at this chapter and say: yes, this is how I would like these two people to end."

Honestly, I'm so, so pleased you liked their endings 😭😩 I'm so glad it came across as convincing as well, because if you didn't know the full context of OHDH, their career changes probably sound a bit leftfield (especially cowboy!Horacio lol). But I tried really, really hard to make sure neither ending came out of nowhere. Like, Horacio ended up at the ranch in the first place because of the ambush...without that detail, it wouldn't make sense. Javier's ending feels a little more true to his canon character in my view, but it has more significance once you know his family background in OHDH and the conversations he's had with people like Chucho, Señora Romero and Elena. So, I'm thrilled it made sense to you too, because it did in my head 🥰

"I'm going to move on to the epilogue with the certainty that I was able to watch something beautiful! You really know what you're talking about haha

I'm forever an admirer of your work here, Laura! This is beautiful! ❤️"

Comments like this make me all warm and fuzzy, so thank you so, so much for just getting it and what I was trying to do here with these two 🥺❤️ I'm so glad you've enjoyed the ride and I've loved reading all of your thoughts and insights and messages/tags etc. (especially as you're Latina as well). So thank you for being so supportive, it means a lot and has helped me push on through during times of low motivation😘

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

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 24

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 12,675

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 23: Desde La Frontera

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shouldn’t be so irresistible.”

“Sorry about that.”

“No, you’re not.”

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

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

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

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

“And the family?”

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

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

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

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

“You did everything you could to help them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure about that?”

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

“Well, I still have my moments.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She is.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Simple?” Chucho supplied.

“Yes. Simple.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Happy Birthday.”

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

“I can take it back if you’d prefer.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You like it?”

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

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

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

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

“Good, that’s it, and another.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need you on all fours.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, are you gonna tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

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

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

“Does it matter?”

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

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

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Very funny."

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

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

“You liked it, then?”

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

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

"That wouldn't be hard."

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

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

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

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

“Keep it on.”

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

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

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

“I’ll try my best.”

He could make no such guarantees after dinner, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you mean?”

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

“Yeah, I remember.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For what?”

“For reminding me of my roots.”

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

“Better late than never, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not bad for a Colombian.”

“I guess I had a good teacher.”

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

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

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

“I’ll drink to that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For what?”

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

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

“Y tú eres mía.” (And you’re mine)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Very much.”

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

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

“Oh really? Hadn’t noticed.”

“Liar.”

“Maybe. But it does suit you.”

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

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

“Likewise with your present.”

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

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

“You’re the fucking cowboy, not me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When’s that again?”

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

“You still shadowing Gus Montoya?”

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

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

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

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

“It keeps me out of trouble.”

“Shame.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What isn’t?”

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

“We’ve always been careful.”

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

“Exactly. Completely different.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was.”

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

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“Your present.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[lalonderose]

d&d posting in tags. session ended less than an hour ago my brain go crazy

[dailyadventureprompts]

Could yo post your "Hag Reimagined" post separately from the long line of reblogs, please? I don't like to be remembered the awkward lore behind the original monster.

MONSTERS REIMAGINED: Hags Hagga

(here’s the original context for anyone who might be wondering, it’s a doozy) 

The problem: Hags are weird in that at some point during d&d’s development, someone decided that their version of fairy tale witches were going to be monsters in and of themselves, rather than just humanoids with magical talent and a mean-streak. What’s more, they decided that these monsters were not only going to be grimm fairy tale witches, but also the “burn at the stake for consorting with the devil” Salem sort of witches, and would actually be guilty of all the gross stuff the Salem witches were accused of ( kidnapping children, consorting with demons, laying random curses etc)  

Guess what friends? just like a lot of d&d’s OTHER super gross history when it comes to supplying us monsters to slaughter, it ended up using a grabbag of historical justifications for actual genocide, in this case: The blood libel/church propaganda against paganism/midwifery. it looks like in trying to come up with a folklore adherent explanation for a magical creature’s diet/breeding habits, the designers ended up propagating centuries old  antisemitism…..

YIKES

so how do we fix this? how do we separate the iconic wheat of the hag’s iconography from the culturally uncomfortable chaff?  I’ve got a few ideas, and I think they’ll satisfy everyone.

The Parts worth Keeping:

Part of the reason the Hag makes such an Iconic monster is because we ALL know what a witch is. Its burned into our psyche at every level of pop culture from before we’re old enough to read. As children we’re always a little afraid of the arbitrary nature of adults, so when a story revolves around an old person who kidnaps you and forces you to do chores under threat of baking you into a pie, there’s a part of us that goes:  “ yeah…. that’s not that much of a stretch”

What’s more, the accessories of wichcraft make a BALLER villainous aesthetic, decrepit hovels in the roots of trees or hidden in sea-caves and crumbling towers, “bubble bubble, toil and trouble” over cauldrons full of elixirs, half-feral familiars, animated household items, handwritten books of spells and greasy candles of dubious origin. These things snap easily into the mind of any player, far easier than the aesthetics lot of other “unique” d&d baddies.  ,  

Narratively and from a gameplay perspective, Hags are incredibly useful as they provide a means by which minor villains ( corrupt nobles, bandits, scorned townsfolk) can access magic without bringing in a high level caster.  Hags pull heavy lifting because they a) make deals which can be untangled by the party b) make chaos happen because of those deals, further adding to the adventure.

The Parts worth tossing out:

Why after all this time do we still have monsters that are defined by sex? Almost always these monsters are said to have very rape-y breeding practices ( hags were guilty of this prior to the current edition), and the distinction is seldom used for anything more than specifically gendered horror. Lets get some man-witches and non-binary crones up in here.

Extending off of that, the name “hag” has to go, especially because it’s a term for actual people. Instead lets try to give them a name more suited to the general role in the world.

“Birth horror” is not something most people I know what to deal with, so I don’t see why it should be a part of a mainline d&d monster.

As always, we want to remove the “born evil” trope wherever possible. Hags are fey in the latest editions, but for some reason the developers decided to highlight how they propagate instead of going with the “they emerge spontaneously from mature” angle that the game has adopted for most fairykind. These creatures now show up whenever you’d expect one of them to live, especially if there are already rumors circulating about there being a spellcaster of monsterous mein/deed in that location. Every child can easily spot abandoned buildings/liminal spaces where witches COULD live, so why not have them spontaneously manifest there? 

My Fix:

First lets deal with the name, given we want to preserve the feel/meaning of the name, but also be inclusive,  for the time being lets call them Hagga ( which is old norse, root-word of “hag”, meaning to cut”), or something else unflattering. You may also want to use “Strix”, an archaic greek mythological representation of witches that also might have to do with their conception of owls/bats 

Second: anyone can be a Hagga, rather than being nature spirits or fey themselves, they are mortals that have become beholden to/transformed by the fey. The process can be done in any manner of ways for any manner of reasons, blessing or punishment or arbitrary gift….   Think of it almost like the feywild’s version of lichdom, granting great power, but at great cost.

The process irrevocably warps the would be-Hagga, specifically stripping away the parts of them they valued: Those young and strong become old and wizened, those who valued love and family become callous and spiteful, and those clever and witty become fanciful and mad.

This transformation creates a totemic object representing what the Hagga has lost, usually this defaults into the possession of the fey that initiated the change.   Lost youth may be represented by a flower, a heart full of kindness may be replaced with one of stone,  a hagga who goes mad may literally lose their marbles.

If these items are ever restored to the Hagga, their transformation reverses. This can give even more gameplay opportunities involving discovering the object, recovering it from its owner, and then tricking the Hagga into receiving it as part of a gift, thereby taking ownership of their lost pieces and undoing their deal with the fey.

If you really wanted to, you can still have Hagga go after children in order to make more of themselves, but the result is a magically empowered child who may be willing or unwilling to reclaim their lost goodness, rather than a description of a weird vorebirthing ritual that’ll have your players looking at you funny.

Another fun alternative, Since fey are creatures of fairytales, have a Hagga spontaneously manifest in response to the fears of a populace, catering to their particular crisis and cultural taboos. This gives a great reason for the Hagga to appear in far off wilderness or in creepy attic spaces, and to have them act out petty cruelties against the populace. They literally made the Hagga up to scare and torment them, and the feywild has responded by making their stories real.  In this instance, the Hagga-bane item is something the party would need to concoct themselves, weaving it into the story if none existed before. 

Art

[voluptuarian]

“Medieval” Media on TV checklist

It’s in the UK. They can name it whatever they want, but it’s supposed to be the UK. (And not anywhere specific either-- is it Cornwall, Yorkshire, Aberdeen? None of the above, and also all.) So of course, it was filmed in Hungary, Croatia, and 2 French castles. Also it’s always winter because in medieval-fantasy-old-times-England it was always winter, always cold and gray, and always muddy, because of Christianity. Or something.

Paganism stand-in religion that is free-love-feminism-horned-god-bambi-rainbow-divine-feminine-oh-goddess!-silver-ravenwolf-glitter-farts and gives you magic powers and probably Disney Princess animal-handling skills. Clergy are female except for the only relevant character who is male and also probably Merlin, wear woad and Ren faire face paint, and are free of dogma or structure despite somehow having once governed. Now pushed into the shadows by “new” Christianity stand-in that hunts followers of the “old” religion as heretics.

Grimdark and repressive Christianity stand-in that rules with a patriarchal iron first and has made everyone miserable. Inexplicably Protestantism-based and Evangelical-inspired. Despite claiming to be medieval, no mention of Mary, Saints, feast days, pilgrimage, mystery plays, music, rosaries or medals, icons or relics, or probably even confession-- if you get lucky somebody might mention a Nail of the Cross or have communion. None of the clergy really believe unless they’re zealots, or sympathetic-and-tragically-misguided (and probably self-hating lesbians or something), everyone else is there out of ambition. Unlike the “old” religion, this one has zero divine or magical power and if it appears to have, that will actually come from demons-- who are real, although “new” God isn’t. Exists just to police sex and personal expression, self-flagellate, and guilt trip characters vaguely about “sin” without providing any discussion of what level sin it is or how many Hail Mary’s must be said to expatiate it.

Witch hunting mania which combines Renaissance Inquisition with independent early modern Puritan witch finding-- somehow is both Church-sponsored and widespread. Goes after women who are too sexy and independent, women who can read, anyone who believes in birth control, and the protagonist’s mother. Also followers of “old” religion who are usually secretly the above. Anyone caught will be burned at the stake, because hanging isn’t flashy enough.

Corsets as outerwear. Because bodices and corsets are the same thing. And everyone wore their underwear over their clothes. Victorian tightlacing de rigeur to combat wandering wombs and female mobility. If a female character wears armor, it too, is probably a corset. The enlightened heroine finally abandons hers with a feminine gasp of relief-- and no lingering health issues from years of tightlacing-- and her titties stay up anyway because of the Wonderbra she has on underneath.

Priests look like Martin Luther or the Ku Klux Klan. Nuns-- if they exist-- are only there to get killed, possessed, or dominated by male clergy (and possibly squeeze in an ill-fated lesbian romance before doing any of the former). No one has ever heard of an abbess and if you bring the subject up they’ll burn you at the stake.

If there are any Romans, they are exclusively played by Irish or German actors, with crisp Shakespearean accents. If there’s a German, they’re Dutch or Russian. If the “English” characters are actually English, they must be Southerners doing a basic British accent; if not they’re played by Americans doing no accent at all.

Chrome plate armor was all the rage in 500 AD

Despite witnessing the magic of “the old religion” firsthand, and being born and raised in the “new” one, the protagonist is an atheist, and even if he should meet god in person will steadfastly refuse to believe in Him. Because he’s just too cool and enlightened for that.

The plague is ever present, and has no name, since no one needs to define which plague, because there has only ever been the one. Other than starvation or being killed by the Baddie’s henchmen or the Church, it’s the only way anyone has ever died (except for pregnant women, who all die in childbirth.) Symptoms include fever, coughing, concealer appearing inexplicably on the lips, and then a few dramatic final words.

Nobody brushes their teeth because it’s Olde Tymes (incorrect) and nobody takes baths because it’s Satanic (also incorrect) yet every character with the exception of somebody only credited as “Ancient One-Eyed Old Coot” is clean, has shiny hair, no BO, and mouthfuls of big white teeth. Also perfume was never invented in this world, and the only beverage is water, mostly drunk from the hands at random streams, which are never mucked up or disease-carrying.

All the peasants dress in throw blankets and the remnants of Water World’s costuming department in a color range going from “Black Death” to “Dun”, accessorized with warts and fresh mud. The nobles meanwhile, drowning in money and with trade access to China dress like they were sent to The Wall, with the exception of “sexy slut” character who wears magenta crushed velvet off-the-shoulder gowns, and the only gay guy in the movie, who has slashed sleeves in 1350 and is one gold chain away from a rap career.

During interviews the cast will all say how they “wouldn’t have survived in medieval times” with all the mud and disease and sexual repression and they would have probably been “burned at the stake” for reading or swearing. The women fulfill their contractual obligation to complain about their corsets, yet another reason they would have died in “medieval times”. Somebody mentions the plague.

The harvest will be burned a dozen times, all the livestock will be slaughtered, the populace will end up homeless and starving, (which will of course, only concern the protagonist, who must dutifully share a crust of plain bread with some toothless vagrant) but once The Baddie is slain peace will return to the land and the infrastructure will magically rebuild itself, miraculously re-planting fields and restocking larders. Also it’s Spring now.

[butwhatifidothis]

I’d personally argue that the framing of a character’s actions matters much more than what those actions are when figuring out what a story wants to say, and that with the stated authorial intent Edelgard’s framing is very much about wanting you to sympathize with and feel bad for her. So like, I 100% get why people are confused? Making El sympathetic IS more important than the plot in CF, and I’m pretty sure it’s because some of the devs liked her so much.

I get what you’re saying on one hand, but on the other there are moments that definitely are supposed to make you stop and think about exactly what you’re doing, hard-baked into the plot of CF.

Like don't get me wrong, I get what you're talking about - framing is very important to a story when figuring out what it wants to say. But like... tbh? Claude, Dimitri, and even Rhea, for all that Edelgard tries to demonize them to the player, are actually pretty damn sympathetic on CF, even just on the surface.

You have all of them, somehow someway, mourn the deaths of those they've lost - Rhea's is ironically the most blatantly distraught at the lost of her loved ones, even though she is by far the most dehumanized of the three. This is, interestingly, something you don’t see on the other routes - even on AM, where you see Edelgard’s side of things, she never mourns anyone she’s lost. Claude is outwardly praised for taking the fighting away from the citizenry, and while Dimitri is criticized for "not fighting fair," that's what he does as well when he takes the fight to Tailtean. Dimitri and Claude literally never even strike first on CF - and the Church doing so with Seteth and Flayn has them immediately reminding the player that oh yeah... Garreg Mach was these bitches home that we forcibly kicked them out of. The last fight with Rhea, yes, has her very blatantly be a villain in burning down Fhirdiad - it’s also after she’s spent the entire route openly lamenting that Edelgard and Byleth have stolen everything from her. Her home and her family, the two things Rhea had left after a genocide, and she’s forced out of one and has the other, one way or another, taken from her forever. In CF, it’s not portrayed as “Those darn rascals, stealing allll of my powerrrrr away from meeee!” It’s shown as “Everything that I have ever held dear to me is being taken away from me, by people I have been nothing but kind to.” 

Making Edelgard look sympathetic is definitely an important part of CF, don’t get me wrong, but I’d argue that these moments with the antagonists of CF - seeing them mourn, seeing them not attack first (and when they do, being immediately reminded of what we as players have done to them), have the biggest villain of CF be constantly shown in a grieving light as everything around her crumbles to ash - these moments that aren’t optional, that one has to see as part of playing CF, are of similarly extremely high importance to CF’s narrative. Part of CF’s narrative is that you have joined the baddie side despite all of the warning signs telling you not to, and these moments are blaring sirens telling you that you aren’t doing good, you aren’t a hero, you are horribly affecting the lives of everyone you come into contact with. The scenes with Edelgard are meant to wave keys in front of the player’s face as they set the world on fire.

Because if Edelgard being sympathetic was really the only thing that mattered in CF, these moments simply wouldn’t exist. We know this because they don’t exist in AM, SS, or VW - Dimitri, Seteth/Rhea, and Claude don’t have moments where we switch over to the antagonists’ side and watch them mourn. We know this because it’s Edelgard, on these routes, who is going on about how Dimitri/Seteth/Claude are trying to take away her dreams of world domination (”There can only be one ruler of the world”), not about how everything she’s ever loved is being stolen from her. These moments of sympathy for the antagonists are entirely unique to CF. While the framing of Edelgard to be this sympathetic figure on CF definitely, uh, worked lmao, there was a definite effort on CF’s part to counter that with sympathy for the antagonist’s as well, at least imo

[diana-3]

Crow’s Nest.

Diana sighed as she climbed the last few stairs to Devrim’s perch. The Gentlemen Sniper pulled his rifle back inside the windowsill and turned, having earlier waved to Diana he smiled at her approach. “Ah,” His warm tone brought a smile to her face, “Di, hello dear, how are you?”

“I’m alright I guess..s’been a while...huh?” There was guilt layering her tone, like a child who was admitting to a wrong--ready for a scolding.  

“Works kept you busy,” Devrim settled against the wall and his smile held, but his eyes turned downward and with it the mood lowered. “Seems as if the whole world is trying to burn around us.” He nodded to the radio on the shabby table with the teaset near by. “I’ve been keeping up on the radio chatter, you’ve been busy out toward the Tangled Shore lately?”

“Oh yeah,” Dianna removed her helmet and went to settle on the floor next to Devrim who glanced out the window. “There’s this new baddie, Xivu Arath? A hive celebrant...whatever that means...trying to corrupt Fal---Eliskni and Cabal into being Hive mind slaves. Causing a lot of trouble on the Shore and in the Dreaming City. Been working with Spider’s crew to get it cleaned up but its been weeks now.”

“A month yesterday,” Joel corrected as he appeared by Diana’s side. “I overheard Glint and Crow talking about it as we were walking away yesterday.”

“A month…” Diana repeated with weight behind her long sigh that followed. “Has it been that long already?”

“Between the constant crucible matches and vanguard operations to charge the lure, not to mention the individual hunts themselves, I’m not surprised we hadn’t realized.” Even Joel sounded exhausted, flying low until he settled in Diana’s hands as she crossed her legs and closed her eyes. “It’s been...hectic to say the least.”

“When was the last time you had any time off?” Devrim asked, raising a dark brow as he removed himself from the window completely now. Hanging his rifle on carefully placed hooks in the collapsing church to avoid accidental misfires. “You both look absolutely ragged.”

Diana hummed in thought. Her head slowly lulling from side to side before she spoke. “The Festival of the Lost?”

“Can’t really count that as time off when we were fixing the infinite forest…” Joel reminded her and she nodded.

“Soooo, before then?”

“My word,” Devrim’s shocked outburst made the tired guardian and her ghost both open their eyes and look at him. He was standing with his teapot in hand, “You’re going to need something a bit more strong than tea then to unwind.”

“You know what I want?” Diana chuckled softly, the fatigue showing through her defeated tone. “A nap. A nice, warm nap.”

“You’re more than welcome to come back to the farm,” Devrim offered, putting down his teapot and reaching for clean cups and saucers. “You could rant about anything bothering you until you can rest, or you’re free to do so after over a nice hot cup of tea.”

Diana smiled, watching the older man go through his motions to prepare his staple drink. The care he put into making it and the glance he gave her when he felt her stare. “Thanks,” She smiled back, “But,” She tapped Joel’s shell and woke the little Ghost from his quiet rest, his eye blinking open and his shell twitching in a stretch. “I think seeing Mythrax would just wind me back up again...remind me of everything going on on Europa.”

“Ah,” Devrim’s smile fell as he watched Joel take a lazy flight, hovering just above Diana’s shoulder as she climbed to her feet wearily. “Do you have somewhere else to stay then? I have no bed or blanket here, but I can offer great conversation and drink, a little light on snacks I’m afraid.”

“Actually…” Diana rubbed her head before her face and sighed, “I think there’s somewhere I want to...revisit. It’s not the Tower, but right now I’d rather avoid the tower if possible too…”

“Just seems like there's nowhere for us to go to get a rest away from everyone.” Joel admitted, his eye downcast as his shell shook side from side. “There's always someone looking for the next report, the next ship out, the next bounty to be taken…” He glanced at Diana who was lost in thought, her cyan eyes following the floorboard toward the window. When she slowly walked away to peer out Devrim’s window, Joel flew near Devrim and whispered. “She’s had a lot thrust onto her shoulders lately Devrim, I don’t know...I don’t know how to help her right now…”

“Is she alright?” Devrim asked, pretending to busy himself with cleaning his table as he waited for the water to boil.

“Physically she’s fine, she’s just so mentally worn out...A lot of old emotional wounds opened up…” Joel twitched in the air, flying a few degrees lower, “You’ve heard about Io, Mercury and Titan?”

“I had.” Devrim nodded, his face stern with thought. “She had friends on those planets didn’t she?”

“Yes, Asher Mir for one,” Joel shook his shell, “She’s still holding out hope that he’s in the Pyramidian, holding out. But no one’s heard from him...or Sloane and Vance...Then...we heard about Sagria…”

“Sagria?” Devrim whispered back, glancing over his shoulder to Diana, who was watching something out the window. “A guardian?”

“

A Ghost,” Joel corrected, “She was Osiris’ ghost...she sacrificed herself to save Osris from Xivu Arath’s influence...he’s Ghostless now...without the light...he’s taken refuge in the tower and asks Diana about how she and Crow--”

“Crow?” Devrim asked, raising a dark brow as he picked up the teapot and began pouring the tea into two cups. “Is that a guardian?”

“S-something like that…” Joel hesitated a tad too long and it drew a long and measured look from the marksman. “He’s a new guardian but...it’s part of the old emotional wounds opening up...that’s all I can say…”

“Mmhmm..” Devrim kept his stare on the little ghost who twitched and flew a few inches away.

“The less you know, the better.” Joel sighed.

“Wouldn’t happen to wear red pants...would this...Crow?” Devrim asked softly, glancing back at Diana who was still preoccupied with scanning the distance.

“You’ve seen him?!” Joel flew close to Devrim’s face, making the older man chuckle and straighten his back a bit.

“I’ve seen someone bustling around in the distance,” Devrim nodded with his head toward the direction of the dam, “He’s never come close though, and always seems to keep a hood up or a helmet on..I’ve never seen his face. Causing our girl some trouble is he?”

“He doesn’t mean to,” Joel said, “He’s new to everything and Di….she doesn’t know how to handle her feelings. He really reminds her of someone she’d rather forget, but at the same time she’s grown closer to him, and is having trouble letting go of that….resemblance.”

“Sounds messy,” Devrim picked up the cup and took a small sip to taste before nodding. “She needs a good rest, and time to herself away from everyone to let herself work through things. Is there a Hunter hideout where she might be able to take cover?”

“None that wouldn’t turn her over to Zavala to keep themselves from being called to the tower..” Joel had a hint of irritation in his voice, “We tried a few of the old spots, but some people have a sore spot for Di. Shaw hasn’t exactly warmed up to her and he’s made a name for himself in the cosmodrome. People think, that she thinks she’s too important, that she abandoned them in their greatest hour of need…And with the Hunters still without a leader...”

“Did they forget the part where the entire universe was at stake?” Devrim asked too loudly, drawing Diana’s tired attention finally from the window.

“Who knew the Cosmodrome was separate from our universe.” She had no mirth to her voice now, she seemed to shake slightly from side to side as she pushed away from the window and walked over to take the cup offered to her gingerly from Devrim. “Thanks…”

“I’m sorry that you’re dealing with so much,” Devrim put a gentle hand on Diana’s shoulder and squeezed it. A flicker in her eyes caught him off guard, was she going to cry? “I hope that the vanguard has at least given you some hefty time off to recoup after running you so ragged?”

“Hawthorne helped,” Joel said with a hint of pride, “When Diana was ready to just drop off the tower to get away from Zavala and Shaw, she spoke up and advocated for Diana to have a relief mission.”

“Tore into them did she?” Devrim chuckled warmly, “Ah, I can hear her now.”

“It was quite a sight,” Joel laughed, his shell squinting as he bobbed up, like a smile. “She wasn’t about to let Zavala just walk all over Diana.”

“M’ just too tired to fight anymore.” Diana admitted as she took a drink from the cup, taking a moment to shiver at the bitterness. “I wanna sleep for a week in a hole in the ground…” She paused…”Or...in a wall…” Her eyes widened slowly before she downed the rest of the cup, filled only half of the way before handing the cup back to Devrim. “If anyone asks,”

“I haven’t heard from you in months.” Devrim winked at her as he took her cup and replaced it on the table. “No idea where you could be. Haven't’ seen you in the EDZ in quite some time.” He turned and lifted his own teacup to her in salute, “I really should contact you via radio to come spend some time with this old man.” He could hear Diana and Joel speaking softly as he turned and sipped at his tea, trying not to listen to the quiet planning. He couldn’t help but hear.

“Are you sure you want to go there?” Joel was asking, concern filling his voice.

“Where else can we go right now? Unless you really wanna watch me dig a hole and bury ourselves.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this...but we could go to the Derlict?” Joel offered in a hushed tone, “Drifter would hide you for a while.”

“He’d also bug me to death for answers, or to get me into Gambit again…” Diana sighed heavily. Devrim kept himself turned around, studying the hand written notes from Marc laying on his desk, hidden out of direct sight behind the radio he used to listen to chatter, or talk to Suraya who was living in the Tower now. “No, I think it’ll be the one place no one, except one person would think to look…”

“Do you think he would?” Joel asked softly.

“No, his leash is too short right now. He might wonder to himself, maybe to Glint, but he won’t actually come looking. Which will give us all the time we need to rest.” Diana sounded sure of herself and her mind was made up. Wherever they were going, it was going to be a secret between them.

“It won’t be very comfortable,” Joel complained slightly.

“We can find a few ways to make it work.” Diana said a little more loudly, the time for private conversation over with. Devrim was refilling his cup, still pretending to be lost in his own little world when he felt two taps on his shoulder. He put down his cup and turned to receive the gentle hug Diana offered without thinking. “I’ll come by again soon Devrim, thank you for letting us rest and clear our head.”

“I don’t need to tell you that you are always welcome,” Devrim told her as he squeezed her, returning the hug. “But I will anyway, just so I’m sure you know. You can always come up here to hide out, and I won’t tell a soul if you don’t want me to.” He felt her start to pull away and he kept his hold until she leaned more heavily against him, allowing him to share her weight. “You be careful out there, hm?”

“Yes sir,” Diana’s chest vibrated with her voice, chuckling into his ear as she squeezed him back. “I’ll make sure to stop by for the dawning.” When Devrim pulled away she nodded, “I’ll remember the Shortbread cookies you love so much.”

“It pairs so well with my favorite festive tea,” Devrim sighed at the thought of such a comfort item. “It is getting around that time...isn’t it?”

“A few more weeks…” Diana nodded, “Hopefully I’ll get to feeling better before then. I’d like to go to the tower to see everyone…”

“Then you best get to it,” Devrim winked at her and grabbed a small bag from under his table, protected by a sheet that had hidden it from sight. “Here, take this, a self care package if you will.”

“Tea?” Diana laughed as she took the bag without looking at it.

“And a few biscuits and hot cocoa, some tripemines to set up a perimeter, clean water etcetera.” Devrim smiled as he poured a second cup for himself. “Little things that will help make the roughing it less...rough.”

“Thanks Devrim but shouldn’t you need this?” She asked, holding the bag up.

“Not for a while, I’m going on vacation too..of a sort. It’s Marc’s Rezzing day soon. We decided to go to Suraya in the city and spend time together. I’ll have all the comfort I need. And I can replenish my supplies.” Devrim watched as Diana nodded and looked toward the stairs. “Go on now, I won’t keep you any longer.” He turned his back and pretended to busy himself with the radio dial until a heavy baritone voice came over the waves.

“Thanks again…” Diana gave a small salute before disappearing over the ledge, not bothering with the stairs.

“It’s like they’re allergic to safety,” Devrim mused to himself, chuckling as he watched her go.

//

“Are you sure about this?” Joel asked as Diana picked her way over the rubble, careful to make sure that Devrim’s care package wouldn’t rip.

“Like I said, I’m out of ideas, unless you know of somewhere else we can go…’S not like we can go chill with Asher anymore…” She paused down the dimly lit corridor and sighed. “I miss him.”

“I know,” Joel touched his feckle to her cheek and accepted the loving caress she gave him that pinned him to her cheek gently. “I do too.”

“So this is the one place I can think of that...they won’t know to look and if they did think to look, I don’t think he’d tell.” Diana finished softly. She was outside the  little alcove now and started to go inside but hesitated.

“What's wrong?” Joel asked, blinking his yellow cat eye and watching how she hesitated. It wasn’t like her.

“I should ask permission…” She said firmly. “This is the one place that’s his and his alone...if I were just to barge in here and use it without asking? I’d be taking that away from him, I’d be just as bad as Spider. We’re not that close...in reality. He might think...I’m overstepping boundaries if I don’t ask…” The heavy silence in the air didn’t last long before she asked, “Can you patch me into a secure line to him?”

“Just a moment.” Joel busied himself with twitching, extending his shell and rotating back and forth until the sound of static washed away and a familiar voice asked.

“Who is this?”

“Glint, it’s us. It’s secure right?” Joel asked, replacing his shell to its rightful shape. Diana noticed one of his cat ears was coming untapped and tried to push it back down in place, only to knock it off and make her gasp in both shock and sadness.

“Of course!” Glint’s voice perked up, “It’s the Guardian and her Ghost!”

“You can call me Joel,” Ghost reminded him, “And Di.”

“New news on Xivu Arath or some wrathborn? A new cryptolith?” Crow’s voice came over the coms and Joel watched Diana pause in her fussing over his shell.

“No,” Diana admitted after a moment of silence. “I’ve...I’ve been given some...a reprieve…” She said slowly, remembering once what Glint had said over coms after a hunt. “But I…” She paused again and the lights inside her mouth dimmed with a sigh. “Could I...Would it bother you if I...used your...nest, for a while?”

“It’s most certainly not a nest.” Crow said a little too quickly. Diana could practically hear the flush to his blue-grey face. “But...why? I thought you would have a place in the tower in the last city?”

“I do, but not everyone understands the need for...alone time.” Diana admitted.

“About your report, could you do this run for me, we should go out tonight, could you sit in on this mission debriefing, we need someone on coms for this vanguard operation, could you help me adjust my sights,” Joel started listening off all the things that had been asked of them when they had returned to the tower the last time. “It’s like it never ends. We used to go hide out on Io when things got like this…”

“I see.” Crow interjected before silence could fall and swallow them up. “You...need a place to breathe for a while. Of course, feel free. I’m...honored that I could help you this way...Guar--”

“Di.” Diana reminded.

“Di…” Crow’s voice was soft, like he was afraid of breaking her name should he say it with too much force. “I’m sorry it’s such a mess, I haven’t been out there in a while and Glint’s a terrible maid.”

“It’s not my fault you keep everything you find that has a little shine to it.” Glint said playfully, hinting at his name.

“It’s not exactly comfortable either, but it works...in a pinch.” Crow continued, ignoring Glint’s jest. “Use it as long as you like.”

“Thanks,” Diana smiled and looked inside the alcove at the small collection of crow’s things. “I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Crow chuckled softly, “You could have used it and I never would have known. It’s not as if I’m in and out of there a lot these days.”

“Boundaries and Respect are important.” Diana told him firmly. “Guardians and good people a like do not trample over either…” She put a hand to her head and realized how much like Quin she sounded. She shook her metal head and continued. “Want me to get you some time off?” Diana asked as she stepped through the crack that served as the door. “You deserve it as much as I do.”

“Spider wouldn’t allow--”

“Spider won’t know the difference if I tell him I need you in the EDZ to track down Hive movement. Maybe they’re trying to set up a cryptolith here? Savathun did find that piece of the Traveler where we found the new Hawkmoon.”

“Not to mention we could give you a run through on being a Lightbearer. Guardian school if you will. More tips and tricks to make you more effective for Spider.” Joel added, his shell contracting in the way that made Diana say it looked like a smile.

“Time away from Spider,” Diana said in a singsong voice, “Nice hot fires under the stars, good drinks. Stories swapped.” She flopped down on the sleeping bag Crow had left on the concrete slab and regretted it, there was still a bit of debris under it and it hurt. “R and R is just as important to Guardians as it is to non-lightbearers.” She added with a grunt.

“That’s true...I just don’t think Spider would allow it.” Crow sounded defeated, tired and annoyed.

“Well, I am not going back to work for a bit….you think about it and when you want me to, I’ll talk to Spider.” Diana stood and rolled the sleeping bag up, watching how the dust and concrete of the collapsing ceiling was leaving a layer of dust on everything.

“Spider called him.” Glint said in a hushed tone, “I think some time off and not so alone would be good for him. He’s been obsessing over these Cryptoliths. He’s so sad to see the Eliskni that was good to him turn into...wrathborn…”

“He needs time away just as much as we do,” Joel sighed.

“It would be good for him, all he does is talk about work, and when he asks about Guardian things, he feels like such a stranger to it all. I think a fellow Guardian talking to him would make it feel more real, for now its just...stories of something he thinks he doesn’t deserve..” During the pause, Joel and Diana gave a look to one another. Sadness. Fatigue. Guilt. “I’ve been called by Spider, cutting the link. You two have a good rest.”

“Glint--” Joel started to speak but then hesitated. “The line’s dead.” He rotated to see Diana removing rubble from the concrete slab and cleaning it off with her hand. “This place really is a mess...huh?”

“He’s tried to make it his own…” Diana said softly. “It reminds me...of that cave in the Cosmodrome we had when we first started out...Remember?”

“Heh.” Joel floated closer and bobbed before rolling his shell over. “You kept Hive bones until you heard about Dredgen Yor, then you dumped them all over the cliffside and wanted nothing more to do with them.”

“Got rid of the dice I whittled too.” She nodded and replaced the sleeping bag, stretching it out to find it wouldn’t fit, the slab was too short. She glanced around the tiny alcove, at all of Crow’s belongings. A sleeping bag that had holes in it. A pristine Dawning bowl. His death shroud. A hive knight sword from when he save Osiris. A table and chair. A tool chest as tall as her and tools to fill it with. 8 things. He only owned 8 things. Yet the room told so much about him.

He was a repairer. Using things left over and forgotten to serve a new purpose. “It’s almost...poetic...or.” She laughed, “Ironic, whichever you wanna look at it...I guess…”

“What is?” Joel had floated off on his own, inspecting the crack in the wall that filtered in some sunlight from a room beyond the rubble.

“He takes things that are broken or forgotten. Things people don’t think twice about because to them it's used up and gives it new life...new purpose…” She picked up the bowl and placed it on the sleeping bag. “Like a guardian...we were just empty shells until you guys came along.” She smiled at Joel who twitched in silent thought. “You found me, an empty shell. Having used up all my life and been lost to time and the elements and you gave me a purpose. You brought new life into me and told me what I could do to help those around me.” She picked up his death shroud and frowned. “Uldren was a cold hearted bastard of a person.” Her grip tightened on the cloth before she sighed heavily.

“He paid his price. Blood for blood. Eye for an Eye. The debt for Cayde was settled. I know his tapes said he’d be…” She started folding the shroud gently. “Crow was a shell that was tossed away. People were trying to forget...or avoid remembering for the time. Including myself...And Glint gave him new life and purpose. He’s a guardian now. He’s not who he was before. And now he takes things Spider tries to throw away or has forgotten about and makes them into new things.” When the shroud was folded into the shape of a flag, she placed it into the bowl and busied herself cleaning off the slab where it had been placed haphazardly. “He’s just like a Ghost that way. A repairman. An artist..” She recalled the art form he had mentioned before when she saw his nest the first time. “He mentioned an artform with precious metals...do you know what it's called?”

“I hadn’t when he first mentioned it, but I talked to Zavala’s ghost and he knew what it was called, apparently it's called Kintsugi, or kintsukuroi, it’s a Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum.  It treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise.” He paused for a moment and flew a little lower, “Oh, I see what you mean.”

Diana straightened up the room in silence for a while. Dusting everything with her hands as best she could and being as gentle as possible. It didn’t take her long to clean up the room, tossing out the debris into the hall. She looked around and realized it wasn’t cleaning she wanted to do.

“I wanna do something nice for him.” She said out loud, throwing out a fist sized piece of concrete into the hall. “And I don’t mean dusting.” Joel was flying around the room and scanning the area, inspecting the walls and ceiling.

“He doesn’t have a lot does he?” he asked as he came down to her height. “We could get a few things for him.”

“Yeah..spruce the place up a bit...he deserves better than this but…” She glanced at the shroud sticking up from the bowl where she had placed it. “Baby steps.”

“What do you think he would like?” Joel asked.

“Anything is better than this…” she glanced at the mop bucket in the corner, and cringed. “We could get him a sturdy cot to sleep on. A better sleeping bag…” She looked back to his area and tilted her head, “Another table, a chair...we could clear these slabs out.” She kicked at the one he had been using for a bed. “Hang that sword up.” She pointed to the sword as it was propped up against the wall, waiting to topple over. “And a heater…”

“A heater?” Joel asked, spinning back to watch her as she nodded.

“It’ll be snowing soon. If he’s gonna get time off and come stay, then he’s gonna need heat...and some food that won’t spoil…” Her faceplates shifted to show irritation. “The boy doesn’t even have the basic necessities to live on his own. He won’t be under Spider’s four thumbs forever.”

“You think he’s going to let Crow go eventually?” Joel didn’t sound convinced, but when Diana settled her cyan eyes on him, he knew that look. He’d seen it before the battle against Crota...Oryx...Gaul and the darkness. It was what he called her ‘try me’ look.

“Oh he will. And we’re getting that bomb outta Glint too.” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Glint doesn’t deserve that treatment, and neither does Crow. The boys are literally as pure as new fallen snow, and Crow’s as green as Venus.”

“I remember when Leland used to say the same about you,” Joel offered softly, flying close to her chest, his sign he wanted to be held in her hands. She obliged him, cradling him gently and stroking his feckle lovingly.

“I’m not gonna comment on that,” she chuckled and planted a kiss on her Ghost’s shell. Going to sit on the sleeping bag. “I guess this means we’re going back to the city after all.”

“What are we gonna tell people who ask what we’re doing?” Joel twitched his shell so he was looking up at Di from her hands she stared longingly at the Dawning bowl.

“That we’re helping out a kinderguardian. They’re new and scared to come to the city. Or that I’m literally burying myself in a hole and making a fuck off bunker so people will leave me alone for once.” She stopped and blinked, “By the light, I sound like Osris now.”

“I like the second one better,” Joel laughed, “It sounds more like you than Osiris.”

Both of them laughed, their voices bouncing off the three and a half walls until it sounded like it would drown all their sorrows. They hadn’t laughed like that in a while. It made Diana sad to realize this. She tried not to look at it, but it was like a living thing staring at her. The death shroud. One of the triangle corners was peeking up from the bowl and taunting her until she stared at it.

“I’m not...weird am I?” She asked Joel, still staring at the white cloth.

“Is that a question you want me to answer honestly, or be serious?” Joel asked with mirth still in his voice.

“No, I mean…” Diana’s tone made Joel twitch in her hands, bringing her attention to him. “I know I didn’t remember anything, not a thing when you brought me back. But you said I’d been dead a long time...I’ve never…” She trailed off and looked toward the floor. “I’ve never run into anyone who recognized me before. But Uldren...he…” She sighed. “He killed dad...I know I said Crow was different and he IS but…” she made a clicking noise. “Sometimes when it gets quiet, and I see him, I can still SEE Uldren there. Does that make me a bad person?” She looked to Joel sadly. “Am I a horrible person because I sometimes still see him inside someone who's new? If Crow didn’t have the same meatsuit...if he’d been changed into an Exo like me when he was first brought back...I woulda never known….I wouldn’t be...questioning myself like this.” She looked to the shroud again. “He’d just be a new guardian. A fellow exo. A nice guy...But I find myself wanting to reach out to him. Be...more than kind to him. To be someone for him and then that moment happens when I don’t see Crow, I see…and then I feel like I’m betraying Dad’s memory by being chummy with the meatsuit that killed my leader...”

“I could tell,” Joel admitted softly, speaking in barely a whisper, as if afraid the truth would cause the ground to swallow them up. “When you two are having a good talk and it gets quiet, I see the way you look at him. It’s kindness and then fear, mixed with guilt.” He twitched again and the eye blinked. The other ear was starting to come loose and Diana peeled it off with a gentle hand. “You’re trying so hard to not hold him accountable for a crime you know Crow didn’t commit. But it’s still the same face. It’s still the same hand.” he blinked again, “It’s a situation I don’t think any other guardian has ever had to face like this before.” Only a heartbeat passed before he added. “I don’t think it makes you a bad person, I think you’re struggling with a situation that no one else has ever had to be in before and you’re doing a lot better than others who have seen his face.” He flew up from her hands and hovered a little ways from her face.

“You loved Cayde like a father, and he was taken from you by someone you didn’t particularly care for when you knew him. Now that person is no more, but their body is still up walking around with someone new inside...sorta. It’s like that pottery thing, he has his scars. His past is part of him, but he has a new life and a new outlook.” he tilted his shell toward the ground. “Uldren hated Guardians, he tried to make our life hell when we had to deal with the awoken. But,” he titled his shell upward and squinched himself into a smile, “I’ve seen Crow absolutely light up when you walk in a room. He’s excited to see you, to work with you. If that’s not proof he’s totally different then I dunno what would be.”

When she didn’t respond he bonked her on the forehead with his feckle and made her blink at him in bewilderment. “Others have outright killed Crow when they saw his face. You didn’t.”

“I tried…” She put a hand on the spot where he hit her. “If Quin hadn’t stopped me...I would have put a bullet in him.”

“Are you glad she stopped you?” Joel asked firmly.

“Yes?” she sounded unsure, when Joel tightened his shell around him she felt like he was glaring at her so she repeated with conviction. “....Yes. I am.”

“Would you put a bullet in him now?” Joel’s voice was hard, he was trying to test her resolve. He already knew he answer, he just needed her to know it.

“No, absolutely not, I’d...” She paused and remembered her fight with Hunter-1, they still hadn’t spoken since they introduced Crow to him. When he tried to murder Crow, even after learning he was a guardian and Uldren no more. Quin had ushered Crow to safety while Diana wrestled with the fellow Exo. He hadn’t looked at her the same since. On Wrathborn hunts he wouldn’t watch her back anymore, and he would ignore her when she spoke to him. “I’d fight those who would try...”

“Then you’re already leaps and bounds ahead of others.” Joel told her with a flip. “And the fact you want to give him what he needs to survive on his own, until he can be accepted as Crow and not as Uldren, shows you have compassion for him.” He tilted his shell halfway, like he was being coy. “And do not think for one millisecond I haven’t seen you smile at him with that same look you used to give Drifter either missy.”

“I. Give. No. Looks.” Diana’s voice was low, gravely, she was willing to die on this hill.

“And I wasn’t born in the Light.” Joel gave a small hummpf sound before flying out of the crack, forcing Diana to follow along behind him if she wanted to argue.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Evelyn Doyle

Basics

Full Name: Evelyn Rose Doyle

Birthday: April 22, 1984

Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual

Powers: Wielder of the Flaming Sword granting her super strength, agility and healing, the gift of Sight (the ability to see one’s true form, i.e., a human’s soul or a magic’s creatures true face), and mastery of light magic

Appearance

Ethnicity: Irish

Skin Tone: Pale with freckles

Eye Color: Dark Blue

Hair Color: Light red

Hairstyle: Long and curly, usually pulled into a braid while on a mission, but otherwise down

Makeup: Natural

Build: Curvy and stronger than she looks

Height: 5’ 6’’

Style: Light colors favoring a girl next door aesthetic

Personality

General Personality Traits: Compassionate, Loyal, Self-Sacrificing

Strengths: Empathy, Determination, Reliability

Flaws: Stubborn, Self-Doubt, Narrow Minded

Habits And Mannerisms: She often fiddles with her neckless when she’s nervous or thinking, hums to herself, hair twirler

Secrets: Lost her virginity to when she was 17 to a boy from a different school, they weren’t even dating at the time; she felt so guilty after she didn’t tell anybody for years

Regrets: Allowing herself to be controlled by so many people for most of her life

Skills/Talents: Skilled artist, she likes to sketch and paint in her spare time, talented swordsman, can read Latin and speak Irish, and has a nice clear singing voice

Likes: 60s and 70s Rock, the smell of clean laundry, clear nights full of bright stars

Dislikes: Math with anything involving letters, dirty dishes left in the sink overnight, bullies

Guilty Pleasure: Playing music over the speakers late at night and dancing in the kitchen by herself

Defining Moment: The moment she realizes wasn’t chosen by the sword to strictly uphold the will of God. She is human and as a human, she has free will. The sword may have been gifted to her by God, but it is her choices that give it meaning and purpose. The sword is hers and no demon or angel can take it from her.

Relationships

Friends: Everybody on the Waverider, but she gets on best with Amaya, Sara, and Nate

Family: Michael Doyle (younger brother), Peter Doyle (father, deceased), Rebecca Doyle (mother), Ester Kelly (grandmother, deceased)

Enemies: Legion of Doom, Demons, and basically all the other baddies the Legends face

Rivals: More of a friendly rivalry with her brother when he starts dabbling in magic

Lovers: TBA (maybe John Constantine later, jury is still out)

Relationship Status: Single

Reputation: Mom friend of any given friend group she finds herself in, which unfortunately bleeds into her romantic relationships; has a tendency to attract men who are looking for a Mom rather than a girlfriend

Miscellaneous

Current Residence: The Waverider

Collections: Hair pins from different eras and countries across the timeline; she likes the artistry

Accent: Irish

Voice: Clear and soothing

Signature Quote: “Have a little faith.”

Song: TBA

Backstory

Evelyn was born to Rebecca and Peter Doyle on the border of Northern Ireland in 1984. Her family was decidedly Catholic, and raised her that way from an early age. She was a very loving child, ready to curl up with her parents and seeking their approval, which they gladly gave.

When she was five years old, her brother Michael was born. From the second they brought him home, Evelyn understood it was her duty to be his big sister. She helped feed and change him. She helped him to walk and to talk, and did her best to look out for him. This was widely encouraged by her mother, but her father tried not to put too much pressure on her. She was still his little girl, and he wanted her to make sure she was allowed to stay that way. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t last.

In 1992, her father was killed in a bombing. He wasn’t taking part in the protest, simply walking to work.

Her mother was left devastated, going essentially catatonic for a full year after. Their grandmother, Ester, came to live with them during this time. While she did look after them, and loved them dearly, it was clear her main objective was to look after her daughter.

Evelyn took over watching after Michael. She walked with him to and from school. She made breakfast and lunch boxes. She made sure he did his homework, and picked up around the house. She had a sense that she had to cause as few problems as possible for her mother and gran, and so did just that.

When her mother became more functional, their gran moved out of the house, but stuck close by. Still, her mother was never quite the same. She was often forgetful, and Evelyn was left to pick up the rest.

Michael didn’t make it easy. While he wasn’t a bad kid, and loved her like mad, he would often get in trouble at school. More than once he picked fights with bullies or would say something in class that would get him in trouble. Evelyn always covered for him, talking to the teacher, or erasing the messages the school sent before their mom listened to them.

Michael in turn, tried his best to look after his sister, usually in the form of trying to fight boys twice his size when they made on off color joke. Or nicking some candy from the corner market when she was having a bad day.

They continued like this until she was old enough to go to college. She entered wanting to get a degree in child psychology, with the idea of becoming a school consular or family therapist. However, she never got the chance. During her second year of grad school, her gran died leaving nobody to look after her mom.

She came back home with the idea that as soon as Michael was out of college and got a job she’d go back to school and finish her degree. So, she took a job in a customer service call center and helped look after her mom in the meantime.

She ended up staying there for six years as her brother tried and failed to land a secure job. He never seemed to be able to hold down a position for more than six months and would use the time in-between to run minor cons or commit petty theft. Evelyn soon became a regular face at the police station, continuously bailing him out for small time crimes. Eventually it became too much.

One night, after getting him out for breaking and entering, she let it all out, telling him how tired she is of him expecting her to hold the bag while he gets his life together. Michael didn’t take it lying down, countering that she expected him to drop everything to look after a woman who didn’t even raise them. They kept arguing until Evelyn stormed out, needing to clear her head.

Eventually she found herself at the local church, and took a place in the back to think and pray. As she did, an old man she didn’t recognized approached her. He was dressed as a priest, and Evelyn assumed he was new in town. He then asked her what she prayed for, and she explained the argument she had with her brother, and all that had led to it. The priest nodded and asked her if she resented God for putting her through these trials. She answered with confidence that God would not present her with any trial she could not overcome.

Pleased with her answer, the priest showed her to the back and to the hilt of a sword displayed beneath the crucifix. He instructed her to take the hilt. When she did, she was hit with a vision.

In the vision, an angel pulled her soul from her body and cast it into a fire, but rather than burn it shone brighter, extinguishing the flames. The angel then returned her soul, simply stating that she was satisfactory. She woke up on the floor of the church, the hilt of the sword now possessing a perfect bright blade.

The priest explained the sword was the famed Flaming Sword used to guard the garden of Eden. He said her story led him to believe she had all the qualities required of the wielder; faith, compassion, and sacrifice. The vision she had was the final test of her true self, which she had passed. He instructed her to follow the will of the sword, and said it would lead her to where she was needed most.

Armed with this new sense of purpose, Evelyn ran home and tried her best to explain to Michael what had happened.

Michael assumed she went mad and tried to get her calm enough to go to a doctor the next morning, but Evelyn refused. That night, she packed her bags left without a word.

She spent the next six months traveling from monastery to monastery gaining knowledge and instruction on how best to use the sword and the powers that came with it.

And it is in one of these monasteries, Rip Hunter finds her and asks if she would like to join him on his mission to save the future.

[jq37]

The Royal Report– A Crown of Candy Ep 12 Rescue at Buzzybrook

The Peppermint Knight Rises

Welcome to an extremely wild two minutes in the lives of the Rocks family and all those assembled to witness the insanity about to take place.

The gang (along w/ Cara, Manta Ray Jack, and Rina’s crew) have poofed into Buzzybrook where Liam’s dad--Joren Jawbreaker--is about to be executed. They’re able to stay relatively stealthy on their group stealth check (despite Rina’s Nat 1) and, peeking outside, the group sees Bulbian priests, Imperial soldiers, and Ceresian soldiers (like, Ciabatta’s men, not Imperials). Their flags are stationed outside of various cottages in the area (which Ruby uses Mage Hand, her rogue skills, and a grudgingly accepted help action from Rina to unlock). Rina also helps Cara with her concentration checks on the teleportation spell by casting Wall of Ice (the special ability of her staff, Winterscoop) to give her a protected area which Cara just lets happen because sure, why not? 

Just to set the scene a little more, it’s dark outside except for some lit braziers, the village has been largely burned down except for the cottages I mentioned before, and the citizens are being forced to march to the gallows to watch the execution, though Joren hasn’t been brought out yet. With all the banners of the different factions gathered together, it seems almost celebratory. They’re within the standing stones which is in what’s called a sugar hut--basically, just a kind of house built over the standing stones so they can claim it’s a Candian cultural thing and not witchcraft if Bulbian missionaries show up.

Liam and Ruby decide to check out the cottages to get a better idea of what’s going on. Liam, in his cottage, finds Oliver Onionpatch (the Bulbian Archbishop) speedily transcribing information into his book including pictures/schematics of monsters, Ceresian constructs, war engines like Lazuli was working on, and liquid daggers. It seems like Ciabatta gave Alfredi’s notes to the church and they are expanding on them. He’s being guarded by Bonathan Flashfry (fry guy from Jet’s fight). Liam casts Hunter’s Mark on Onionpatch. In her cottage, Ruby sees Grissini speaking to Spearia Mentha (Liam’s mom) who is chained up. Ruby tells Liam who tells her what he found and then Ruby fills in Theo.

While they’re working on a plan, Jawbreaker is led to the noose and they start to read his crimes. Liam casts Disguise Self to look like Onionpatch. They pull the lever and Jawbreaker begins to hang and the gang rolls for initiative!

Because of the circumstances the party gets a surprise round.

Jawbreaker succeeds on his first death save but, even if he hadn’t, he would have been in good hands because Theo Misty Steps to the gallows, and cuts him down before running for cover.

Liam, on a Nat 1, shatters the glass while trying to attack Onionpatch fully giving away his position. That single mistake out of his system, Liam once again goes full Peppermint Batman and hits Onionpatch (and, judging by his reaction, Brennan by proxy) with two more attacks--one of them being a Nat 20--for a total of *84 points of damage*. He uses his movement to hide in the next house over where he has great line of sight for another attack (and he hides with a Nat 20 plus his natural plus 10 plus Pass Without a Trace for a total of 40 which is the DC for things that are nigh impossible).

Ruby casts Jump to help with her movement and gets into position to help break Spearia out. Grissini who was snapped out of his surprise when Theo did his thing starts yelling orders to his men outside.

Reap the Whirlwind

And then it’s Saccharina’s turn.

Yeah, I know I said her full name was annoying to type out every time but she deserves to get her full name for what she’s about to do.

Rina runs through the crowd, uses her Storm Sorcerer ability to Fly (which she can do before she casts a 1st level spell or higher which is such cool flavor and good for utility as well--in this case it means she doesn’t take opportunity attacks). She casts Thunderstep at 4th level (which is like Misty Step but you can take someone with you and it does AoE damage when you poof away) and uses her Channel Divinity from her Tempest Domain Cleric levels to auto do max damage (40 or half if they save) and they also get another plus three because it’s lightning damage (she has some kind of aura that does that) *and* she uses Quicken Spell (a Sorc thing that lets you cast a spell that takes an action as a bonus action) to cast Spare the Dying on Jawbreaker as she brings him to safety. 

If Liam is Batman then Rina is Storm, for sure. 

Brennan is ruined but everyone else is *loving it*--me included. She takes out a bunch of weakling enemies even at without seeing if they save and the few (I think 4) who are left are not doing great. She hands over Jawbreaker to Amethar and has Gooey and Swifty go to Theo and help him out.     

Cumulous rushes in, finishes off two more of the injured guards, and dives into the hole under the gallows for cover. 

Amethar starts herding the civilians into the sugar hut so they can all escape together, tells Jack to help start cleaning up these soldiers, and goes to work himself, going into a rage and killing two Ceresians. Jack kills one too and the citizens start running to safety.

Theo sees that the house he’s hiding behind is full of sick ass weapons so he kills the single guard and Gooey and Swifty (Swifty very gleefully) help him with some looting. 

Grissini leaves his cottage to order around his men which Ruby is very happy about as it makes the sneaking she’s about to do a lot easier.

Back in John Wick, staring Liam Wilhelmina, he does another 23 points of damage to Onionpatch and yells at him in Bulbosi (while disguised as him mind you), “You have made a big mistake.”

Ruby springs Spearia and casts Invisibility on her so she can safely make her way to the others. 

Grissini whistles and a soldier lights a signal fire. Some bread guys crowd Amethar but he doesn’t take much damage and actually kills one with a Riposte reaction--one of Jet’s old tricks. 

Saccharina--I gotta give her her full name again--clocks a very convenient straight line of enemies and casts Lightning Bolt at 4th Level (using another Sorc trick, Empower Spell, to reroll her low damage dice) for 39 damage + 3 for her aura. Even without rolling saves for half damage, this fully kills everyone but Grissini who is badly injured. And just to make things worse, she uses Grissini to conduct the lightning and has it set his banner on fire. 

Cumulous whiffs a couple of attacks, jumps on a roof and then (along with Liam) fails a Perception check, which is always fun as a player.

Amethar runs over to Grissini, attacks of opportunity be damned, and says, “Do you remember my daughter?” Grissini who has just been electrocuted, is a little out of it but Amethar says that Jet might be dead but he just met his new daughter (except, in the heat of the moment, he says it less coherently) and attacks him. Rina (or really Emily who knows exactly what she is doing) calls it a daddy-daughter special. Grissini is F’d up but not near death.

But speaking of people who are near death, Onionpatch yells, “Bulb protect me!” in Liam’s general direction, causing the house he’s in to catch on fire. Liam takes 18 points of fire damage.

Jack kills another baddie and the rest of the civilians run into the sugar hut.

Mom Said We’re Leaving! 

And then, suddenly, these huge, terrifying, bread constructs arrive on the scene (along with a giant corn monster that everyone immediately insists is cute because Brennan will never win this one and should really stop trying unless he’s a fan of futility). Amethar takes some hits and then has to make Con Saving throws. He fails one of them which reduces his HP max by the damage of the first hit he took from this thing (4 pts). One goes for Rina but she Shields and takes nothing. One goes for Jack (doesn’t hit) and one goes for the Standing Stones. Theo casts Compelled Duel on one of the constructs to draw fire but can’t hit (2 Nat 1s in a row!)  

Grissini does a bunch of damage to Amethar and then grants an attack to the nearest bread monster who crits on Rina for 31 points of damage, bringing her down to 18, but she passes her Con saving throw (she only has to do one for some reason).

Liam busts into the house with Onionpatch and demands to know who’s in the military tent with a Nat 20 Intimidation check. Onionpatch, who’s basically pissing himself, says that it’s Kerradin’s tent but he’s not in there at the moment because he’s tracking down escaped prisoners. Onionpatch blubbers that all the different factions are there on behalf of the Pontifex and are in talks with Plumbeline to create a new Concord. There are tons of letters and maps and information in the tent and he can tell them everything. Guess what idiot? You already did. Liam ices him with another Nat 20 and takes his book. As he does so, he basically speedruns the entire rest of puberty and sheds his teenage awkwardness (I mean, allegedly. I’ll believe it if he can talk to Annabelle without getting slapped). The pages that have ripped from the book are effortlessly placed back in with shadow magic. He also fires an arrow at Bonathan as he exits because why not? He lets Ruby know about the info in the tent so, on her turn she sends Spearia away, and goes for it.

Cara basically yells at everyone and they have one round to get into the car because the meter’s about to run out and she’s gotta go. 

Ruby takes 34 points of damage from archers. Rina gets Amethar to safety with Fly plus another Thunderstep and sends Swifty to help Ruby if necessary. Cumulous gets to safety as well (killing one more guy for the road). The constructs try to crack the standing stones but fail.

Amether, channeling Jet yet again, does some Maneuvering Attacks to give Ruby some instant movement to get into the tent and grab the map with all the Imperial/Ceresian military troop movement info and start to run back. Jack gets to safety.  

The constructs try and fail to crack the stones again. One of them attacks Theo for 45 points of damage and then he fails one of his saves, dropping his HP max by 30. Theo holds his turn until Liam and Ruby make it to safety. Gooey and Swifty make it in. 

Kerradin suddenly shows up and Liam has to summon all of his self control to not go after him. He instead taunts him by showing him the book he got from Onionpatch, and (taking damage as he does so) slides into the sugar hut. His mom, invisible, places a hand on his cheek and says, “Oh no. They took my sweet baby and made him a war guy.” 

Grissini Nat 20’s to attack on Amethar but Theo takes the 38 points of damage which drops him dangerously low for Theo standards (like low 20s or the teens). Theo runs in. One of the archers Nat 20 on Ruby who’s hit for 4 points after she Uncanny Dodges (she’s at 21).

Like Liam, Ruby very reluctantly does the smart thing and, instead of going for Grissini so she can get at least one kill this fight, dives into the hut. Cara let’s the spell go off right as Grisini tells the constructs to charge and Jawbreaker regains consciousness, looking proudly into the face of his son, Preston. No wait, that’s not right. 

Medal of Honor

EMILY AXFORD LET’S GOOOOOO

Saccharina really said, “First impressions? Don’t know her. SECOND impressions are where it’s at.” Like, dare I say, instant legend? First fight of the game and she instantly fulfills the win condition, frying a bunch of dudes just, incidentally (but w/ surgical precision from an out of game point of view with all that deft use of action economy and sorcerer mojo). What and ENTRANCE. And then that Lightning? Brennan said it best on Adventuring Party. If you saw her do that, you would have no choice but to follow her.

But honestly, she lowkey deserves a medal just for joining the party with two levels of cleric. That alone is damn near heroic at this point. 

I can’t believe Brennan let *Emily Axford* have spell cards in his gritty, low magic setting. My guy really served himself his own dice. Bon Appetit dude and, again, welcome back Emily! 

Things I’m Concerned About

I mean, I can’t say that I’m surprised about the collusion going on but I don’t love it. I really hope the group gets to talk to Plumbeline again before the end of this. Just to see what she has to say to Amethar and visa-versa. It was an interesting dynamic before she decided to turn traitor and it’s even more interesting now. 

Since when can Bulbian priests do magic? Miracle working is supposed to be super rare, right? Like the Pontifex could heal herself but that was the only thing we knew of that was real Bulb magic (along with Citrina’s book I guess but she’s dead). But Onionpatch used magic against Liam and a different priest did some abjuration on Theo. Are they using Bulbian magic or faking like Lapin was? Or is this something new?

Really don’t love that those bread constructs were making people roll Con Saves. I instantly thought it was a water dagger thing (since they did have those plans too) but then he said 2 saves and not 3. Not sure what the other save was since I think we only saw the “drop max HP” effect. And I don’t know why Rina only had to roll 1 and not 2. Either way, I hope Liam stealing that book at least slowed them down because this is Bad Info for them to have.  

Five More Things

Just so you know, Rina’s build is 6 levels Storm Sorc, 2 levels Tempest Domain Cleric.

The dynamic of Swifty and Theo is low-key the funniest thing. I want them to team up always. Also funny was Brennan’s straight-faced “Correct” to being asked if what Onionpatch just saw was himself pull a crossbow on him.

Listen, I need to know if Grissini has enough information to know that he’s working for the bad guys. Like, if he has the information and he chooses to be complacent then cool kill him, that’s fine. I’ve seen The Sound of Music and we all hate Rolf. But I gotta know. What are the odds that Amethar invoking Jet will pay dividends later? (Again, it did not work in The Sound of Music. And now I kinda wanna watch Sound of Music). 

Grissini knows Jet is dead. Has the news fully spread? Does Primsy know? If so, sad! If not, even sadder but on a time delayed fuse!

I already mentioned this earlier and when the episode aired but the absolute DUNKING of Brennan this episode by Emily and Ally. Man oh man the LOOK on the dude’s face? The glee from everyone else? All those dice Ally rolled? All the people Emily iced without even having to roll dice? The gang sorely needed a win and, folks, this was it.

AN ANNOUNCEMENT! 

Listen, we all know Wednesdays are for D20. And, for a lot of y’all, I’m sure Thursdays are for CritRole and/or Naddpod. But what are you doing Tuesdays (or at least every other Tuesday)? Well, I’m gonna tell you what. @drinkingdeadpeopletea (who you’ve probably seen around as she’s active in all three of the aforementioned fandoms) is launching a D&D podcast called Ship of Fools and it drops TOMORROW with a two episode premiere. It’s D&D! It’s nautical! And it’s being DM’d by her so I can confidently say that it’s gonna be hilarious and a super fun time! So if you want even more D&D in your life (rhetorical question, all of us do) check it out!

[stina-is-a-punk-rocker]

disney’s ‘the hunchback of notre dame’, early 2000s kid nostalgia, and other midnight musings

“What the fuck, Stina? I thought this was a blog for book reviews!” you say.

“Books, amongst other things. Hence the -ish suffix,” I say. “And all my mediocre ‘reviews’ are hit-or-miss in terms of engagement, so I’m pretty much free to post whatever the fuck I want.”

I toss my head. My hair whacks me in the face.

The first time I watched Disney’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame was been circa 2006, in the ‘movie room’ of my preschool, huddled around a CRT TV with the rest of my five-year-old classmates. Not much about the film particularly stood out to me at the age.

Fast-forward fifteen years later; I’m cooped up in quarantine, hundreds of thousands of miles away from that first viewing. I’m living my best life, rejoicing in my introverted tendencies and having a laugh at the expense of all the suffering extroverts. I haven’t moved from my bed all day, except for the bare necessities, and I’m bingeing YouTube videos. All is well.

I discovered Lindsay Ellis’s channel quite recently- embarrassingly enough, through her videos on Omegaverse and the whole Addison Cain fiasco. I stumbled down the rabbit-hole of her channel, and here I am, a few dozen videos later, and I find her one on this film.

Which, of course, led me to want to re-watch the film, with the eyes and mind (supposedly) of an adult. And it went far beyond and above my expectations.

The film is dark, much darker than the average Disney film of today- not just thematically, but the graphics too. Except for the first parts with the Festival of Fools and the last scene, the rest seems to have a dark filter put over it all. Obviously, given its themes (I’m pulling these out of my arse; I’m a STEM major and I have zero to no knowledge about film) of freedom and equality, acceptance of those different from us, corruption and lust- all that good shit, in other words- you can’t exactly have sunshine and rainbows. But it’s such a stark contrast from what I’ve been accustomed to from Disney; Frozen has Hans about to decapitate Elsa, but the background remains bright and light; Simba sobbing next to Mufasa’s body in The Lion King is heart-wrenching, but a few scenes later, we have an anthropomorphic meerkat-boar duo singing about eating bugs and farting and all that classy stuff, so it’s not as traumatizing.

The themes are a lot more on-the-nose than a lot of other kids’ movies (forgive me if I err, I am aged and forgetful)- cue la Esmeralda saying, “What do they have against people who are different, anyway?”- you get what’s essentially the same ‘accept others regardless of their differences’, ‘prejudice is bad’ morals from, say, Zootopia, but having given the main characters fursuits makes it less obvious than in this movie.

(Or maybe I’m just a dumbass. I have no elaborate notes for this; I’m high on sugar and deprived of sleep so I might be spewing bullshit.)

Admittedly, the resolution is a bit… unrealistic. The citizens of Paris = sheep, essentially; they go from throwing fruit in Quasimodo’s face because the guards started it, to helping defeat them. Maybe there’s something about mob mentality in there, but I find it hard to believe that people who showed up to watch Esmeralda burn to death were suddenly totally cool with not getting what they didn’t pay for. But then again, this is a Disney movie, and you can’t make kids too cynical too early on. Let them have their innocence and ‘people will be with the heroes in times of peril because humanity is inherently good!’ before they realize that humanity kinda fuckin’ sucks.

The characters are some of the most human from those I’ve seen in Disney (other honorable mentions: the main characters of The Emperor’s New Groove, Moana, Tangled, Anna from Frozen). Quasimodo’s the main character (lol DUH, will I ever say anything not obvious?), and he’s so lovable, but not without flaws- he’s biased against gypsies in the beginning because Frollo’s the literal scum of the earth. To borrow from the K-pop fans’ dictionary: UwU he’s so pure!

Esmeralda sparks a bit of controversy because she’s another POC leading lady from a Disney film of the 90’s (a list including Jasmine, and, sigh- Pocahontas) who’s markedly more sexualized than the white Disney princesses. It’s not something I particularly noticed nor cared about until I saw it being brought up- I mean, the woman shows a bit of cleavage and then dances for a couple of seconds- but. I’m just putting that out there.

She’s an empowering heroine without having to belt in in your face (not me making a dig at Naomi Scott’s Jasmine from the Aladdin live action film), and I also love how her role in taking down the Big Bad doesn’t have to do with her ‘power of seduction’ (the scene in the animated Aladdin film where Jasmine kissed Jafar truly traumatized me as a kid).

Phoebus is… well, he exists. Kind of a Regulus Black archetype, but not exactly. The guy on the bad side who turns good and all is forgiven. Well, at least it’s not the ‘her love made him a better man’ trope. And he is a good guy. Even if he did spend a considerable amount of his adult years on the side of the bad guys.

Systemic oppression? Nah, it’s one or two corrupt baddies. But again, it’s a Disney film, we need everything to work out for the good guys in the end.

Let’s get the gargoyles out of the way. To reference Lindsay Ellis’s video (she’s a lot smarter than I am and breaks this down better than I ever could): yes, the comedy’s oft ill-timed and inappropriate… for an adult audience. And the primary demographic of Disney films, especially princess ones (obviously Esmeralda isn’t a princess, nor does she marry into royalty, nor is she included in the group of princesses in the dumpster fire that is Ralph Breaks the Internet, but I had a book imaginatively titled ‘Disney Princess Stories’ as a kid that included Esmeralda’s story alongside Belle’s and Ariel’s, so I’m calling her a princess), are kids. And kids love fart jokes.

Additionally, I have a theory-that-is-not-really-a-theory-but-a-pretty-obvious-thing-that-happens that the gargoyles are figments of Quasimodo’s imagination, and the, at times crass and ridiculous things they say are just the voices in Quasimodo’s head (THIS IS OBVIOUS, STINA, YOU HAVEN’T STUMBLED ACROSS A STARTLING NEW REVELATION); maybe what he imagines normal townspeople to act like.

And then we have Judge Judy Chrissy Teigen Frollo. This dude is the embodiment of pure evil. He’s bigoted and rapey and abusive and one of Disney’s most successful villains- even better than Mother Gothel, who previously held the crown. It’s rare that a villain genuinely terrifies me, especially a cartoon one. Frollo, unlike your typical fairytale antagonist who wants power/fame/fortune/to overthrow Olympus, is far more sinister; driven from deep-rooted hatred instead of plain greed. He’s so much closer to people in positions of power and authority even in the modern world, and that element of reality makes him so much better as an antagonist instead of a literal sheep who hates carnivores (seriously, Disney, enough with the twist villains- they’re not working out).

Also, Hellfire slaps. In fact, the entire soundtrack does.

Speaking about Hellfire, I love the contrast between that and Heaven’s Light; how Esmeralda is viewed by Frollo (an object to possess, “Destroy Esmeralda, and let her taste the fires of hell; or else, let her be mine and mine alone”) as opposed to Quasimodo (someone with free will, “I dare to dream that she might even care for me”).

Another argument brought up, and admittedly one I had as a child was, ‘but if the whole point of the movie is acceptance and love as opposed to lust, why didn’t Quasimodo get the girl?’ Which, years later, I realize is an extremely misogynistic way to look at it. As Princess Jasmine said four years before The Hunchback was released, she is not a prize to be won. Quasimodo is Frollo’s antithesis; he lets Esmeralda choose, and she chose Phoebus. And Quasimodo accepted that, because he is good and kind and sweet and loving. Severus Snape, take note.

On a sidenote, I’m always kind of caught out of left field when the plot in films moves really fast- I’m really not a movie-watching type; I prefer to read, and books usually indicate how much time passes from one main plot point to another, and there are little slice-of-life, filler parts that tie in to character development and moving the plot forward, but at a snail’s pace. So, whenever I’m watching a movie and it’s one important event after another, I usually haven’t had enough of a refractory period to process it.

Let’s pretend that I segued smoothly into the next part of this (already tedious and long drawn out) review.

The Hunchback is the darkest film I’ve ever seen come out from Disney. Re-watching it as an adult made me pause every so often and wonder why the hell I wasn’t traumatized by it as a kid. I mean, the whole movie kicks off with Frollo about to throw an infant down a well. And then there’s that horrifying shot of the stone renditions of the Israelite kings on the church walls. Frollo falls to his death into fire. I mean, good riddance, but still. I guess it’s because the kids’ shows of today are awfully censored and polished so kids don’t have nightmares forevermore.

Update: tried to watch The Hunchback of Notre Dame 2. Exited just as fast as I clicked on it. Disney sequels really ain’t shit (yes, I’m looking at you, Frozen 2).

[manbehindtheshield]

GIVE ME SHIPPY MEME FOR US

ULTIMATE SHIP MEME!

kara & steve edition

General:

Rate the Ship -   Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs

How long will they last? - together forever

How quickly did/will they fall in love? -  once they confessed their crushes on each other it didn’t take long at all.

How was their first kiss? - soft and sweet

Wedding:

Who proposed? - steve

Who is the best man/men? - bucky

Who is the braid��s maid(s)? - natasha, darcy 

Who did the most planning? - kara

Who stressed the most? - steve

How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - hydra or any baddies that would ruin the day (lol)

Sex:

Who is on top? - steve

Who is the one to instigate things? - kara

How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head

How long do they normally last? - they both have great stamina! until steve tires out 

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - steve loves to make sure kara is taken care of first

How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - 2

How many children will they adopt? - 0

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - steve

Who is the stricter parent? - kara

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - steve

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - steve

Who is the more loved parent? - steve

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? kara

Who cried the most at graduation? - steve

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - kara

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - steve but he doesn’t cook well

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - kara

Who does the grocery shopping? -  steve if he has time

How often do they bake desserts? - once in a while

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - equal

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - steve

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - kara

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - steve

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - steve

Who is really against chores? - kara

Who cleans up after the pets? - steve

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - kara

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - steve

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - kara

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - kara

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - steve

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - in december

What are their goals for the relationship? - to be equals

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - kara

Who plays the most pranks? - steve

@akasupergirl