#restored stone farmhouse

[passionoverfashion]

Eclectic Kitchen - Enclosed

[biketouring-nearby]

[theclassyhuman]

Austin Dining

[chronic-escapixt]

Human Sacrifice

prisonworld!Kai x f!reader

content warnings/tags ~ Minors DNI, 18+ ONLY, Dark fiction, NONCON, kidnap, rough sex, p in v, knife kink, bondage, oral (m receiving), forced orgasm, assault, blood, biting, choking, explicit language, corruption kink

word count: 2.8k

summary: you wake up alone in the middle of nowhere. Unfortunately for you, you're not completely alone.

There’s no telling how long I’ve been out here, trekking the same route through this wheat field, my disoriented state worsened by the sun beating down on my body for hours on end. Calls for help fall on deaf ears, feeling so hopeless that I continue on in silence. There’s no one around for miles or at least that’s the fear that grips me into a panic as I dart in the opposite direction thinking that will make a difference.

I’m lost and I don’t even know how I ended up here. One moment, I’m loading my car with my bags to head home for the fall break and the next thing I know, I’m lying in a pile of wheat. In fact, I don’t even remember actually getting on the road. It’s all a tangled mess in my memory that I can’t even begin to sort out until I find some civilization. 

The field eventually opens up and I spot a white farmhouse in the distance. Hoping there’s people inside with a phone so I can call for help. I’m coming up the driveway when I hear the sound of quick footsteps on the loose gravel. I turn in the direction of the noise and scan the area, but there’s nothing there. 

“Hello!” I call out.

There it goes again. I spin around in a hurry. This is weird, and I’m suddenly regretting coming here at all. 

There’s a hard thump at the back of my head and I fall onto the gravel, quickly losing consciousness as a pair of black combat boots fill my line of vision.

I come to with a groan, the pain radiating from the lump at the back of my head to the gash at my temple from the fall. Trying to move my arms proves impossible when there's a thick rope wound around my wrists, securing me up to the wall by a hook above my head.

“Finally! For a minute there, I thought I’d hit you too hard and knocked all the marbles out of your head.” A male’s sardonic voice breaks the silence from the corner of the room, startling me before I strain my eyes. My kidnapper, shrouded in darkness, makes a noise like a creaky chair and stands before stepping into the light.

“Where are my manners? I’m Kai.” My face contorts in confusion. The way he changes his tone to imitate politeness is uncanny. It’s truly unsettling me the way he thinks manners could restore any sense of normalcy after beating me over the head and tying me up. 

He takes another step forward and a scream shreds my throat. 

“HELP!”

“Let me stop you right there. There’s no one else here.. just you and me,” he puts it cut and dry.

I shudder at the thought. 

“No one is coming to save you.. Quite honestly, you don’t have a friend in the world.. Or at least not in this one..” he gives a taunting chuckle. 

“Pleassee…” I whimper but he doesn’t seem at all moved. He purses his lips and rolls his eyes at me. 

“Don’t beg. Believe it or not, I don’t even want to hurt you,” he saunters toward me as I brace myself, flush to the stone wall. He reaches out and snatches my hair in a fist, so hard my neck could snap, forcing me to look into his eyes, “but I will end your life if you don’t tell me everything I want to know.” 

I feel the unmistakable chill of a knife at the base of my throat and hold still except for the instinctual urge to swallow thickly. 

“Do you understand me?”

I nod.

“Use your words,” he commands. 

“Yes,” I pipe up.

“Good girl.” He wets his lips, “Why did they send you here?”

My response bursts out as nervous babbling, “whatdoyoumeanIdon’tevenknowwhatyourtalkingabout I-” 

The blade silences me to a squeak as he presses it into my neck threateningly.

“Do you know anything?” He groans in a dry tone. 

“M-my name is Y/N! I work at the university library.. My parents own a farm upstate.. I-I don’t know why I’m here.. Honestly..” I blubber.

He lets out a heavy sigh and tucks his knife away into his back pocket.

“If it’s money you want I can-”

“Shut up.” He stares at my face for a brief moment, raising his hands. I flinch, thinking he'll strike me, but they just hover there before he places them on my cheeks. I jump when he lets out a loud laugh, turning away from me. 

“You’re useless! You don’t even have any magic!” 

���..magic?” 

“Yes, magic! How else do you think you ended up in my prisonworld?” He scoffs at me as if I'm the crazy one while he’s muttering to himself like a madman. I start fidgeting with my ropes again, desperate to get away from him. 

He goes eerily silent and slowly returns to me. My body sinks into the wall as he closes the distance between us.

“Ooh, I get it.. dear old dad is trying to butter me up before they release me.. apparently the wonder twins fell through and they’re gonna’ give me a shot at the merge afterall,” he chuckles, running the back of his hand down my cheek, cold rings chilling me to the bone.

“I don’t understand..”

“It’s been nearly two decades since I’ve enjoyed anything other than my right hand.. being trapped here alone and all.. and while I still plan on raining down a fiery vengeance on my coven, I'm not opposed to accepting their gifts in the meantime.. especially when they’re as pretty as you.”

“No- NO! I’m not-” I’m squirming hard, his arms come down at either side of my head, caging me in.

“hush-shh-shh, I’m not gonna hurt you.. just let me look at you..” I attempt to steady my breathing. 

He studies me, looking me up and down, “your tits are on the smaller side but I bet they’re pretty too..”

He gave my breast a tight squeeze and I yelp. I want to beg, but it’s no use. His hands are already trailing up my thighs without a word as I silently curse whoever brought me here for putting me in this mini skirt. Come to think of it, I’m not wearing my bra either. It seems I was giftwrapped especially for this horny sociopath. 

He wrenches me apart and forces each thigh across his hips as I writhe in his grasp. 

“No.. none of that. I want to enjoy this..” 

I scream but he captures the sound with his mouth and I'm overwhelmed by the heady flavor of spicy mint. His tongue invades every corner of  my mouth, stroking my own with vigor. He's starved and trying to consume me all at once.

I tremble as he raises the knife and brings it to my chest. The blade shreds through the fabric of my shirt, exposing my breasts in one foul swoop. My perked nipples seem to meet his approval when he mumbles, “definitely pretty.” 

He tweeks one with the pads of his fingers while fully kneading my other breast to his evil little heart’s content.

“.. fuckkkk..” I exhale

He grins, “like that, huh?” 

“NO!” I shout, trying to kick my legs free as hard as I can. He pins me flush with his hips, my tailbone colliding with the rough wall. I can feel his stiffen, the hot shape digging into me. 

He recaptures my lips, his hands growing rougher with my tender breasts. 

It hurts but in a way I can’t stop myself from enjoying. His cruel touch makes my deepest parts quiver.

I want so badly to squeeze my legs closed, hide it from his wandering hands that are already locked onto their next target, his palm finding the wet patch in my panties, his fingers prodding at my leaking hole through the cloth. 

He pushes the fabric aside as he couldn’t be bothered to pull them off of me completely. The direct contact with my puffed pearl sends corresponding pulses up to the pit of my stomach as I whine and squeeze my eyes shut.

He pauses. “no.. hey,  look at me..” 

I pop my eyes open when I feel his hand rub my juices across my face and lips, forcing me to confront how shamefully wet he’s making me, before sliding back into place between my thighs.

A finger slips inside, prodding my tender walls with careful consideration before retreating from me.

“You’re so tight I might break you.”

He proceeds to unbuckle his pants, dropping his cargos and briefs. His cock jumps with its own pulse. The length was nothing short of intimidating, a girth that could rival my forearm and a bulbous mushroom tip that made my insides grind in anticipation. There’s no way that’s fitting inside me.

I protest by squirming again, but he grabs my face, his fingers digging into my cheekbones, 

“Behave yourself and this will be fun for the both of us.”

I shake my head. He’ll rip me half and judging by his behavior thus far, he’s not gonna be gentle about it. 

“Stop..stop it.. I know it’s big.. I’ll make it fit.. okay? Come on.. you’re plenty wet. You’re probably one of those perverted girls that gets off to this stuff anyway.. aren't you?”

“Go to hell,” I snarl.

He tightens his hold until my lips squish closed, “mark my words, I’m gonna make you come on my cock.” 

He gets to work, stroking my clitoris. 

I chew my lips till I taste blood but my moans escape from me anyway. My body seems to completely betray me and arch into his touch. I can hear his hum of approval as he feels my body submit to him. He slides two digits inside, beginning to pump into my squishy walls as I rut my hips to his movements, just mindlessly chasing the high from whatever he gives me.

“Good girl..” He growls in my ear. His hand strokes the length of his member until his precum pearls at the flushed tip.

He butterflies me open against the wall and pushes into me all at once, grunting in my ear as I cry out garbled nonsense. my nails digging into my palm, the only movement I’m allowed

His cock reaches depths I didn’t think were possible, far beyond the damage I could do with my largest toys on my nightstand back home. I struggle to accommodate him the way he forces my body to. Though I’m fully aroused, he leaves an aching burn every inch of the way. 

He’s all I can sense, completely overriding my nervous system. I don’t even notice my tears until he licks them away with his tongue. 

“See, I told you I could- hey.. don’t cry..” he whispers as if trying to console me, as if I can’t feel his sadistic smile on my skin.

Every thrust, erratic yet precise. He knocks the air from me, but he knows exactly what he’s doing. My core responds by wetting his path so that each stroke leaves a sloppy squelching echo between our bodies. 

Despite my best efforts, it seems he’s going to make good on his promise. The way the coil in my gut draws dangerously tighter with each brush of his generous cock. The ridges along him catch at my stretched walls making me clamp down for the sensation. 

He feels it too, I know it by the way his hand balls into a tight fist at my side. 

My moans go shrill when he leans down to bite my collar bone. 

The combination of pleasure, pain, and fear turn me nuclear. I just combust into waves of ecstasy, my walls milking him until he twitches and creams my insides with thick coats of his spend. 

He pulls away from my neck, and I catch a glimpse of his face. Soft parted lips, hooded gray eyes and a deep red flush that colors his pale skin all the way down his neck. He’s the embodiment of evil, I’m sure of it, but in this moment I can only process his gorgeously fucked-out face.

“Best gift ever..” he sighs and chuckles to himself. Then his hand reaches up and wraps around my throat, ending the moment as soon as it started. I squirm and kick as panic sets in. 

It can’t end like this.

I gasp as he constricts my airway, cooing in my ear in his soothing voice. “Shhh.. it's okay.. just go back to sleep..”

My struggles weaken until tiny black spots fill my vision and I’m out again.

I wake up in a bed. The light of early morning streaming in through the curtains. I must’ve slept through the rest of the afternoon and night, yet my body is still riddled with exhaustion. Oddly though, after all I’ve been through, I feel clean and when I pull the covers off I see I was changed into a black dress, more like lingerie with its lacy fabric so sheer and tight I can practically see my kidneys. There’s a mirror over on the vanity and I rise on shaky legs and take a seat in front of it. 

I see a fresh bandage on my forehead. My lips are still red and puffy and my eyes are bloodshot from crying. Between my neck and shoulder in a purple bruise in the shape of a bite. I run my fingers along the divots from his teeth and wince.

“Someone must be awake from their beauty rest.” I jump at the sound of his approaching voice from down the hall.

I have to get out of here. I get up and dash out of the room, running as fast yet as quiet as I can in the opposite direction. Each step causes me pain as I hold my abdomen but I beeline down the stairs to the front door. 

I think I made it home free until I turn the knob and it doesn’t budge. I try repeatedly, but the fucker rigged it so I can’t get out. I’m locked in from the outside. My hands are shaking now, but as I back away, I catch the gleam of a set of keys in the corner of my eye. 

Hope fills my chest, but before I can reach them, I’m swept up by a pair of strong arms and lifted off the ground.

“Where do you think you’re going, hm?” he husks. 

“Just let me go! I don’t know why I’m here or who sent me. I just want to go home!” I scream.

He chuckles darkly and holds me so tight it's hard to breathe. 

“I already told you why you’re here, and if you want to make it back home in one piece, I suggest you get with the program, baby.” 

He hurls me onto the floor and I roll until my ribs knock in the pointed corner of the wall. The pain makes me cry out. 

He shakes his head and tsks, “pathetic.” His taunting footsteps approach as I cower in the corner, holding my hand out as silent plea.

He reaches down and grabs the back of my neck, holding me in place.

“Aww, haven't had my new toy for a whole 24 hours and I already broke her..”

“I’m not broken,” I bite out. I mean that. I refuse to let him break me.

“Oh?” he sneers at my indignation, “then prove it.” 

He’s unzipping himself with the other hand, shoving his cock in my face. 

“Show me my pretty new toy still works.”

I stare down the veiny monster. Too big from my singular hand to wrap around, but I reach out anyway until he stops me. 

“Mouth only. Come on.. show me the slut who humped my hand in the basement. The one that gets off to being used like a fleshlight.”

Just like before, I submit. Only because I had too, of course - or at least that’s what I tell myself.

I open my mouth, tilting my head back.

He forces himself in, halfway deep until he’s hitting my gag reflex.

“Relax your throat and breath through your nose.. jus’ like that.. atta’ girl.”

I reach up to stabilize my weak body against his thighs as he guides me by the back of my head up and down his shaft until my jaw grows sore and wet and tears run down my cheeks.

I feel him twitch at the back of my throat and then a sticky warmth envelops my tongue. He looks down and mouths for me to swallow it and I obey.

When he releases me, I crumble against the wall like a used rag doll. 

He adjusts himself back into his pants then hauls me up by my arms, my body too weak to do anything but let him.

“Come on. Let’s get some actual food in your stomach before your body gives out on me.”

Part 2? (comment or reblog to join taglist)

[hometoursandotherstuff]

What in the world is happening here? Beautiful, historic 1800 farmhouse in Perkiomenville, PA was restored by the current owner. Some interesting design choices were incorporated into this wonderful piece of history. It has 4bds, 2ba, 9.33 acres of land, and they're asking $795K. Take a look at what they've done.

Now, as anyone familiar with American History knows, the slide was an efficient replacement for stairs in early 1800 farmhouses. It was higher at the bottom so a stool could be placed underneath, next to a cow ready to be milked.

I appreciate that they left the floors and this wonderful fireplace. Why, though, do clean, straight walls look so out of place? What would look better? Maybe some texture?

Lovely. The big old pot over the fire.

They stood a vintage statue of St. Francis, the patron saint of animals, in the fireplace. Not exactly the place of honor one would expect.

The living room is very large and has a new fireplace. Lovely original stone peeks out of the drywall like wainscoting.

They put in a modern kitchen, although it looks like an island is missing. The pots are just dangling in the middle of the ceiling.

Family room. In order to sell any home, you must include at least one stylish griege room.

Plus a vintage/modern bath combo. Don't forget the gray walls.

I have no idea what's going on in here. It's a large bedroom with Buzz Lightyear running on air near the ceiling and some weird wiring for the chandelier.

In 1889, after the Eiffel Tower was built, it was every farm girl's dream to visit Paris. So prevalent was this, that the late actress/singer Judy Garland released the song "How You Gonna Keep 'Em Down on the Farm, After They've Seen Paree?" in 1919. Hence, this symbolic shower curtain.

The primary bedroom has fabric draped over the beams to create a romantic retreat, clearly inspired by the new dating show sensation, "The Farmer Wants a Wife" featuring hunky young farmers.

Some work was begun in this area.

Lots of wires, here.

The property is beautiful. Is that a little smokehouse?

Look at this wonderful barn that needs to be saved.

I don't know what's going on, but this property is a living museum and it looks like there's been some demo. Wait a minute, is that the top of a tower in the right corner?

Woah, talking about demo, everything here has been wiped out. The devastation.

It's a beautiful piece of property- the Perkiomen Creek runs alongside the 9.33 acre farm.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/10-Walnut-Ln-Perkiomenville-PA-18074/9946795_zpid/?

[cheesybadgers]

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.

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

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.

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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.

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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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For what?”

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

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

“Y tú eres mía.” (And you’re mine)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Very much.”

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

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

“Oh really? Hadn’t noticed.”

“Liar.”

“Maybe. But it does suit you.”

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

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

“Likewise with your present.”

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

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

“You’re the fucking cowboy, not me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When’s that again?”

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

“You still shadowing Gus Montoya?”

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

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

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

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

“It keeps me out of trouble.”

“Shame.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What isn’t?”

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

“We’ve always been careful.”

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

“Exactly. Completely different.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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.

[scotianostra]

September 2nd 1834 saw the death of Sir Thomas Telford, the pioneering engineer, road, bridge and canal builder.

Telford was the Scotsman who laid the foundations of industrial Britain, the Colossus of Roads, the godfather of civil engineering, Thomas Telford even had a town named after him, albeit an English one!

Born at Glendinning, Westerkirk, Dumfriesshire, on 9 August 1757, Thomas Telford never knew his shepherd father. He dies four months after the boy is born. His single mother can’t afford to raise him so relatives do. But such is Thomas’s vitality that he’s soon known as ‘Laughing Tam’.

Thomas leaves school and aged 14, he apprentices to a stonemason. He helps build new roads and a farmhouse on the estate of a local duke. Despite the nature of his day job, with its intensive long hours, Thomas studies at night to learn all there is about construction. By 25, he’s worked in Edinburgh and is off to London. He meets with two Scottish architects, one of whom, Sir William Chambers is building Somerset House. Telford secures work there.

And so began his long career seeing him build everything from canals to bridges, roads to harbours, Thomas Telford – the first President of the Institution of Civil Engineers – worked or advised on hundreds of important civil engineering projects in his lifetime .His expertise was so renowned that people from all over the world – including the Swedish and Russian governments – consulted him for their major civil engineering projects.

Telford’s most famous canal works include the 60-mile Caledonian Canal (1804-1822) and Ellesmere Canal.

In the Highlands of Scotland, Telford was responsible or about 1,200 miles of new or improved roads.

His main achievements in road-making were the London to Holyhead and Bangor to Chester roads. The road in North Wales has been designated a ‘Historic Route’.

Bridges also played a large part in Telford’s career, with the Menai wrought iron suspension bridge over the Menai Straits in Wales being one of his most famous designs.With an unprecedented span of nearly 580ft, it was considered the most outstanding bridge development of the early 19th century.

In 1783, he first started working for William Pulteney, the first Earl of Bath and MP for Shrewsbury, restoring Sudborough Rectory in Northamptonshire.

Pulteney was a strong influence on Telford’s career, and helped establish him as an engineer.

Telford worked on a number of infrastructure projects in Shropshire after being invited there by Pulteney to restore Shrewsbury Castle in 1786.

He worked on local church restorations, private houses, improved streets and drainage.

After he restored the castle in a Gothic style, Telford lived in and practised as an architect from the castle.

When Pulteney became director of British Fisheries Society in 1790, Telford advised on the improvement of numerous harbours in northern Scotland. The largest was Pulteneytown at Wick.

He also helped spread the use of Roman cement in facing, pointing and brick-jointing mortars to stop water penetration.

The aluminous hydraulic cement, patented by James Parker, set to a “very considerable extent” in about 20 minutes.

Telford’s civil engineering career started to take off from 1793 when he was appointed as general agent, surveyor, engineer, architect and overlooker to the Ellesmere Canal. The standout structure on the canal is the Pontcysyllte cast iron aqueduct over the Dee.

In terms of road construction, Telford’s roads were well-drained and had a hand-pitched stone foundation under a layer of conventional road metal.

Although they were more expensive to build, their higher quality meant that maintenance costs were lower.

Telford planned, built or advised on several thousand masonry bridges throughout his lifetime.

His first major bridge was over the Severn at Montford from 1790 to 1792, using convict labour.

Other infrastructure Telford worked on included drainage of the Fens in eastern England, the improvement of more than 100 harbours, docks or piers, and water supply schemes such as a piped supply to Liverpool from springs at Bootle.

Telford was invited by the King of Sweden to be the consulting engineer for the Trollhatte Canal’s eastwards extension to the Baltic at Soderkoping.

He was also consulted by the Russian government, and North American canal schemes.

For his achievements in civil engineering, Telford has been dubbed the ‘Colossus of Roads’ and ‘Pontifex Maximus’.

A liver problem, referred to as a “bilious derangement”, caused his death on this day 1834. He was buried in Westminster Abbey.

[harvardfineartslib]

Check out these meticulously drawn architectural plans and detailed cost estimates for the restoration of a townhouse in the medieval walled city of Cittadella and a farmhouse in nearby Galliera, both in the Veneto, Italy from 1833.

The architect, Giuseppe Volebele, compiled, signed, and dated all six sections of this codex. But in the end, the project was never executed.

The cost estimates included the labor of masons, woodworkers, stone cutters, and various contractors. It must have been a disappointment for the architect and all the other potential contractors.

Progetto di riduzione, e ristauro delle due case di proprietà della menteccata Sig[nor]a Elisabetta Fabris-Quarti poste nel Distretto di Citadella una nell'interno del Paese di Cittadella, l'altra nel Comune di Galliera : manuscript Volebele, Giuseppe, active 1833-1869. [ii], [101] leaves, 9 plates : illustrations, plans, drawings ; 38 cm Italian The plates are double page with architectural plans and drawings executed in ink and watercolors; all signed by Volebele. 1833 HOLLIS number: 99156848473103941

[swan-of-sunrise]

Endgame (Chapter Ten)

Summary: Following the funeral to honor Tony and Natasha, Steve volunteers to return all six Infinity Stones to their original timelines and makes a surprising decision.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Word Count: 6.3k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: This is sad, ya’ll, there’s no way to sugar-coat that lol but things will lighten up a little towards the end of the chapter so hang in there! Thank you for reading, I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Ten One Week Later… (Previous Chapter)

The funeral was held on a beautiful autumn afternoon, on the banks of the lake bordering the Stark family’s eco-compound. There were only thirty-eight people in attendance, as per Pepper’s insistence; she only trusted the small number of people who knew Tony best to be around Morgan, who was understandably distraught and confused by the sudden loss of her father. Following the instructions given to her by Natasha, (Y/N) reached out to her best friend’s adoptive family and informed them of her death, but Alexei and Melina informed her that they wouldn’t come without Yelena, who was inconsolable with grief and unable to face her sister’s funeral. All across the world, people were celebrating the return of their loved ones and mourning the loss of Iron Man and Black Widow but there on the secluded eco-compound, friends, teammates and allies came together to mourn Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff.

While the other funeral attendees stood outside in the crisp October sunshine and distracted themselves with stilted small talk, a small gathering was taking place inside the farmhouse. Thor was leaning a shoulder against one of the living room support columns, Bruce was hunched over near the kitchen to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling and (Y/N) stood between Steve and Clint while Pepper, Morgan, Happy and Rhodes were seated around the coffee table, upon which an Iron Man helmet sat and projected a recorded hologram of its inventor; before the time heist, Tony had seemingly taken the same precaution that Natasha had and recorded a final message to his family and close friends, and Pepper wanted to wait and watch it until they were all gathered together.

(Y/N)’s eyes welled with tears as Tony’s message began to play. She still couldn’t quite believe that she’d never hear her friend call her ‘Austen’ again, the silly but inexplicably heartwarming nickname he’d bestowed upon her the moment they first met, or have a chance to fully reconnect with him in the wake of Siberia and Thanos’ Snap. With that being said, the brief time she’d known the billionaire was time that she’d treasure and never forget, and she was truly honored to have known the man behind the hero.

“Everybody wants a happy ending, right? But it doesn’t always roll that way…maybe this time. I’m hoping if you play this back, it’s in celebration. I hope families are reunited-” (Y/N)’s eyes briefly flicked over to Carina, napping peacefully near the window in her floating pram. “-I hope we get it back, and something of a normal version of the planet is restored. If there ever was such a thing…” The hologram of Tony shook his head in amazement and smiled. “God, what a world. Universe, now. If you told me ten years ago that we weren’t alone, let alone, you know, to this extent? I mean, I wouldn’t have been surprised, but come on, you know? The epic forces of darkness and light that have come to play…and, for better or worse, that’s the reality Morgan’s gonna have to find a way to grow up in. So, I thought I’d probably better record a little greeting in the case of an untimely death – on my part – I mean, not that death at any time isn’t untimely. This time travel thing that we’re gonna try and pull off tomorrow, it’s got me scratching my head about the survivability of it all. That’s the thing. Then again, that’s the hero gig; part of the journey is the end.” He scoffed at himself before standing from his chair and moving towards the camera. “What am I even trippin’ for? Everything’s gonna work out exactly the way it’s supposed to.” The hologram of Tony leaned down to stop the recording, his sudden smile seemingly aimed at his red-eyed daughter cuddled up to his wife’s side. “I love you 3,000.”

The message suddenly ended and the hologram faded away into nothing as the farmhouse full of mourners took a moment to wipe their tears away and compose themselves. (Y/N) took a steadying breath before turning towards Steve and adjusting the crooked knot of his black tie for him, murmuring under her breath so that only he could hear her words. “Are you okay, Steve?”

Her husband nodded but remained silent, wiping away some of the tears that managed to escape his eyes while she gently smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles of his suit’s lapels. (Y/N) witnessed Steve mourn far too many losses over the years, but the loss of Tony and Natasha seemed to affect him on an entirely different level; she wondered if it was because they were among the first people he’d befriended after coming out of the ice into an unrecognizable world, or if it was because he somehow found a way to blame himself for their loss, but it was clear to her that he wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. Distractions helped – the super-soldier was more than busy organizing the secure clean-up of the Avengers Facility wreckage and spending his spare time finally bonding with their infant daughter – but Tony and Natasha’s losses remained constant on his mind. Hopefully today will bring him a sense of closure, (Y/N) thought as she slipped her hand into his and gave it a comforting squeeze, will bring us all a sense of closure.

“Pepper’s ready to begin.” She turned to see Clint, who was holding the wreath they’d worked on together in Natasha’s memory; it was an arrangement made from the wildflowers that grew in the field behind the Barton’s barn, and at its center were the spy’s crossed batons they’d retrieved from the battlefield. The archer’s eyes were rimmed in red but he mustered up a small smile for them both as he offered her the wreath. “I know I said I’d lay it with you, (Y/L/N), but I…I-I just…”

(Y/N) nodded in understanding and accepted the wreath with her free hand. “It’s okay, Clint. I’ll do it for the both of us.” He swallowed thickly, giving her a chaste kiss on the forehead and exiting the farmhouse to stand with his family outside. As Rhodes and Happy followed Pepper and Morgan out onto the wraparound porch, (Y/N) brought hers and Steve’s joined hands up and gave his knuckles a reassuring kiss before following after them.

Walking down the porch steps and along the path that led to the dock, (Y/N) took the opportunity to study the impressive gathering of heroes around her. Clint and Laura Barton’s arms were wrapped around Cooper and Lila’s shoulders, and Laura’s fingers soothingly carded through little Nathaniel’s shaggy brown hair; Peter Parker’s eyes were red with grief and he was trying in vain not to cry as his Aunt May rested a consoling hand on his arm; Stephen Strange and Wong stood together, but the doctor’s gaze was diligently trained on his polished dress shoes and there was something almost akin to guilt written across his face; Hank Pym and Janet Van Dyne stood alongside their daughter Hope and Scott, the former rival of Howard Stark putting aside their personal history to pay respect to his fallen son; the Guardians of the Galaxy looked slightly out of place amongst the other attendees, but they – particularly Rocket and Nebula – appeared genuinely sorrowful for the loss of Tony and Natasha; T’Challa, Shuri and Okoye watched their procession with saddened eyes, the three of them all too familiar with the pain of loss; Sam and Wanda stood beside Bucky, who only came after (Y/N) and Steve convinced him that he deserved to attend despite what the Winter Soldier had done to Tony’s parents; a teenage boy around Peter’s age hovered near the back of the gathering – according to Pepper, Tony had been his mentor from a young age and even provided him with a scholarship so he could attend MIT – and behind him stood Carol, the captain’s hands clasped together as she gave the procession a nod of respect; Secretary Ross, Maria Hill and Nick Fury stood the farthest away, with the Secretary of State avoiding the pointed glares that the other two were giving him.

The attendees gathered along the grassy shore of the lake and watched as (Y/N) and Steve followed Pepper and Morgan onto the dock. When they reached its end, the older woman crouched down beside her daughter and they both gently placed their wildflower wreath onto the calm water; the first iteration of Tony’s arc reactor was affixed to its center and the sun reflected off its metal, which was etched with the playful words ‘Proof That Tony Stark Has A Heart.’ With Steve’s assistance, (Y/N) lowered herself and – ignoring the twinges of pain caused by the pull on her many stitches – laid Natasha’s wreath onto the water beside Tony’s. The four of them stood at the end of the dock and watched the wreaths slowly drift away and as (Y/N)’s free hand fiddled with the black fabric of her dress, a random memory of Natasha forcing her to wear her Boyz II Men shirt to the U.N. instead of her mourning dress came to mind and she couldn’t help but smile fondly to herself. Her eyes remained trained on the two floating wreaths as she quietly hummed one of the R&B group’s more emotional ballads under her breath and thought about all those they’d lost in the years-long fight against Thanos.

“How do I say goodbye to what we had? The good times that made us laugh outweigh the bad…”

When they first met, Tony welcomed her into the Avengers Tower with open arms and from then on, he always treated her as a friend, even during the complicated events revolving around the Sokovia Accords. His laughter was infectious, his constant jokes and nicknames were accepted with loving exasperation, and his loyalty to his friends and family was something that (Y/N) always admired greatly about the self-proclaimed genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist.

“I thought we’d get to see forever, but forever’s gone away. It’s so hard to say goodbye to yesterday…”

Vision was a gentle soul and while the other Avengers found it difficult to converse with the thoughtful android, (Y/N) loved hearing his thoughts on history and literature. They bonded over their shared worry for Steve and Wanda whenever they’d embark on missions together, and Vision trusted her enough to begin asking her about how human emotions – specifically, the ones centering around romance – worked. He was brave in the face of overwhelming danger, his capacity for kindness was second to none, and (Y/N) hated that Wanda was suffering under the loss of such a wonderful person.

“I don’t know where this road is going to lead. All I know is where we’ve been and what we’ve been through…”

(Y/N)’s friendship with Loki was as unexpected as it was exceptional. Not only had they been forced to work together to survive on a hostile alien planet, but the God of Mischief helped her give birth to Carina and protected them both from harm, showing (Y/N) a softer side of him that few others had ever had the privilege of seeing. Beneath the dark façade he used to scare others away, he was truly heroic and for as long as she lived, she would never forget how he saved her daughter’s life and lost his own in a desperate but brave attempt to save the universe from a threat he knew all too well.

“And if we get to see tomorrow, I hope it’s worth all the wait. It’s so hard to say goodbye to yesterday…”

Although she’d never had the opportunity to meet Gamora, (Y/N) knew enough about the Daughter of Thanos from Rocket and Nebula’s stories to form an understanding of her. Gamora’s life before joining the Guardians of the Galaxy was filled with trauma and pain, but she proved that she possessed an empathetic heart when she abandoned her adoptive father and devoted her life to protecting the universe from him, a life that she’d come to lose in exchange for the Soul Stone. By a trick of fate, however, 2014 Gamora was with Thanos when he transported his army through their Quantum Tunnel and she was seen fleeing the battlefield shortly after helping them defeat Thanos for good; nothing could ever replace what Nebula and the other Guardians lost that day on Vormir, but (Y/N) hoped that finding that version of Gamora would help them cope.

“And I’ll take with me the memories, to be my sunshine after the rain. It’s so hard to say goodbye to yesterday…”

To (Y/N), losing Natasha was like losing a sister and she knew that for the rest of her life, she’d never stop missing the spy. But because Natasha wouldn’t want her to wallow in grief, she focused on all the happy memories they shared, from the first time they met in the National Mall and she smirked as (Y/N) teased Sam to the last smile they shared before embarking on the time heist. The night before the funeral, as she cuddled up to Steve and was soothed to sleep by his warm embrace, she decided that the best way she could honor Natasha – and everyone else who died in the fight against Thanos – was to put her skills as a writer to good use and write a book; people deserved to know the woman who sacrificed her life to save the world, and (Y/N) needed to ensure that her name would never be forgotten.

“And I’ll take with me the memories, to be my sunshine after the rain. It’s so hard to say goodbye to yesterday…”

As they watched the wreaths glide atop the lake’s steady water, (Y/N) closed her tear-filled eyes and sadly smiled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The funeral was followed by a quiet outdoor reception and while the others chatted amongst themselves as they sampled hors d’oevres, (Y/N) sat on the porch and waited for her Tylenol pill to start kicking in; as a result of the Battle of Earth, she needed twelve stitches for the gash along her stomach, eight stitches to close the cut along her collar and two for the small wound on her right temple, and she was becoming increasingly annoyed by her slow-healing body and how weak her injuries made her feel. She kept her mind off her injuries by watching Steve interact with Morgan, Nathaniel and Lila; the super-soldier was feeding Carina her bottle and smiling as all three children fawned over the infant, and (Y/N) was pleased to see Morgan crack a tiny smile for the first time that day when their daughter’s tiny fingers wrapped around one of hers.

“Pepper sent me up here to give you this, and she said to make sure you ate all of it,” Maria remarked as she walked up the porch steps and offered her a paper plate of cheddar and broccoli mini-quiche. “I think there was some talk of ‘by any means necessary,’ but I can’t be too sure.”

(Y/N) chuckled. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m hungry.” Thanking the agent, she took the plate of food and placed it on her lap. “In a few minutes, you’ll be able to report back to your boss that your mission was an overwhelming success.”

“And here I thought that I was your only boss.” Both women turned to see Nick Fury approaching them, his hands in his pockets and a pensive expression on his face. “You mind giving us a minute, Hill?” Maria nodded and patted (Y/N)’s shoulder before heading off to join Clint and Wanda standing near the dock. Fury took a seat in the empty wicker chair beside hers and while she nibbled on a quiche, he looked out at the glassy lake and sighed. “I can see why Stark moved his family up here. It’s peaceful…but one thing I’ve learned about certain kinds of people is that no matter how peaceful their surroundings are, they’ll never find satisfaction in it so long as there’s someone out there in trouble. Those are the real heroes; the ones in the position to fight the battles that most could never dream of fighting, the ones who choose to become something more…” The corner of his lips curved into a smile as he glanced sideways at her. “The ones who help save the world in any way they can and who don’t need anyone’s permission to do it.”

(Y/N) couldn’t help but snort in amusement as she recognized her own words being spoken back to her; she’d said the exact same thing to Fury over eight years earlier, right before he allowed her to join the Theta Protocol and travel to Sokovia to save its citizens from Ultron’s attack. “You’ve got a long memory, I’ll give you that. This isn’t some sort of recruitment speech, is it? Because I have to say, this is kind of an inappropriate place for one…although, you did once try and recruit me in the middle of a cemetery, so this is sort of on-par for us.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mrs. (Y/L/N), but today’s my day off.” Fury’s chuckles died off and his expression shifted into a more somber emotion. “To tell you the truth, my days of recruiting heroes might already be behind me; I always thought that finding them is the hard part, but today’s shown me that losing them for good is even harder.” (Y/N) pursed her lips and nodded as the former director watched Steve cradle a giggling Carina in his arms. “No, I’m here to offer you and Rogers the same set-up I offered the Barton’s when they decided to get married and settle down.”

Her brows shot up in surprise. “You want to give us a farm so we could live off the grid?”

“Doesn’t have to be a farm and it doesn’t have to be off the grid, just someplace far away from prying eyes where you can raise your daughter together in peace.” Reaching into his pocket, Fury withdrew a business card and placed it on the arm of her chair and stood. “Take all the time you need to talk it over with Rogers, then give me a call with your answer. It was good to see you again, Mrs. (Y/L/N).”

Fury turned and started to walk away, but didn’t make it far until (Y/N) called out, “Did you know? When we first met in that hideout in D.C., did you know what was going to happen?”

He stopped and turned back around to face her, his eye twinkling with an unknown emotion as he smiled to himself. “Natasha asked me that same question once, so I’ll tell you what I told her: you never know, you hope for the best and make do with what you get. And that’s remained constant, for the most part, but in this specific instance? I may know a lot and see even more, but not even I could predict what an unpublished historical-fiction novelist would end up bringing to the table.”

With a final nod, the former director stepped off the porch and strode across the grassy bank towards Rhodes and Pepper, leaving (Y/N) alone with her thoughts. A quiet life with Steve and Carina sounded like a dream come true, but she couldn’t quite picture what that might entail for them; after all, she was an award-winning novelist and a college professor and he was still Captain America, the Star-Spangled-Man-With-A-Plan. A quiet life wouldn’t quite come as easy to them as it had Clint and Laura Barton. And that’s without considering what Steve might be picturing for our future as a family, she thought as she slowly finished her mini-quiche and stared off at the lake.

“I think someone might be missing you, sunshine.” (Y/N) tore her gaze away from the glistening water to see Steve settling himself onto the unoccupied wicker seat beside her; Carina was beginning to fuss in his arms and (Y/N)’s arms itched to hold her, but her stitches made it difficult and she didn’t want to risk accidentally dropping her. “See, angel? Your ma’s right here.”

(Y/N) adjusted her daughter’s blanket and gave her a smile as she began to calm down. “Aw, are you getting sleepy again, lemon drop?” Carina yawned, snuggling further into Steve’s arms while her parents shared a quiet chuckle. “Must be all the fresh air here. Back before we fought Hela and saved the Asgardians from Ragnarok, I promised Cari that the three of us would go someplace warm and sunny where she could see the sky. I started out feeling terrible that she’d spent the first month of her life trapped on a literal garbage planet, but then we were in space and on Asgard and then Thanos…well, you know the rest. All that matters now is that we’re finally together as a family again.”

Steve nodded in agreement and jutted his chin out towards the business card resting on the arm of her chair. “Is that Fury’s phone number?”

“He offered us a similar set-up to Clint and Laura’s.” (Y/N)’s fingertips thoughtfully caressed her daughter’s soft cheek as she continued. “He wants us to give him a call once we’ve decided where we want to go from here.”

The super-soldier was silent for several moments, and it wasn’t until Carina had fallen back asleep that he finally spoke. “Yeah, I’ve been giving that a lot of thought lately, since even before the time heist. But it wasn’t until Tony and I traveled to 1970 and I saw Peggy again that I finally knew what I wanted.” (Y/N) quickly looked up at him as he took a deep breath and reluctantly met her gaze. “(Y/N), there’s something I need to tell you…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The following week was filled with tearful goodbyes and promises to keep in touch. Thor was set to make a brief visit to New Asgard before departing Earth with the Guardians of the Galaxy; (Y/N) understood the Asgardian’s desire for change and wished him luck on his search to find himself, tearfully reminding her friend that if he needed anything at all, their door would always be open for him. Rocket and Nebula surprised her when they presented her with her own Volkswagen Bug, miraculously and inexplicably restored to its former glory; she suspected that the mechanical geniuses might’ve obtained some replacement parts through illegal means but she kept her thoughts to herself and accepted their thoughtful gift, giving the normally-reserved pair large hugs and standing alongside Steve as they watched the Benatar take to the skies.

Clint, Laura and their three children returned to their farm; the Barton’s were kind enough to offer Wanda a place to stay, but the younger woman politely declined their invitation and claimed that she had something to take care of. (Y/N), who suspected that Wanda would try to track down Vision’s body and demand its return from whichever federal agency claimed it after the Snap, hugged her tight and wished her luck. The loss of yet another person in Wanda’s life was obviously hitting her hard, and (Y/N) silently hoped that she would reach out to her old friends and teammates for help or support if she needed it. Rhodes was reinstated by Secretary Ross – albeit reluctantly – as an officer within the Air Force, while Happy continued his work as head of security for Stark Industries and Pepper returned as its CEO.

Scott traveled back to San Francisco with the Pym-Van Dyne family, eagerly looking forward to reconnecting with his daughter Cassie and catching up on the five years he’d lost while trapped in the Quantum Realm. Stephen Strange returned to the New York Sanctum Sanctorum and resumed his post as its protector while Wong, the new Sorcerer Supreme, moved into Kamar-Taj to continue training the young sorcerers who lived there. Peter Parker was re-enrolled in his old high school, with his aunt and friends there to support him as he tried to return to some semblance of normalcy. And T’Challa, Shuri and Okoye returned to Wakanda, with the Black Panther resuming his rule as the King of Wakanda and working out how his nation could provide relief to the millions of displaced and struggling people scattered across the world.

While construction crews worked to remove rubble and debris from the former site of the Avengers Facility, Bruce built a new Quantum Tunnel in the woods near the lake and the day after it was completed, the few remaining Avengers gathered for one final mission: to return the Infinity Stones back to their original timelines. But this time, it was a mission that Steve and Steve alone would be embarking on, and no amount of arguments from Sam and Bucky could convince him otherwise.

“Now, remember, you have to return the stones to the exact moment you got them,” Bruce explained, opening the locked case resting on his makeshift desk to reveal the stones resting in their own individual settings. “Or else you’re gonna open up a bunch of nasty alternative realities.”

Steve nodded and closed its lid before activating the locking mechanism. “Don’t worry, Bruce. Clip all the branches.”

The scientist watched him take the case before averting his saddened gaze. “You know, I tried. When I had the gauntlet, I really tried to bring her back.” (Y/N) and Sam exchanged a saddened look, and her hand slipped into her pocket to touch the red hourglass-shaped buckle she’d carried with her since Natasha’s death. “I miss her, man.”

“Me, too.” Steve gave Bruce’s uninjured forearm a comforting pat and fell into step between (Y/N) and Sam as they walked towards the illuminated Quantum Tunnel.

“You know, it’s not too late for me to come with you.” Sam offered the super-soldier a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Seriously, Steve, my wings are in the trunk. Just say the word and I’ll go put ‘em on.”

“You’re a good man, Sam,” Steve grinned but shook his head. “This one’s on me, though.”

While Bruce continued to make last-minute adjustments to his equipment, Steve approached Bucky, who was standing guard beside Carina’s floating pram and letting her hold onto the index finger of his vibranium hand. “Don’t do anything stupid ‘till I get back.”

“How can I? You’re takin’ all the stupid with you.” Both men shared matching smirks of amusement before hugging; Bucky’s eyes briefly met (Y/N)’s over Steve’s shoulder and she gave him a reassuring smile, understanding exactly why he was so worried for his old friend. She and Steve only told him of his plan the night before, after all, so it was a miracle that the super-soldier was handling the news as well as he was. They separated after a moment, and Bucky gave him a forced smile. “Gonna miss you, buddy.”

“It’s gonna be okay, Buck.” He clapped Bucky on the shoulder before bending down to kiss Carina on her forehead. “I’ll be back before you know it, okay? Be good for your mom, angel.” The infant babbled and wriggled around as Steve gave her another kiss and when he straightened, he turned to face (Y/N); his azure eyes were filled with determination but as they took her in, they softened and he gave her a tender smile. “I love you, (Y/N). I always have, and I always will.”

“I love you too, Steve.” Her husband’s hand cradled her cheek and their lips met in a gentle but passionate good-bye kiss. When they finally pulled away, she held his face between her hands and smiled up at him as she forced herself not to cry. “Go get ‘em, sweetheart, and come home safe.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Steve winked and gave her another kiss before ascending the steps and standing at the center of the new Quantum Tunnel.

Sam’s brow was furrowed in confusion as the super-soldier tapped his wrist to activate his Quantum suit into covering his red-white-and blue uniform. “Wait a sec, how long is this gonna take?”

“For him? As long as he needs. For us? Five seconds,” Bruce replied from his control booth, waiting until Steve picked up Mjolnir to hover a hand over a lever to continue. “Ready, Cap?” Steve took a deep breath and gave the scientist a nod, and Bucky’s hand slipped into (Y/N)’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. “All right. We’ll meet you back here, okay?”

“You bet.” The Quantum suit’s helmet enveloped his head and the machinery surrounding him began to hum.

(Y/N)’s hand gripped Bucky’s tight and she anxiously bit her lip as Bruce started his count-down. “Going Quantum in three…two…one!” In the blink of an eye, Steve shrank into nothing and the three of them watched the vacant platform with bated breath while Bruce began his next countdown. “And returning in five…four…three…two…one!”

There was a blinding flash of light and a figure appeared on the platform, hunching over as if catching their breath; the Quantum suit deactivated to reveal their small frame, old-fashioned clothing and a large circular leather case slung over his shoulders. Chaos erupted all around (Y/N), with Sam ordering the figure to stay still and protectively putting himself in front of her and Carina while Bruce frantically checked to make sure his equipment hadn’t malfunctioned, but all she could do was release a shaky breath and quickly sidestep her best friend to ascend the Quantum Tunnel’s steps.

“(Y/N), what the hell are you doing?!” Sam’s hand latched around her wrist to halt her. “We don’t know who the hell this guy is or-”

“Easy, Sam.” Bucky stepped forward and rested his flesh hand on Sam’s shoulder. “She knows what she’s doing.”

Giving the super-soldier a grateful look, (Y/N) turned and continued up the steps while one of her hands slipped into her pocket to grip a stun disc. “Steve?” Her husband, nearly a foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter, raised his head and met her gaze; the instant his azure eyes found hers, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was her Steve standing before her but after 2014 Nebula’s effortless deception and the heavy price they’d paid for it, they agreed to take precautions on the off-chance that history would repeat itself. “Steve, what’s the special nickname you gave me when we first started dating? The one that you’ve never used unless we’re entirely alone?”

Steve’s lips curved into a wide smile. “Tiny Dancer, because you always reminded me of the woman that Elton John was singing about in the song.” (Y/N) surged forward and pulled him into a hug that he was eager to reciprocate. “God, I missed you, sunshine. Doctor Erskine worked as quickly as he could but all I could think about was getting back home to you and Carina, and I-”

“It’s okay, sweetheart, you did it, you made it back to us just like I knew you would.” They pulled away only for Steve to hold her face between his hands and soundly kiss her, sighing happily against her lips when she returned his passion-filled kiss. When they eventually separated, she couldn’t keep herself from smiling widely as she took in his altered appearance. “My handsome husband. I take it that there weren’t any complications?”

Before Steve could answer, the sound of a throat loudly clearing caused them both to look over at Sam, who was standing by the platform steps with his hands on his hips and a brow arched in shock. “Cap?”

“Hi, Sam.” With a sheepish expression on his face, Steve followed (Y/N) down the steps and stood before their two friends, his eyes briefly flicking over to Carina’s pram before turning his attention back to Sam.

A knowing smile began to play on Sam’s lips as he slowly pieced everything together. “So, did something go wrong, or did something go right?”

“Right, definitely right.” A loud sigh of relief escaped Bruce and he immediately stopped fiddling with the switches on his control booth, and Steve chuckled. “Sorry, Bruce. Before I volunteered to put the stones back, I thought that maybe I’ll try some of that life Tony was telling me to get. So, I paid a visit to an old friend and managed to have most of the serum’s enhancements reversed; I’m in mostly better health than I was in 1943, since a reversal of the serum can’t just un-cure medical conditions, but other than that, I’m still just a kid from Brooklyn.” Muscles and super-soldier serum or no muscles and super-soldier serum, (Y/N) silently agreed with her husband, recalling their frank conversation the week earlier right after the funeral…

“Yeah, I’ve been giving that a lot of thought lately, since even before the time heist. But it wasn’t until Tony and I traveled to 1970 and I saw Peggy again that I finally knew what I wanted.” (Y/N) quickly looked up at him as he took a deep breath and reluctantly met her gaze. “(Y/N), there’s something I need to tell you…”

“What is it, Steve?”

“Seeing the life that Peggy led after I went into the ice and that old photograph of me on her desk got me thinking, about what our future could look like depending on the choices we make now while we still can. It’s time for me to hang up the shield and finally live my life as Steve Rogers,” Steve explained, leaning forward in his wicker chair and adjusting his hold on Carina so that he could rest a hand on one of hers. “I never thought I’d feel guiltless at the idea of stopping, but I don’t. All that matters to me now is you and Carina, sunshine, and to make sure that it stays that way, I have an idea…”

Bruce walked over to their group and smiled. “Good for you, Steve. Tony, he…he’d really be proud of you.”

Sam nodded. “I’m happy for you. Truly.” Steve’s azure eyes shone with gratitude at their friends’ acceptance, but (Y/N) saw a flicker of sadness cross her best friend’s features. “Only thing bummin’ me out is the fact I have to live in a world without Captain America.”

“Oh, that reminds me…” With (Y/N)’s help, Steve shrugged off the leather case off his shoulders and leaned it against the steps before unzipping it to reveal an undamaged red-white-and blue vibranium shield. “Try it on.”

The smirk on Sam’s face vanished as the implications of Steve’s invitation settled in. He looked over at Bucky, who gave him a firm nod, and then at (Y/N), who beamed in happiness for him; the night before, Steve told her and Bucky what he was intending on doing with the mantle he’d carried for eighty years and while a part of her was wary of the pressure her best friend might feel, she knew in her heart that there was no one better suited to be Captain America than Sam Wilson.

Still looking a little uncertain, Sam picked up the shield and carefully slipped the leather straps onto his left arm; he stared down at the shield in silence, and (Y/N) and Bucky shared a smile as Steve quietly asked, “How does it feel?”

“…Like it’s someone else’s.”

Steve shook his head and waited until Sam met his gaze to speak. “It’s not.”

(Y/N)’s eyes prickled with unshed tears as she watched her best friend struggle to hold back his own; he took a deep breath and looked out through the trees at the nearby lake before looking back at Steve with an earnest smile on his face. “Thank you. I’ll do my best.”

“That’s why it’s yours,” Steve answered with a grin and both men shook hands, Sam’s large hand enveloping Steve’s newly-smaller one.

(Y/N), making sure to mind her stitches, practically launched herself into her best friend’s open arm and gave him the tightest hug she could manage. “I’m really proud of you, Sam. This doesn’t mean I’ll stop calling you ‘Birdbrain,’ though; that nickname’s for life and not even Captain America can change that.”

Sam laughed. “I read you loud and clear, Booksmart.” He kissed the top of her head and wiped a stray tear away as they pulled away. “So, what’re you three gonna do now? Settle down on a farm like the Barton’s and make a half dozen more of these cutie-pies?” Carina, who was now contentedly nestled in her father’s thin arms, giggled as Sam tickled the patch of skin under her chin.

“Steve Rogers living on a farm?” Bucky scoffed with a twinkle of amusement in his blue eyes. “This punk’s a born-and-raised Brooklynite; all that farm-fresh air might finally do him in.”

Steve rolled his eyes as he rocked Carina. “A hundred and six years old and still a mother hen.”

“Punk.”

“Jerk.”

“Are you gonna keep on writing, (Y/N), or are you gonna go back to teaching at Brooklyn College?” Bruce asked. “My fans absolutely love your books, and I hear that your students are really missing their favorite professor.”

With a mischievous smile, (Y/N) looped her arm around Steve’s narrow shoulders and shared a loving look with him before turning her attention back to the three men standing before her. “We have a plan that sort of includes a little of all of the above, actually. What’s say we explain it to you guys over some lunch at that diner down the road? Our treat.”

“Thanks, doll. I could really go for a cheeseburger.”

“Wait a sec, how do you know what a cheeseburger is?”

“Because I ate my first cheeseburger in 1935, Birdbrain, the same year that they were invented.”

Sam and Bucky continued bickering as they walked along the makeshift path to where they all parked and while an amused Bruce egged their argument on, (Y/N) and Steve trailed behind the boisterous trio, lost in their own little world and the long-awaited promise of a peaceful life together with their beloved daughter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Did anyone see that coming?! I hope that you guys like the deviation from canon, it’s the ending that I always thought they’d go for with Steve lol thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5L6MERx3PIydW3FyNPqYvl?si=ad6c46de8e954c11

Epilogue

“Endgame” Masterlist

Tagging: @mrs-obrien @lahoete @awkward117 @cminr @natdrunk @momc95​ @savedbystyle @miraculouscloud @awkwardnesshabitat @marinettepotterandplagg @mangosandmimosas @supersouthy @benakenalove @brooke0297 @hufflepeople @becausewelie @outoftheregular @junipermurdock @ladydmalfoy @mads-weasley @username23345 @crist1216 @capswife @lilmschild @avngrsinitiative @crowleysqueenofhell @y-napotat @mary1raven @groovy-lady @ljej95 @innersublimefury @prettysbliss

[abwwia]

Mary Spencer Watson (7 May 1913 – 7 March 2006) was an English sculptor. Watson was born in London and spent most of her life in Dorset and was inspired by watching masons carving Purbeck stone, close to her family home there. Her works can be seen at Cambridge University and Wells Cathedrals, among other sites. Via W | Mary Spencer Watson in her studio © Landmark Trust

Photograph by Gered Mankowitz © Bowstir Ltd 2022

[zvetenze]

Savić Farmhouse Rear facade

Neštin, Vojvodina

The rear facade was still under restoration in 1991 allowing a view of the stone and brick substrate for the exterior wall. The survey drawings are unclear whether the cabled attic area was naboj (rammed earth) or a combination of naboj and wood. The drawings seem to indicate that there were two small openings to the attic space in this south facing facade. The clear protective plastic in the photograph shows that the naboj surface extended well up into the gable area.

[calvinpo]

For the Architectural Review

Bass Coast Farmhouse in Victoria, Australia by John Wardle Architects

Calvin Po

For the architectural profession, building on the unceded lands of Indigenous people is a conflicting proposition, yet one that is almost inevitable for architects in Australia. Bass Coast Farmhouse, by John Wardle Architects, is one such project, built on former farmland among coastal heath reserves off the Bass Strait in Victoria. As they do with all their projects, the architects acknowledge the Traditional Owners, in this case the Boonwurrung people of the Kulin Nation.

Between the role of the architect, duty to their client, and wider questions of postcolonial ethics, these tensions permeate the house’s character and its distinctive relationship to the land. The Kulin Nation’s Tanderrum ceremony extends to outsiders a welcome to Country conditional on honouring the land and its intertwined relationships with its people: ‘The land ... is our mother. These cliffs are like our cathedrals, this is our church.’ On this sacral land, the architect’s exploration of ‘the nature of building on terra firma’ is not just an architectural fantasy, but a reflection of this quandary, and rejection of colonial myths of terra nullius – the land is not a blank slate.

From ecological footprint to the architectonics, this sensitivity is omnipresent. The house is entirely off-grid and the construction is largely prefabricated to minimise onsite waste and disturbance. The house sits gingerly on the ridge of a dune, making only the necessary contact with the ground. It is then cantilevered as the dune falls beneath the house. The cantilever, with its barn-like void and its suspended walkway, evokes an archaeological shelter, spanning over and shielding artefacts, and framing them for display. To enter the house, a set of stairs descends from this walkway as if down into geological strata of times past.

As for what is being sheltered – the dune and a scattering of stones – they too become imbued with new significance. After centuries of European colonisation, few traces of Boonwurrung heritage remain. It is the land itself, and the Boonwurrung people’s intergenerational custodianship of it, which is left to be protected. A critical part of the project is repairing parts of the site degraded by modern agricultural extraction, with a specialist advising on a massive replanting project for carefully restoring indigenous grass, shrub, and tree species. In contrast with the landscape, the house’s timber cladding (already silvering in the antipodean sun) and the corrugated galvanised steel roof seem to acknowledge its fleeting presence, relative to the long histories of the Kulin Nation.

The house is the antithesis of being ‘monarch of all [it] surveys’, to quote William Cowper’s poem on Alexander Selkirk, the British castaway in the Pacific. The Anglocentric ideals of Capability Brown’s Picturesque landscapes, where the earth itself is reshaped for the pleasure of the house’s gaze, are rejected. All the outward-facing windows, including the living room’s picture window, can be shuttered at a moment’s notice. For a house surrounded by expanses of nature and the coast, it is surprisingly introspective, with its primary aspect oriented around the central courtyard. The house is also extensive for a single-storey family home, with beds and bunks in polished, timber-panelled rooms, accommodating over a dozen people. But rather than bearing down on the terrain or asserting its panoramic dominion, the house seems to recognise that the views and the land are on loan, not owned.

John Wardle Architects, with its recently inaugurated Reconciliation Action Plan, joins others in Australia in re-evaluating their relationship with First Nations. But in the end, the impact a private house can have on reconciliation is limited. As Carolyn Briggs, a senior Boonwurrung elder, once reflected, ‘I’m always trying to find markers that inform me that we still have a part in this place. ... I think it would be amazing if you can start to read the land and wonder about the history of the people who lived and died before we were here. Hopefully one day you’ll know it. But we can’t see that now in the built environment.’

Link to original article here.

[shadowqueen402]

If Jose Was On Heroes Wiki

Here's what Jose Gallard's info would look like if he appeared on the Heroes Wiki page.

Full Name: Jose Gallard

Alias: The Man Who Rages Against The Storm (game only), Scarecrow (novel only), Barktholomew (when corrupted)

Origin: Balan Wonderworld

Occupation: Farmer, Inhabitant of Wonderworld (formerly)

Powers/Skills: Intellect, gardening Skills, dancing skills, physical strength

Hobby: Tending his farm, relaxing on the porch of his farmhouse

Goals: Have his balance restored (succeeded), help Leo and Emma stop Lance (succeeded), restore his farm (succeeded)

Family: Unnamed wife, unnamed son

Friends/Allies: Leo Craig, Emma Cole, Balan, Lance (formerly), Fiona Demetria, Yuri Brand (best friend), Haoyu Chang, Sana Hudson, Cass Milligan, Cal Suresh, Iben Bia, Attilio Caccini, Lucy Wong, Eis Glover Bruce Stone

Enemies: Lance, Negati

Type of Hero: Selfless Supporter

Other categories he fits in: Video Game Heroes, Literature Heroes, Male, Friend of a Villain, Spouses, Parents, Tragic, Possessed/Brainwashed, Successful, Pawn of the Villain, Animal Kindness, Nature-Lovers, Victims, Benefactors, Lawful Good, Loyal, In Love, Defectors

Let me know what you guys think!

[lux-haven]

Discover Your Dream Italian Property in Umbria

Get yourself a glass of something nice and join me on a tour of this stunning property for sale in Umbria, Italy. This exquisite stone-built farmhouse encapsulates the essence of Italian living, nestled in the verdant heart of the country.

Price: This Italian Property is available for 1,275,000 Euros.

Property Highlights:

Location: Located along a tranquil gravel road, this property offers two private entrances and is just a five-minute drive from the picturesque town of Monte Santa Maria Tiberina, straddling the borders of Umbria and Tuscany.

Land: Spanning approximately 1 hectare, the lush, mature garden is entirely fenced, featuring a spacious 12m x 6m swimming pool, perfect for relaxation and entertaining.

Restoration: This Umbrian farmhouse has been thoughtfully restored and converted into a three-storey residential building. Original architectural details blend harmoniously with modern amenities, ensuring comfort year-round.

Guest Accommodation: The annex has been transformed into an independent guest house, boasting an open-plan kitchen and reception area, along with two spacious double bedrooms and a shared bathroom.

Community and Amenities:

The farmhouse is not isolated; it's surrounded by other beautifully renovated properties. Monte Santa Maria Tiberina is just 1.5 km away and offers excellent dining, grocery shopping, and local services. The vibrant cultural town of Città di Castello is only 12 km from the property, easily accessible within a 15-minute drive, providing a rich cultural experience and comprehensive infrastructure. Other charming towns like Sansepolcro, Anghiari, and Monterchi are within a 30-minute drive.

Distances to Local Attractions:

Pizzeria: 1.5 km

Monte Santa Maria Tiberina: 2.3 km

Città di Castello: 12 km

Umbertide: 27 km

Arezzo: 36 km

Lake Trasimeno: 55 km

Perugia: 58 km

Florence: 108 km

Airport Accessibility:

Perugia Airport: 60 km

Florence Airport: 132 km

Pisa Airport: 192 km

Bologna Airport: 202 km

Rome Fiumicino Airport: 255 km

Price:

This remarkable Italian property is available for €1,275,000.

For more information or to schedule a visit, please contact us at info@abodeitaly.com.

Special thanks to Johannes Hermel.

Explore more about this property here.

Virtual Tours and More:

Visit our YouTube channel to view our latest one-take Italian property virtual tours! Check out our channel.

For hundreds of amazing Italian properties, visit our website at Abode Italy.

Need assistance? Email us at info@abodeitaly.com. We specialize in Italian real estate.

Follow us on social media for updates on luxurious Italian properties!

About

In 2003, Nick Ferrand relocated from the UK to Italy to pursue his passion for the country. Three years later, he founded Abode, a luxury real estate agency specializing in Italian properties, leveraging the skills and attention to detail that made his previous venture, Domus Nova, a success in London.

Prior to this, Nick established Domus Nova in 1998, transforming the perception of real estate agencies in the UK with a modern approach to property details and advertising, solidifying its reputation as a center of excellence in an unregulated industry.

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/italianproperty

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/abodeitalianproperty

X / Twitter: https://x.com/italianproperty

LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/italianproperty

[sassysuitdonut]

Gozo Farmhouses Rentals

Gozo Farmhouse Rentals offers a unique and immersive experience for travelers seeking a blend of rustic charm and modern comfort on the picturesque island of Gozo, Malta. These traditional farmhouses, often centuries-old, have been lovingly restored and renovated to provide a cozy and authentic retreat amidst the island's stunning landscapes. Featuring traditional Maltese architecture with stone walls, wooden beams, and tiled floors, each farmhouse exudes character and authenticity.

[davestone13-blog]

RIOC's Blackwell House Dilemma: Searching for a Path Forward

Blackwell House has been caught in an unsettling churn over the last few years. From opening after an expensive restoration to executive suite to quietly closed for most purposes – what comes next? by David Stone The Roosevelt Island Daily News The centuries-old farmhouse is a showpiece, carefully restored after decades of neglect and reopened in late 2020. Historical Society president,…