#santiago - 001.

[marsmoran]

closed @santiagodeleons

location: four leaf, after close

"Motherfuck—" Mars muttered as he threw his cards down with a sigh and watched miserably as the last of his chips were gleefully scooped up by Scotty across the table. Mars tossed him a middle finger but otherwise let the loss (typical, at this point — he didn't know why he kept doing this to himself) go without protest, slumping back into his seat with a heavy sigh.

He led his head roll over lazily to look at Santiago to his right. "Will you hurry the fuck up and lose already?" he asked, ever the sore loser. "I don't know if I've told you this yet, but you're my ride home. Gertrude's in the shop right now." By Gertrude, he meant his aging moped, and by shop he meant Baz.

[auggievillanueva]

Auggie relaxed when he realized Santiago was the person Rosie had found her way to, the panicked fog clearing immediately. It made sense; she sort of had a sixth sense for to his presence at this point. She probably knew that he was heading down the street as soon as he turned onto it. "Oh, right, of course. I forgot we're still helping Uncle Tiago with his illiteracy, aren't we?" He bounced Rosie a bit on his hip to prompt her, and she nodded seriously in turn. "You're doing a great job, though, honey. He'll get there someday."

He looked back at Santiago with a grin. "I knew how to work the register by the time I was her age, so," he shrugged. "Figured she should pull her weight for the family business. And so should you, actually. Wanna shelve some books while you're here? It'll get me out faster, and then we go get ice cream. As promised."

@santiagodeleons

"No way." Santiago says in astonishment, like he's been told the most unprecedented plot twist of all time by the little girl who was telling him about the end of the book in her hands. He knows well how the story goes, he's read the same to Rosie a dozen times but that never stopped his exaggerated reactions during each retelling because they were enough to get a laugh from her.

When Auggie lifts her up, Santi stands up straight from where he had been crouched beside her pondering the pages, shooting his brother in every way but blood a look he knew well.

"It wasn't her fault, that was all me. I had to know what happened at the end of the book and you know she's still teaching me how to read."

It had been an ongoing joke with his goddaughter and Santiago wasn't sure which one of them it amused more.

"Have you already got her working? I thought we said six was more reasonable."

@auggievillanueva

[lindsohalloran]

who @santiagodiazmunoz where the common room when april 5th

there are at least a dozen or more chairs scattered throughout the common room and yet, maisie has insisted that the pair of them sit on the floor because ❛ there's more space down here, uncle lindy, duh! ❜ and lindsay, to his credit, does not argue her logic. it's likely he would've conceded to her regardless of the circumstances ― she's not wrong, after all, and coloring the walls of a soon-to-be cardboard fort is hardly a task to be contained to a table and chairs ― but in truth, he's been on auto-pilot for the past, what? twenty-four hours? thirty-six?

( he should be keeping better track ; his mind feels clumsy, uncoordinated. )

he catches wind of a name, a scrap of information with zero context as its churned from the rumor mill, but even just the sound of it has his heart stuttering an anxiousguiltyhopeful arrhythmia in his chest. lindsay o'halloran knows better by now than to get his hopes up ― it isn't as if the name is uncommon, and the likelihood that it's actually him ... well, linds has never been much of a mathematician, but he's aware enough to know when the odds are stacked against him. ( more so, even, knowing he's the reason they've been placed that way. ) even so, it's as if a few simple syllables have thrown his heart for a loop and sent his mind scrambling desperately after it. santiago. a name that once found a home on his tongue and now scarcely comes to visit. only in the wee hours of the night, in the melancholy embrace of solitude. his own fault, it's his own fault!

oh, but does he miss it!

his good hand is curled around a dying washable marker as he continues to fill in flower after lopsided flower ( his fault again, not maisie's ― her sunflowers and daisies look lovely, and his wilted in comparison ) but his head is over three thousand miles away, somewhere hot and humid and sunny and aching. there's been a lump in his throat for hours now, too thick and too stubborn to be swallowed down ; he chokes out laughter around it, smiles at maisie as if nothing's wrong. nothing is wrong, is it? no more than it has been. nothing has changed. he's only allowing himself to get carried away in his imagination, in the messy work of holding out hope. how long has it been since he's been a hopeful man?

the sound of footsteps approaching the common room is enough to have eyes like tumultuous waters lifting toward the door. lindsay isn't entirely certain who he expects to find ― mal, perhaps, come to collect maisie for another afternoon of physical education and self-defense, or roman and june to provide two extra sets of hands on their makeshift, cardboard construction site ― but he hadn't even allowed himself to dare think that it might be ... that it could ever possibly be ...

❝ mo ghràdh. ❞ the words are whispered so softly they're heard to no one but lindsay, disappearing beneath the clatter of plastic against tile as the marker falls from his hand. he swallows thickly, suddenly struggling to breathe for the air that's been so swiftly snatched right from his lungs. lindsay looks back to maisie, tries to keep his voice calm and level as he addresses her. ❝ m-mais, luv, be a good lass an' finish up the north wall, will ye? i'll, ehm ... i'll be righ' back. ❞ a hand reaches out to pat her head and gently ruffle her curls, and when he pulls it back, it's shaking. his throat feels tight and his eyes are burning as he rises to his feet but he steels himself as best he can before turning to face a man who's felt more like a memory for months.

( ach, but he doesn't even have the right to be so emotional, does he? he doesn't deserve that grace. he's not forgotten how he left things. )

his face has changed. lindsay's footsteps slow to an eventual stop a few paces away and for a second, it's all he can do to stare ; to take in each and every detail, new and old, commit and recommit them all to memory. his face has changed, but not by much. lindsay's just never forgotten what he looks like. he never could. he's lost weight ; his face is thinner now, tired, a fair bit scruffier than he'd last seen. but there's a familiar crease of smile lines hidden beneath the rough, a warmth still lingering in his gaze that warms him somewhere deep inside, a lit hearth on a freezing night. fingers twitch at his sides ; lindsay wants to reach out and touch him, to cup his jaw in his hand and graze his cheek with his thumb and feel him, but he makes no move to initiate such contact.

there was a time when he wouldn't have hesitated to run into the other man's arms, but he could never assume he'd be allowed such a privilege, not now.

instead, lindsay clears his throat, lest any words get tangled in the tightness of his chest. and then he asks, simple and soft and shaking and sounding not even a shred like the man he tries to appear, ❝ santiago? ❞

[despaiiring]

starter for santiago de leon / @santiagodeleons

It's early for a drink. Freddie's not here for one, but if he were, it'd be too early. Yet the bar's not empty; the regulars loiter in their spots around the room, nearly cemented in the well-worn seats and leaving only when the bartenders call their last rounds. He's here seven minutes past opening, and Fingers is far from the first one to arrive.

On his way in he nods to a couple of the bar flies, familiar faces from years of patronage. He may not drink anymore, but he's in here just as often, wearing down the bar stools with his own sorry ass. Santiago isn't behind the bar, so Fingers heads toward the back, ignoring the employees only signs along the way in favor of seeking out his friend.

"Merry Christmas," he says, gruff and flat. Freddie's way of showing love. He sets a brown paper bag on the desk with a thunk: it's crumpled, and the top is rolled up in a sloppy mess, but there's a bow on the front and everything. Festive. "Sorry it's late. Didn't even think about what month it was. And don't — don't even think about saying no. When you open it and you hate it, you gotta' keep it anyway."

[halcofthhighstgrade]

WHO: estelle conner & santiago navarro ( @blotchedpaper )

WHERE: s’more station; willow peak snow frolic

WHEN: monday 3rd february 2025

Perhaps there was a thing as too much sugar, but Estelle had worked a life selling indulgence, and if she were anything, she was someone who practiced what she preached. And who could be denied a s’more in the heart of winter? It was the perfect combination of warmth and satisfaction. 

She was so focused on not burning her graham cracker or over-melting her marshmallow, that it took her a while to notice who had come over to the station. “Nice to see you not in the middle of the night for a change.” She said in greeting to Santiago. “No dog this evening?” She wasn’t sure if she had ever seen the hotel owner without his furry companion by his side.

[aureliatorres]

who: aurelia torres + santiago navarro ( @blotchedpaper ) where: outside peek when: friday, january 31st, 2025 ( late night, around 2 am )

The air outside is colder than she'd expected, and the neon lights from the club behind her flicker in a rhythmic pulse, casting a warm glow on the empty sidewalk. Aurelia tugs her jacket tighter around herself, taking a brief moment to breathe in the quiet of the night. It’s late, and she’s just finishing up her shift at Peek, her last performance leaving her with the usual mix of exhaustion and adrenaline.

As she steps onto the curb, ready to head home, she spots a figure standing by the alley, looking lost in thought. She squints, trying to place the person. Someone she doesn't quite recognize but who seems vaguely familiar—maybe a customer she served once or someone who frequents the area.

Curiosity gets the better of her, and she makes her way over, her boots clicking against the pavement.

“Hey,” she calls out softly, giving a small wave. "You okay?"

She stops a few feet away, studying them for a moment before continuing, her voice warmer now. “You’re out here pretty late, huh? Not usually what I’d expect to see around this part of town.”

[pastghcsts]

✦ ・ EXT. WILLOW PARK, HOT CHOCOLATE BAR — LATE EVENING. ( closed event starter for @blotchedpaper )

Though it’s not uncommon for Everett to stay awake into the wee small hours of the morning, he nevertheless finds it a tad frustrating he’s still walking around this godforsaken Snow Frolic when it’s already nearing ten o’clock — Lily should be in bed by now, he’d told his sister, to which she’d replied with an unhurried wave of her hand and a reminder that it’s Saturday, she’ll be fine, they’ve nothing to do tomorrow, anyway. 

Still can’t be healthy for a five year old to stay up this late, he hadn’t pointed out. In fact, he’s almost positive this is going to make Lily a nightmare to deal with for the next week or so — but then again, it’s Evangeline’s problem now. Everett has the luxury of hiding out at his place and waiting it out, so long as his sister doesn’t bust down his door and force him to experience the hell of her own making, as well. He’d muttered something to her about grabbing them a hot chocolate before dragging his feet over to one of the many bars sprinkled throughout the park, helmed by part-timers with smiles plastered on their faces that should not be so fucking toothy. 

He’s not really looking where he’s going —as long as one foot’s making its way in front of the other, that’s all that really matters — so it’s not a surprise when he accidentally shoulder-checks someone on his way to the front of the line. Sighing irritably, he glances up to meet some strange man’s gaze, tousled hair and warm brown eyes, understatedly handsome in that kind of way that Everett pointedly ignores when he comes across it. Besides — it’s late and it’s cold and he doesn’t want to be here. So instead of coming up with any sort of apology — which is what Evangeline would probably tell him to offer right about now — he frowns at the stranger in annoyance. “You mind?” he huffs, looking past the man and toward the holy grail of hot chocolate. His ticket out of this fucking nightmare — so close to him, and yet. “You’re in my way.”

[undervaalue]

🕯️+ santiago!

THAT'S 👏 MY 👏 PAPA 👏!

" Shit, dude, he's cool I guess, for an old man. I got really fucked up one night, ended up at the Four Leaf, and somehow woke up on his couch. Comfiest couch I ever slept on, first of all, and number two, you ever had chilaquiles? Best fucking chilaquiles I've ever eaten in my life. Ever. Okay, I never had them before and I haven't had 'em since but if Santi isn't making them, I don't want them, you feel?

Dunno. He's chill. Makes me feel like... fuck, man, he's just chill as hell. "

[steviexwagner]

closed event starter for @santiagoxpierce

The Winter Festival was the first event Stevie was going to with the twins and already it was making her feel exhausted. While the boys were snuggled in the stroller, the recovering mother sat down on the bench and was regretting her decision of coming out three weeks postpartum; especially with her incision still healing. She decided to just rest for a little bit while the boys slept and she looked around at all the event stuff she had never missed over the last thirty years and her eyes locked Santiago. "Hey, Santiago. How are you?" She asked as she sat up a little.

[zionsmccoy]

closed starter for @santiagoxpierce location: kismet harbor city hall, tree lighting

Zion had always loved the holiday season. Growing up how he did in Seattle, he had always been partial to them and wanted to experience all the activities so seeing the tree lighting ceremony was definitely on his list for Kismet Harbor. He had lost Hannah in the crowd as he went to get hot chocolate, and he sipped on his cup as he listened to the mayor speak. "You know, the town seems like a small town until one of these events happen and suddenly it's like a swarm of people come out of no where."

[thedevilsbckbone]

Closed starter for @sirxnx

Desiree liked to think she had great intuition and seeing as how she was still alive and breathing after the city had been turned to rubble after enemy forces blew it all to dust, she figured it had to be true. She'd tried to help those who she could in the ensuing chaos but it was all so crazy. In the end, all she could manage was to save a little girl who was trapped beneath a building before it collapsed, Now she walked with a toddler in a makeshift sling slipped over her shoulder, doing her best to take care of her as she wandered the streets in the aftermath.

It was also her intuition that had led her to the soldier who she'd asked to watch Mia for her, though she practically shoved the child into his arms before she ran off to evade the police that had been after her simply for trying to find something to eat for the kid - stealing as they would have said. Luckily she was able to hide and when she returned to the spot she'd asked the man to wait for her once the coast was clear, he was still there with the little girl. It was then that Des surmised he was a good man. So, she followed behind him wherever he was going, figuring maybe he could help them some more.

"You know, good guys like you aren't easy to come by these days -" she said, huffing to keep up with his pace with the extra weight in her arms. "You didn't have to do that for us - but you did and we thank you." Maybe if she buttered him up, he wouldn't shoo them away. "That's very admirable. I'm Desiree, by the way - I don't think I got to introduce myself earlier. And this is Mia," She said glancing down at the three year old nodding off in her sling.

[ofwrxth]

+ SANTIAGO THE WARDS, ALVAREZ HOME

Elliot is used to meetings at the Alvarez home, though not usually at this hour. His broken watch says noon, which feels too early for TPC business. Nonetheless, he shows up on time, waiting for Santiago to let him in. Things have changed quite a bit for his friend, not just as one of TPC's higher up members. His new son, and a new daughter. He's only recently met Isla, but Santi seems happier, even if there is something lingering beneath, at least to Elliot's eyes. "What's on your mind, Santi?" Elliot asks as he's welcomed into the home, rubbing the soles of his work boots on the welcome mat before trailing after Santiago. "Everythin' alright?" You never know in The Wards. @gloriouswhispers

[manybcdthings]

grand gala

cruz alvarez and santiago alvarez @gloriouswhispers

Observing wasn't anything new to Cruz. It seemed to be a trait that he embodied from as young as he could remember being. Perhaps, it was the curse or gift of being the middle child. Perhaps it was entirely taught by the old man he was watching right now, mingling with names the world seemed to know. Sending his older brother appearing at his side, Cruz didn't glance to Santiago and only grinned slightly. "Think we'll still have to drag our asses around being nice to everyone we see when we're seventy?" he gestured to their father, only then giving a look to Santi. "Gotta hand it to him though, I know he doesn't even like that fucker right there." a gentle wave of his hand pointed out a Hollywood star, Miguel effortlessly engaging with them as if they were life long friends. "You're better at that shit than me and Angel." Cruz offered the simple compliment before turning properly to speak to his brother. "Still think they might be here?"

[rviner]

@gloriouswhispers ines x santiago - grand gala

Ines can't help it when she sees her father, a snicker escaping that she quickly fights back. Or, tries to. "Sorry." she waves her hand before gesturing to him. "It's always weird when you wear a suit." she adds, but it isn't a rare occurrence to see Santiago dressed to impress. There's been plenty of times Ines has seen him swap the casual attire for an expensive suit, but..."It's just kinda like when dogs walk on their back legs? Like...it's great, and clever. But, unnatural." she explains with a crooked grin, another chuckle slipping from her lips. But this time the sound falters by itself, almost as if she can hear the crystal clear sound of Beatriz calling her husband handsome. A quick frown replaces the grin and Ines subtly clears her throat. "Is it Valentino?"

[marconavarro]

Closed Starter for @santiagoxflores Where: Enchantments Salon

*****

There's a form of exhilaration inherent in the thrill of discovering new places, and it's something Marco has always found enjoyable. Not for the first time since he got into town, however, he is beginning to wonder if he might have been just a little bit hasty about picking up his whole life and moving to the sleepy little corner of Colorado known as Greywood; sight unseen. It's gorgeous here, picturesque and quaint and all the things Mexico City is not...but the residents seem on edge, and no one he's met thus far has been keen on explaining why. Perhaps this is merely part of being a 'stranger' in town. Marco decides not to take it personally. The best way to lose the label is to make friends, and find connections. He's got a head start--distant relatives of the Navarros were founding members of Greywood--and old familial ties run deep in circles like theirs.

He's holding a business card in his hand as he steps through the door of the salon; a friendly smile on his face as he peers around at the place. It's early, and they've only just opened for the day so there aren't any customers yet filling the stylist's chairs. It's been several years since they met one another at a family gala back home, and Marco doesn't immediately recognize the man he's come here to see. "Pardon me," he asks the receptionist, his Spanish accent only mildly peeking through, "I'm looking for Santiago Flores. Do you know if he will be in today?"

[tigerhidden]

@devilsallure

some  days  he  couldn't  believe  he'd  arrived  in  new  haven  almost  a  year  ago  now.  he  wasn't  like  the  other  lost  souls,  he  wasn't  stranded  in  a  time  that  wasn't  his  own  &  yet  part  of  him  felt  just  as  lost  as  them  sometimes.  he  missed  his  family,  he  missed  his  old  life  &  some  days  he  wondered  if  maybe  there  was  a  chance  to  go  back.  live  life  the  way  he  always  had,  the  way  he  knew,  but  did  he  really  want  to  live  a  lie  again?

what  are  you  doing  now  though?  hiding  away  from  people  so  the  truth  doesn't  come  out.  how's  that  better?  he  didn't  know.  he  found  joy  in  his  work,  in  tending  to  the  animals  at  the  ranch,  spending  his  days  with  the  horses  &  his  fellow  ranchmen.  like  dirk.  dirk  was  nice  &  he  made  him  feel  somewhat  …homey  here.  but  at  the  same  time  it  was  lonely  &  he  felt  caged  -  just  like  he  had  before.

only  then  he'd  been  caged  by  someone  else,  this  time  ..  it  was  his  own.  he  didn't  really  know  how  to  escape  it,  how  to  find  a  way  to  be  free  from  doubts,  hesitancy  &  a  false  sense  of  pride,  but  he  assumed  dressing  up  …in  a  questionable  state  of  undress  to  grab  free  drinks  at  the  bar  …with  no  intention  of  paying  out  for  them….  was  not  it.  or  maybe  it  was  a  start,  or  …maybe  he  just  felt  safe  in  falling  back  into  odl  habits.  or  maybe  ..  it  just  worked  &  he  felt  good  when  he  engaged  in  something  he  was  good  at.  told  all  his  life  how  pretty  &  handsome  he  was,  he'd  long-since  learned  that  was  about  the  only  quality  he  had  that  mattered.

wide  grin  showing  teeth,  he  wore  a  tank  top  that  hid  only  very  little  of  his  torso  &  a  tight  pair  of  washed-out  torn  jeans.  his  current  victim  wasn't  the  oldest  or  ugliest  patron  yet,  it  also  didn't  really  matter  because  other  than  smiles,  laughter  &  the  occasional  hand  on  the  man's  shoulder,  damien  didn't  plan  to  go  any  further.  said  patron  though,  seemed  to  think  that  a  drink  or  two  meant  he  could  get  handsy.  "hey  hey  hey,  let's  not--"