#this is how 8 year olds mark their territory

[nelkcats]

Amity's hero

Don't let Amity Parkers lose their hero or you will face the consequences; even good intentions can become unforgivable

The Justice League didn't speak directly to the G.I.W, they didn't quite take their word for it but reports of ghost attacks and property damage caught their attention, the call log with the multiple Amity Park appearances being the most ignored of the list practically marked as spam broke their hearts.

So they arrived as a team, yelling about getting rid of the ghosts, certain that their presence would only cause long-term damage, Phantom immediately showed up, questioning what was wrong; they simply ignored him and began to recite that he and his kind should return to his place of origin (because these ghosts must have a place far from earth, right? They had read something about them living in another dimension), ignoring all Phantom's pleas by simply listening

Unlike a few years ago, Amity Park was not under attack, it had a direct truce with Infinite Realms in which the ghosts were on their best behavior, playing with humans, protecting them from unknown entities (because this was their Amity, they were territorial), keeping at bay the animal ghosts that came out of natural portals, and turning from villains to heroes, being led by his King Phantom, the one who started it all.

The ghosts were happy with the arrangement and with being able to visit human world; Klemper, Lunch Box and Youngblood made a lot of new friends, Ember had concerts, Johnny and Kitty formed their own biker gang, Spectra was the psychologist she'd tried to be at first, Walker kept everyone in line, even ghosts who straight up preferred the realms visited from time to time: Pandora, Frostbite, Ghost Writer, etc. Even Nocturn tried to give everyone good dreams.

But the heroes didn't care, they considered everyone as "threats" and threatened them, Phantom, completely tired of being ignored looked towards his city and gave them a sad smile, you couldn't reason with those who didn't want to listen to you "If we do that Amity could be in danger" he tried one last time, the league didn't know how to deal with liminals.

"We'll protect them, you're just invaders making them sick in the end" Green Lantern snorted, as if it was the obvious solution "So get out and leave these people alone"

"Fine, but when you see how badly you end up handling everything, call us" Danny was tired, he could reason with his own parents and not with all these "heroes", he supposed it was better to teach them the consequences. He tossed a Fentonphone at them, hoping they'd do the right thing.

Flash felt uncomfortable when he saw the ghost children approaching the humans, were they attacking them? He was about to interfere when he saw the human children approach the ghosts to hug them and cry together; he reasoned that made sense, sure the kids didn't know their friends were dangerous, but something inside of him wasn't satisfied with that answer.

Then Danny just whistled, attracting the attention of the ghosts in the city "Well, you heard them, go back to the realms" complaints could be heard, both from the ghost and the human sides. But for now, the halfa had some kind of plan in mind.

Wonder Woman felt especially uncomfortable when she saw Pandora walk past Phantom, giving her a disappointed look, Batman told her that surely she wasn't her friend, and that if she was she wouldn't be the same person, but she wasn't so sure about that.

The ghosts withdrew from Amity then, going through the portal that the Phantom himself had opened in the center of the city, each one of Justice League members could feel the hateful looks pointing directly at them "It's for the best", Batman informed them "we'll assign you heroes that monitor that they do not return"

"NO" that seemed to be what broke the silence "We don't want any more heroes, Phantom is our hero" and with that said, a girl of about 8 years old hugged the halfa's leg, crying uncontrollably "Please don't go"

The League was about to interfere when Phantom reached down, picking up the girl "I don't want to leave Stacy" he whispered stroking her back lovingly, hoping she would stop crying "But the guys over there say I'm a danger to you and you know I want to keep you safe" he kissed the girl's head, handing her over to her parents "I love you Amity Park, thank you for loving me back" he told the population affectionately, before going through the portal.

The League just looked uncomfortably, once there were no more ghosts they informed the city that they would send heroes regularly for protection and monitoring the situation but the city inhabitants just scoffed.

"You don't get it" Dash spoke, completely furious "Phantom is to Amity what Batman is to Gotham" he frowned "And rest assured that this city will protect him from you, we don't care if you told him to leave, we'll bring him back, you're way over your head on this" he continued "Of course, you don't understand because you're the hero in this scenario, and you don't know what a city feels when you take away their hero"

The Justice League only watched as the townspeople turned their backs on them, but they reasoned again that it was for the best, eventually the townspeople would understand.

A few days passed and Amity declared itself isolated from the League, every time they tried to send a hero they rejected, over and over again; dozens of different heroes couldn't get past the limits because they were shot, taunted, or simply knocked unconscious before entering. Superman was starting to regret destroying Phantom's phone but they had to know how it worked, at the end it was a regular phone with weird aesthetic.

The only "hero" who managed to cross the limits was Red Hood, who at the end of the day became a messenger "You don't understand B, that city is out for blood" Jason tried to reason with Bruce "They're furious, I swear I saw a 6-year-old boy practicing archery and the target had your head placed in the center" it was not normal for Jason to worry, Bruce was a hero, but for the same reason he did not know what it felt like when you lost one. Amity had basically been building her own army within the barriers, they even offered him refuge away from heroes "You must talk to them."

"Mhm" Batman hummed, pulling out his comlink to schedule a meeting, he'd thought of calling one anyway, he'd had sightings of what looked like animal ghosts all over Gotham but they were basically invincible, he wondered if it was Phantom's revenge.

"Just give them back their hero Batman" was what the commissioner Gordon told him when he asked for an opinion on how to deal with the reaction of the city "They're right, you don't know what it feels like"

Of course, Batman couldn't be wrong, so he guessed Gordon's comment was due more to his weariness. Upon arrival he noticed everyone completely dejected, basically stating animal ghosts and ¿drops? through all their cities. They couldn't fight any of them so they decided to go back to Amity, they figured if they had fought these things for years they must have knowledge.

Upon reaching the city, although they were allowed to pass, they were greeted with mockery, half the population carried one weapon or another, the League was tense "Having problems so soon?" Paulina looked at her neon green nails, she was sure she could cut a man with them "You should have accepted Phantom's help, you know"

"Phantom was a threat invading your city" Batman growled "we saw the reports, his continued presence caused medical changes in all of you that you won't even let us see"

"Make no mistake" Mikey interrupted him "Amity was always an access point to the Zone, we were contaminated long before you existed" and of course they would not trust this heroes with their liminal status, Frostbite was already helping them before all the mess and they did not need to add human doctors with no knowledge.

"Then what do you suggest? We let the ghosts come back and destroy the whole city?" Hal scoffed, completely incredulous of how they were being treated, from the first second they refused to give any useful information.

"It's funny that you think we can't defend ourselves" Paulina rolled her eyes "you all could be beaten by Mikey, and is Mikey, no offense" she shot a look at the boy next to her.

"None taken" Mikey shrugged, it wasn't the first time.

"The thing is, we're just used to it; we like to be protected and not have to protect ourselves, it may sound cowardly of us but we're civilians" Kwan spoke "we're not defenseless, but we prefer not taking action, our hero made sure of it so we don't like to take cards in the whole self-sacrifice thing"

"Phantom is a danger" Superman tried to stand his ground.

"For us?" Star sneered "Or for you?"

"Besides, if you think we don't move out of the city for aesthetics, you're wrong, we just like to feel safe" Dash yawned, bored with the conversation "Phantom and the other ghosts are territorial, it's kind of nice, no threat gets past that sign, rates of crime? Zero, very difficult to want to kill or assault someone if they can come back as a ghost to kill you I guess"

"But the reports" Flash was worried about the indifference.

"The reports from 5 years ago? Before we had the truce that you guys ruined?" Star sneered "I'll call Sam or Tucker and bring Phantom back, we'll start the truce again, get out of Amity"

"You can't do that." Superman crossed his arms, trying to remain threatening as Hal muttered in a panic about breaking peace treaties and the Oa wanting his head.

"Oh, but we can" Paulina approached Superman, running her hand over his arm "and we'll do it" slowly, she placed her fingernail on his suit, cutting the material and drawing blood from the hero, who immediately moved away at the threat.

"Get the hell out of Amity and don't come back" Dash rolled his eyes, stroking a ghost snake, the heroes tensing more at their newest enemy.

"It was you?" growled Batman; recognizing the snake as one of the many haunting Gotham.

"Not exactly, the veil ruptures always existed" Kwan said, stroking the head of a ghost wolf "We only tame them, or send them back to the Realms, if there were veil ruptures it's not our problem" he looked towards the League "If any of them escaped because we weren't watching and they followed your scent it's not our fault either"

"And can you tell us um, how to deal with them, or tame them?" Flash tried.

"No, since you are sooo good at gathering information I'm sure you will come up with something" With that said, Dash motioned for the snake to lead the heroes away and before they knew it they were all thrown away from the city.

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias x Reader - A House Is Not A Home Part 6/8

⚠️ Warning ⚠️

18+

Ruben's wife dies during childbirth along with their son. Ruben hasn't been in a relationship since. Y/N is a single mother to a four year old boy. She buys a house in the small town that Ruben lives in. The house needs alot of fixing which Ruben helps with, resulting in him slowly falling in love with Y/N. However, falling in love with Y/N makes Ruben feel like he is betraying his dead wife.

Enjoy!

"Where are you going?" Ruben groaned, his voice raspy as he came to. You both lay in bed well past the suitable hours. By the way the sun was set high in the sky you guessed that it was around midday afternoon.

"We have to get up and pick up Johnny from kindergarten."

"Five more minutes."

Ruben held an arm around your waist, tugging your body to lay down with him again. He rolled on top of you, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

"We don't have much time." You sighed, feeling him and how much his body wanted you.

"We have enough time."

Warm hands roamed your body. Ruben had already left bruises on your skin from last night and this morning, this was just him re-marking his territory. He traced soft kisses down your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin. His big hand cupped your breast, squeezing the flesh as you sighed against his naked chest.

"You like this?"

"Mhm."

Ruben moved on to let his erection slap against your folds, lubricating them. You squinted your eyes as his dick continue to grind against your clit, making it twitch beneath you.

"Ruben...the time."

"We have enough of it ."

He turned you over with a slap across your ass. You winced and arched your back into the front of him, meeting his stiffness.

"Relax for me baby. Just relax."

The matress dipped as Ruben rose to his knees. You looked back to see his lean body align with yours. Ruben smiled before easing into you with a yanking thrust.

"Fuck."

You stood on all fours, withstanding the forces that you were up against. Your breast swayed beneath you as Ruben fucked you with intensity, admiring the waves of your flesh with every stroke of his hips.  At one point he stopped, flipping you over to lay on your back again.

"I wanna see you enjoying me." He said, pinning your arms above your head, leaning down to kiss you as he fucked you missionary.

"Ruben, I'm close."

"Good. Come for me Y/N, come for me."

He had been holding out for you, waiting until the last moment so that the two of you could come together. Your bodies lay limb following the combined sigh of relief. Ruben lingered inside of you, allowing himself to go soft. You whimpered when he finally pulled out. The sensation left you feeling cold and sticky.

"Let's not keep Johnny waiting." Ruben got up and out of bed, helping you do the same.

Your son was happy to see you as always, however, it was Ruben he ran to for a hug at the gate.

"Ruweeen!"

"Hey little buddy. How was your day?"

Ruben carried Johnny back to his truck, holding your hand. The three of you had become a team as your relationship with Ruben evolved during the three months since moving in.

"Should we pick something up for dinner?" Ruben drove the truck past the town center.

"Pancakes!" Johnny exclaimed.

"No. We had that yesterday." You protested.

Johnny crumbled in his seat.

"Oh come on." Ruben leaned towards you,  grabbing your hand, planting soft kisses on your knuckles. "You love my pancakes, don't you baby? I bet we still have some of Kat's leftover jam. You loved it didn't you, almost emptying the whole jar."

"I did not!"

Johnny chuckled in the backseat, so did Ruben. They were both laughing at you.

"Now baby, there is no shame in having a sweet tooth, but at least be honest about it."

You slapped Ruben in the arm. "I do not....have...a sweet tooth."

He played along, pretending to crumble with your hits.

"Alright, alright. I surrender." He laughed. "But if you don't have a sweet tooth that means you don't mind us having pancakes tonight."

You shook your head, hiding your smile. It was surprising, yet terrifying how willingly Ruben's charm made you fold.

"Did you hear that J, pancakes it is!"

"Yay!"

You gave Ruben a look, a look saying that he was definitely paying for this later. By the look he gave you, Ruben seemed glad having to serve you this favor.

"I just need to pick up a few things from work."

Ruben parked his truck outside of the hardware shop. Whilst he took his time, you and Johnny decided to stretch your legs, running over to watch the ducks in the pond across the street. As you held Johnny, pointing out the female ducks opposed to the male ducks, you felt it, content. For the first time in your life you felt happy, stable and loved, all at the same time. It was an overwhelming feeling, one you dread ever loosing. That was about to change though, as you turned your head to check on how Ruben was doing. He had been loading boxes onto the back of his truck but now stood beside it, chatting vividly with a woman.

"Come on Johnny, let's go back."

It was the woman embracing Ruben that made you curious to know who she was.

"Ruben?"

He hadn't noticed you approaching and flinched at the sound of your voice.

"Y/N...sorry to keep you guys waiting."

The woman cocked her head curiously.

"Y/N this is Emily, Emily this is....is..."

"Y/N?" You frowned. Johnny chuckled in your arms. The repeating of names was confusing him.

"Right....Y/N." He mumbled. "Either way... Em, how are you? What brings you here, back in town?"

You felt set aside as Ruben and the woman picked up their conversation where it left off.

"Tomorrow is the 25th Ruben." The woman said, a serious expression coming across her face.

"Right." Ruben nodded. "The 25th..."

"You haven't forgotten, have you?"

"Of course not." Ruben looked slightly insulted. "I've just been busy, that's all."

"Busy doing what?"

You raised a brow as the woman looked to you, her expression nothing but friendly. You turned to Ruben. "What's on the 25th?"

"Um....it's...um..." He scratched the back of his head, struggling to give you an answer.

"It's my sister's birthday." The woman frowned. "Who is she Ruben?"

"Em, let's not do this here..." Ruben was quick to defend you, however you were just about to defend yourself if it hadn't been for Johnny. Ruben took the woman aside as she became visibly upset. He returned to you with a look of uncertainty.

"Ruben what is going on, who is that woman?"

"I....um...I'll explain later. I'm gonna drive Em to Kat and David's, okay. See you back at the house?"

"Your leaving?"

"No, I'll be right back, I promise."

You couldn't believe it.

"Y/N, don't be upset." Ruben rushed to kiss your cheek. "I'll explain everything back at the house, okay?

You nodded. "Okay " And with that Ruben was gone, leaving you for another woman.

Hours went by. Despite no sight of Ruben you had to get started on dinner for your son to be able to go to bed on time.

"Where is Ruwen?" He asked as the pancakes you made tasted nothing like Ruben's.

"I don't know honey." You tucked Johnny into bed. "I'm sure you'll see him in the morning."

There was a painful jab in your stomach as you turned the lights off and slipped out of his bedroom. Coming downstairs you saw the light from Ruben's truck pull up to the house.

"I'm so sorry I'm late." Ruben stumbled through the door, looking around himself to see that most lights were turned off, that you were preparing to go to bed.

"Don't apologize to me." You said. "Johnny is the one who's been waiting for you." You felt guilty, using your son against Ruben this way. The two of you weren't married and he had no obligations as a stepfather, meaning Ruben should feel free to leave the two of you anytime.

"Is he still up?" Ruben looked to the staircase.

"I just put him to bed." Your arms folded. "What happened today Ruben, who was that woman you were talking to?"

He sighed heavily, removing his jacket before stepping into the house. At least he was here to stay. That feeling comforted you somehow.

"Please." He said, gesturing for you to join him on the living room couch. He wrapped an arm around you, pullimg you close. Your head rested against his chest.

"Emily is Gina's sister." He said, after a moment spent in silence. "She's back here for the anniversary of Gina's birthday on November...

"....25th." You nodded.

"Exactly. I can't believe I forgot about it."

"What made you forget?" You tilted your head to look at him. Ruben smiled softly, his finger stroking your cheek. "I dunno." He shrugged. "Maybe the fact that Kat and David are doing better these days. I was a mess three months ago during the anniversary of Gina's...." Ruben struggled to get the words out. You kissed his forearm as to say that it was okay, you understood.

"It was bad timing, just ahead of the storm,  if you remember." He said.

Why would you remember?

"For some reason I decided to drink to cope with my feelings. I was passed out drunk by the time the storm came around. Kat and David seemed so understanding, never judging me, or worse, blaming me for the death of their daughter."

"Because it wasn't your fault Ruben." You said, with all seriousness. You had no idea that Ruben blamed himself for the tragic events of his wife.

"But it was." He sniffled. "I put that baby in her, I killed her."

You sat up. "Ruben, neither you or your son was the blame of what happened to your wife. No one is to blame. Gina was sick and she knew that, she knew there was a risk to everything she did. Do you know how many people would've dread living a normal life knowing it could end any day? Gina, however, was brave enough to want to get up in the morning, brave enough to fall in love, to commit. She was brave enough to want a house and a family."

Ruben looked at you with admiration, clearly he hadn't allowed himself to think of things this way. Perhaps he felt like he had to feel guilty as not to betray his dead wife and the memories that they shared.

"She was braver than all of us Ruben." You assured.

He slowly nodded his head, as if accepting your way of seeing things. Then he said something that startled you.

"I never knew I would find someone again...."

You batted your eyes as he looked intensely at you. "I never thought I'd feel the way I did about Gina again, until I met you."

"Ruben." Your voice trembled.

"You met me at my lowest." He chuckled.

What was so funny?

"I don't even think you rember meeting me then, in the bar, that night of the storm?"

You frowned as no memory came to mind.

"Either way, that day change my life for the better. You changed my life for the better."

You threw your leg over Ruben's thigh, climbing to sit on his lap. Ruben's hands went to rest on your waist,  keeping you steady. You knocked your forhead against his as he tilted his head up to meet your lips. The kiss was tender and longing. Ruben's shoulders dropped as he allowed himself to relax. He then wrestled you to lay beneath him on the couch, spreading your legs with a knee between your thighs. He smirked. "I owe you, don't I?"

You thought back to earlier today. "Yes you do, you owe me." You smiled.

Ruben traced kisses from the lobe of your ear down to the center of your stomach. He folded your shirt on the go as to expose more skin for him to trace kisses upon.

You bit you lip as not to make any noise. Johnny was still asleep upstairs. You popped up on your elbows to see why Ruben had stopped what he was doing.

"What?"

He was looking up at you, his expression difficult to read. You sat up, crawling towards him. "Ruben are you..."

"I love you Y/N."

He said it so fast that you had to catch your breath.

"What?"

He nodded. "I love you Y/N, more than anything."

It was as clear as day, your feelings for Ruben, you loved him too. Terrifying to admit, considering you've only know each other for three months. The best three months of your life. You thought of Gina however, to her it had been clear, she never had any doubt....

"I love you too Ruben."

[bracketsoffear]

The Book of the War (Lawrence Miles et. al.) Synopsis: "The Great Houses: Immovable. Implacable. Unchanging. Old enough to pass themselves off as immortal, arrogant enough to claim ultimate authority over the Spiral Politic.

The Enemy: Not so much an army as a hostile new kind of history. So ambitious it can re-write worlds, so complex that even calling it by its name seems to underestimate it.

Faction Paradox: Renegades, ritualists, saboteurs and subterfugers, the criminal-cult to end all criminal-cults, happy to be caught in the crossfire and ready to take whatever's needed from the wreckage… assuming the other powers leave behind a universe that's habitable.

The War: A fifty-year-old dispute over the two most valuable territories in existence: "cause" and "effect."

Marking the first five decades of the conflict, THE BOOK OF THE WAR is an A to Z of a self-contained continuum and a complete guide to the Spiral Politic, from the beginning of recordable time to the fall of humanity. Part story, part history and part puzzle-box, this is a chronicle of protocol and paranoia in a War where the historians win as many battles as the soldiers and the greatest victory of all is to hold on to your own past."

Propaganda: A text which purports to be a constantly shifting and updating guide to The War, a conflict so overarching and complete that every other conflict is but a pale shadow thereof; the Time War. Of course, since it would shift retroactively with the changing timelines, there is no way to prove or disprove this claim. Notable entries include cities built from days stolen from shifting calendars, the secrets of removing yourself from history while still leaving yourself free to interfere, Grandfather Paradox, the location of the exact center of history, how to weaponize banality, and Parablox.

Oh, and there's something else in there. Something that seems to be talking to you.

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland/ Through the Looking Glass and what Alice found there (Lewis Caroll) "Both books have a similar structure and are spiral for the same reasons: little Victorian child Alice founds herself in a strange world with rules vastly different from hers (for example, there's no real geography and the scenery changes suddenly from one place to another very much like in a dream). The characters she crosses constantly defy her understanding of the world and applies logics she struggles to understand. Even though she ends up going with the flow most of the time she never ceases to question whether shes experiencing real life or a dream; sanity is brought up a few times, and there's also the popular quote "We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad", delivered by the grinning cat that appears and disappears like a slippery distortion. Lastly I may add that the TMA episode whose title references the book (Mag 177, Wonderland) is a spiral episode."

[halfmoth-halfman]

do you have any headcannons about designer dress you can disclose? every now and then i create some of my own, but it's great finding out about the "official" ones, like why did you choose canary as mc's moniker? are we going to find out more about laswell and price? maybe gaz's mom? she seems important... what about farah's relationship with john? and some tidbits as well, like why blue? why valeria's "day job" is fashion designer? sorry the questionnaire, any piece would be great! i'm just in awe with the whole ambience you've created. much love! xx

oh i’ve got plenty of headcanons. some i won’t go into too much detail about because it would dipping into spoiler territory, but here ya go:

gaz was a big momma's boy as a kid, and when she died so soon after his father it left him with a lot of big, confusing feelings for an 8-9 year old

he was angry at price for a long time after his parents' deaths and it wasn't until well into his teenage years that he started warming up to price

farah was adopted after gaz, when her parents were killed during price's and the 141's first go around with makarov when they were both building their "empires" (we'll go more into that in the next few chapters)

gaz and farah took to each other easily, often finding comfort in their similar struggles and complicated feelings for price

price does everything he can to help gaz and farah remember their parents, mostly out of respect and love for them and their parents, but also due to that quiet guilt that he's the reason their parents are gone

gaz goes back on forth on calling price dad, but always refers to farah as his sister

farah does not call price dad, it’s always either old man or price

farah does think of gaz as a brother, but can’t bring herself to actually call him that because it makes her think of hadir

farah and gaz are best friends through and through tho

price cannot visit their parents' graves with them, he doesn't feel he has a right to, and if he goes with one of them he’ll wait in the car until they’re done to go to the grave himself

price has talked about canary to gaz’s dad’s grave

i hc price's favorite color as blue in general, hence all the blue he puts his women in

there is a difference between the blues when he gets canary a dress vs when valeria makes her one

valeria's come in various shades of blue while price's are always the same shade of blue as his eyes

he is absolutely doing it as a way to mark his territory

graves loves his women in gold and jewels and designer, it's a way to show off his wealth and status and how much he spoils them

it's all part of a carefully put together show to make himself look good

makarov does not give a fuck about any of that

his women are on display as a way to taunt and tempt his enemies because they know better than to touch what's his and he drapes them in blood-colored fabric as warning

price had a playboy phase after his (amicable) divorce from kate and it only got worse when gaz’s parents died

he never loved or really cared for any of his significant others, knowing most were just after his money, status, or bragging rights - they used him and he used them as a stress relief

when gaz moved in to the manor, he tried a few short-lived relationships that never lasted more than a few months

he stopped completely when farah moved in

price tried dating once or twice when gaz and farah were older and things were more stable but it was never anything serious until canary

price has never been in love until canary

price, nik, and gaz's dad were bffs with farah's dad joining later, and nik loves gaz and farah like his own

at one point, shepherd was included in that little group

alex and farah had a romcom-esque meet-cute at a 141 gala where alex was a guest of kate's

alex fell first, farah fell harder

price, and the rest of the 141, are good friends with kate's wife, but they don't see her often since she's not involved in their business

kate tries to keep her wife separate from that side of her life for her own safety

roach, könig, and horangi live in a three-bedroom apartment because the third bedroom was originally ghost's

outside of soap, ghost is probably closest to roach and sees him as a younger brother

no one except ghost knows how old roach is, he changes the answer every time someone asks him

roach was not born mute, it happened during a bar fight where he shielded ghost from someone with a broken bottle

ale/val/rudy have known each other since they were kids

rudy always had feelings for alejandro but never said anything, content to be friends

alejandro and valeria dated first, they broke up when valeria and alejandro disagreed with how to run the vaqueros

alejandro and rudy started dating in that time, but rudy broke up with him when valeria came back and rudy felt like alejandro wasn't over her

it was a lot of drama and feelings being shoved down that culminated in one night of drinking, arguing about emotions, and eventually a threesome

the three have been together ever since

alejandro and rudy do not necessarily approve of what valeria does with her own business - she takes a very jason todd approach to it all (aka "you can't stop crime, but you can control it") - but she does get positive results so the arguments are few and far between

rudy is a doctor first and foremost, but he's always enjoyed cooking (something something cutting into meat the same way he'd cut into a body something something) and it was his own suggestion for him to be the club chef

valeria never intended to do fashion design, but she enjoys the finer things and has specific tastes for how she wants to look

since every tailor/designer she had hired eventually ended up disappointing her, she took up the job herself

running a club was nik's idea, and it took him a few months and a lot of badgering to convince price to go along with it

price agreed only because 13-year-old gaz mumbled that "it'd be kinda cool" one night at dinner

the singer position at the club was made specifically for farah because she found comfort singing songs her mother used to sing to her and hadir when they were little

on special occasions, soap will take over at the bar and alex will get on stage and play guitar alongside farah as she sings

soap was gaz’s friend that he introduced to the club and he became fast friends with everyone

eventually price hired him after recognizing how smart and perceptive soap was

soap is in his position for a reason, the guests are more than happy to ogle the handsome server with too many buttons undone and not notice that he's watching them back with a far sharper eye

soap and ghost were supposed to be a one-time thing meant for stress relief but ghost caught feelings and kept coming back

it took ghost ages to admit he cared for soap and when the realization hit, it scared the hell out of him but roach convinced him to talk it out with soap

soap is the only person ghost would ever disobey price for, but he would never admit that

alex gushes to gaz about farah nonstop and talks about how he knew he was going to marry her the moment they met

gaz was happy for them, but he never really got it...until he met tabby

nik sometimes gets too drunk and reminisces about his wife back home

no one knows if he actually has a wife, or where “back home” is, his stories are all the same, but the little details change every time

könig and horangi were together before they joined the 141, and könig moved in with roach and ghost completely unaware that they worked for price

the 141 refers to kortac as "könig's people" because it's a far more complicated system of contacts and connections that would take a week to describe

ghost’s entire spine pops when he gets out of bed in the morning, and it freaks soap out

roach was a track star in highschool

price has the highest kill count in the 141, soap and valeria have a not-so-friendly competition going for second place

canary got her nickname from her father

graves did have romantic feelings for canary at one point, but that quickly got overshadowed by his want for adler to recognize and approve of him

adler only approved canary and graves’s marriage because canary asked him to - the contract was his one condition for that approval

russell adler died two days after canary and graves got married

graves only has two preferences when it comes to his women: rich & powerful

price cares about his people, but it borders on a possessiveness that he keeps very well hidden

price has built a very strict set of rules about who his people kill and how far they can and cannot go

he will end business relationships if someone steps out of line

valeria has come close on several occasions

makarov does not care - he will kill men, women, children, old, young, pregnant, etc. blood is blood, it doesn't matter who it comes from

that’s not say price wouldn’t do what needs to be done to protect his people

price cares about family above all else, and he will go scorched earth on anyone who would dare to threaten or hurt them

[apenitentialprayer]

Charlene Richard (pronounced REE-shard), as she appears in the picture on her gravestone (left), and how she appears on prayer cards (right)

Diagnosed with leukemia at age 12, Charlene was a Louisiana-born Catholic who, upon learning of the concept of the "victim soul" who offers their sufferings for the salvation of the world, prayed for the healing of those who were similarly sick and the conversion of others to Catholicism. Before she was ill, she had a daily devotion to the Rosary, and an interest in the life of Thérèse of Lisieux. After she passed, the chaplain of the hospital she was treated in began to pray to her daily, and attributes her intercession for his first parish assignment — the parish territory in which she is buried. In addition to Fr. Joseph Brennan's belief that she has frequently intervened in his life, at least three recoveries have been attributed to her as medical miracles, including the sudden and unexpected survival of an infant who was taken off life support; his grandfather had placed a prayer card dedicated to Charlene next to him. A folk saint almost immediately since her death in 1959, she was officially given the title Servant of God in 2020. Today (8/11/24) marks the 65th anniversary of her death.

Prayer to Charlene Richard

Charlene, when you were only twelve years old, you showed heroic faith, hope, and love; dying of leukemia, you joined yourself to Jesus on the Cross and offered your intense pain for others. You thereby echoed St. Paul's words to his people in Colossians 1:24: "Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am filling up what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ on behalf of His Body, the Church." Charlene, I believe you are with God. Please ask our Heavenly Father, His Only Begotten Son Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit to grant me the following favor: (State favor here). Charlene, thank you for helping me. May Jesus Christ always be praised, and may Mary, Jesus's ever-Virgin Mother, always be called blessed. Amen.

[cheesybadgers]

Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 19)

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 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24

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Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 7,943

Summary: Javier and Horacio deal with the aftermath of a fraught morning and try to make the most of life in Madrid. Meanwhile, Señora Romero and Chucho have some words of wisdom (as usual) for them.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Emotional smut (including ass play, spanking and aftercare), brief discussions of PTSD symptoms and healing, grief and parental loss, discussions of sexuality/coming out, allusions to period-typical and historical prejudices, smoking, swearing.

Notes: So, here's the second part of their Madrid adventures at last! But where to next? 👀 I'm currently working on chapter 20, which is taking a while because life, and also I swear the closer to the end I get, the harder it is to write lol.

Thank you once again to anyone still reading, or anyone who has recently jumped on board this emotional rollercoaster. I'm blown away by the comments I've received over the last couple of years and I still love hearing from people, so please feel free to drop me a line if you'd like to ❤️

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

Whilst obviously I do not own Narcos or its characters, please do not copy, re-post, or plagiarize this fic in any capacity on this or other platforms. If you wish to create any fan works inspired by it, please provide a credit or send me a message if in doubt.

Chapter 19: In The Same Boat

After breakfast and back at their apartment, Horacio took a shower, relieved to finally be rid of his running clothes now that the sweat had long since dried.

Javier soon joined him, capturing his waist from behind as eager lips met salty wet skin.

Horacio didn’t question why Javier was on his second cleansing of the day, instead nudging against the ridge of his shoulder, letting the steam envelop them and the hot jets wash away the stress of an eventful morning.

They wanted answers about what happened in their absences, but for now, their bodies did the talking. They gave into unspoken needs and an insistent craving to be as close as possible now further hurdles had been overcome, even if they weren’t sure which ones yet.

If Javier was hungrier and more demanding with what he took, Horacio indubitably noticed but didn’t object. How could he mind Javier’s nails scraping and scoring, marking Horacio like conquered territory?

Or the way he crouched between Horacio’s spread legs, parting generous handfuls of firm flesh, mouthing and biting with fervour along each buttock towards their inner seams, the bristle of facial hair scratching in all the right places.

Javier was guided by the moans above him as his nose pressed forwards, licking a trail north and south, alternating between flattening his tongue and outlining meandering patterns, skirting down to Horacio’s perineum and back up. Because anything less wouldn’t have been enough.

All Horacio could do was steady himself against the wall with one hand, the other rolling over supple skin and the taut ridges of his pectoral and abdominal muscles, ebbing and flowing like the Sierra de Guadarrama, a bittersweet reminder of his Andean homeland on their doorstep.

He engulfed and tweaked his nipples, journeying below the soft slope of his stomach and groin, fondling his balls, his fingers briefly making contact with Javier’s mouth and grounding them instantly.

A desperate growl rumbled through Horacio’s chest as he clenched his fist around the shaft of his cock and tugged in time with Javier lapping at the tight ring of muscle until he broached it. Shallow thrusts to begin with, increasing the depth and pace the fiercer Horacio shook and shuddered.

Javier never grew tired of being the one to reduce Horacio to a lascivious wreck, knowing it was an honour exclusively bestowed upon him, made even sweeter now they were no longer looking over their shoulders, waiting for a cruel twist of fate to intervene.

With that thought fresh in Javier’s mind, he didn’t hold back, devouring with ravenous greed, the ache in his knees insignificant compared to the sounds he was drawing from Horacio, who was all wounded grunts and choked back sobs, and it was music to Javier’s ears.

It didn’t take much for Horacio to fall apart on the fire of Javier’s tongue and the ice of his own iron grip, his eyes screwed shut and his spare hand thumping against the porcelain tiles as he came with a silent cry, teeth clamped down on his bottom lip for the benefit of their neighbours.

Once Horacio had recuperated, Javier peeled himself off the floor and manoeuvred them under the faucet, their mouths fusing together as they rinsed off. There was no let-up, the rough collision of limbs building momentum until Javier’s breathless invocations echoed as loudly around the room as the sweet percussion of a palm against his ass, a slow burn blush blooming with each prayer answered.

“Are you sure?” had been Horacio’s first question, always compelled to check in whenever Javier displayed vulnerability like this.

But Javier was certain. He needed it in the way his lungs sucked on air. Needed Horacio to hold the reins now, to clear his mind so he could focus on the present. On every sensation, word of encouragement and exhalation. To leave physical evidence on Javier’s body, an undeniable reminder that Horacio was here, safe, and trusted to take care of him precisely how he desired.

So, who was Horacio to refuse? Not when Javier’s supplicating gaze scorched his own, kindling an inscrutable and mortifying urge to sink to his knees and recite the Pledge of Allegiance.

But instead, he positioned Javier facing the tiles, smoothing his hand back and forth, massaging each pert cheek to stimulate the blood flow, letting the anticipation build because he knew that was part of the thrill for Javier, not knowing when he would strike.

Seconds of stillness followed; the steady stream of water the only sound to be heard until Horacio permeated the silence with the flat of his palm.

He started off with little more than a mild tap, gauging where Javier was at, easing into it and letting him dictate how far this went.

A series of progressively bracing swats came next, alternating from side to side, caressing the areas he targeted as a balm to the prickling heat. “You’re doing so good for me, Javier,” he praised, his free hand stroking up and down Javier’s back in reassurance. “Tell me what you need.”

Javier’s forehead rested on his hand against the wall, his teeth wedged into his fist whenever Horacio let loose. “I need more,” he stated after taking a deep breath, knowing Horacio would waver in granting his request without such succinct clarity.

Several more vigorous slaps ensued, causing something between a huff and a groan to release from Javier’s throat as his body jerked and his cock twitched. “Harder,” came his response no sooner had the vibrations reached the seat of his ass.

Horacio took his time despite Javier’s demand, subduing with delicate circles as though polishing fine glass, allowing the cascading water to counteract the sting.

There was an agonising pause, rendering it impossible for Javier to second guess when it would end until it was too late.

A crystal clear thwack crackled through the air, followed by another and another, sending Javier into a wave of spasms that left bite marks on the back of his hand and tears welling in his eyes.

He was sure there must be pain buried beneath the pleasure that he would feel later, but for now, he was floating, delirious, gone. Fuck any drug the cartels had to offer because no way in hell could it ever be as good as this.

But he was determined not to take himself in hand or grind against the tiles; that was too easy. This required complete concentration and discipline, reducing Javier’s existence to nothing but Horacio’s touch and his response.

“Horacio, please.” He panted out his final beg for mercy, knowing it wouldn’t take much more to bring him home.

Horacio couldn’t be sure if it was the light glinting in the trickling water droplets, illuminating the imprint of his hand that had him fraying at the edges, or how his palm tingled, triggering a chain reaction all the way down to his groin again. But before he could stop himself, he covered Javier’s back with his body, his left hand meeting Javier’s on the wall.

The scent of Javier’s shampoo was potent, intoxicating, and lethal as Horacio buried his face in a mass of thick, damp hair, almost knocking the wind out of them simultaneously. They kept still, both trying to deepen their tremoring breaths, Horacio counting to 10 in his head and Javier closing his eyes in preparation.

Horacio retreated, leaving his left hand connected with Javier’s whilst his right resumed its position, gently cupping and kneading, teasing his knuckles between Javier’s cheeks.

There was a lull in movement, the tide receding as a prelude to the incoming tsunami, their pulses deafening in their ears as time froze and suspended them in a torturous self-imposed vacuum.

But then a seismic release set them free, plunging Javier’s weight against the tiles, no amount of chewing on his fist able to suppress the whimpered cry or control his quivering form as he came with Horacio’s name somewhere on the tip of his tongue but lost amidst the onslaught of concentrated bliss.

He couldn’t move even if he wanted to, merely trying to breathe whilst Horacio removed the shower hose from its cradle, letting the restorative warmth of the water soothe the tenderness, the temperature gradually reducing to lukewarm then cooler once Javier was accustomed to it, extinguishing the flames.

Horacio dried them off, dabbing the towel meticulously over Javier until he replaced it with chaste kisses then sweet almond oil, mapping a path across his ass, covering every inch, and taking extra time with the rawest patches of skin. He needed this part of the ritual as much as Javier did. Needed to be the caregiver at both ends of the spectrum and to still be touching Javier because that was what he needed in return.

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They delayed dressing in favour of entangling themselves beneath the bedsheets after rehydrating and sharing a bowl of fresh strawberries bought from their favourite food market the previous day. It wasn’t as though they had anywhere to be, after all.

A solitary cigarette passed between them, the only nicotine-fuelled vice of the day worth having anymore. It was customary for either man to trace patterns through chest hair as he took a drag, their fingers and lips meeting somewhere in the middle, transferring cigarette and smoke in one smooth motion.

Their cigarette was now stubbed out in the ashtray by the bed, swapped for playing with each other’s hands whilst Javier lay tucked into Horacio’s side.

His fingers skimmed over the coarse edges of Horacio’s, sliding to the softness at the centre of his palm, then down to his wrist. Javier lingered until he got what he came for, the slow, steady beat keeping his own rhythm in check after a fraught start to the morning.

From there, Horacio dusted kisses across Javier's knuckles until Javier unfurled his fingers, offering them up for the same treatment, and Horacio gladly obliged.

It could have been minutes or hours they lay like this, lost in touch, neither wanting to break the spell.

But as Horacio’s hand snaked up Javier’s torso, pausing to play with the warmed silver chain, he folded first. “I’m sorry I was late.”

“You don’t need to apologise for being cornered. These things happen.”

“It wasn’t just that, though.” Horacio stroked his thumb over the surface of the cross. For comfort or courage, or both, he wasn’t sure. He explained everything about Álvaro, even down to the disconcerting parallels he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge. “He could’ve been me, Javier. He was me. And if it hadn’t been for you – for us – I think he still would be. Either that, or I’d be dead.”

“But he’s not you. You’re not that man anymore. Look how far you’ve come, Horacio. You got out. And you found your inner cowboy.”

Horacio gave Javier a withering look, ignoring the devilish spark in his eyes. “I’m not a fucking cowboy.”

“But that’s what you want, though, right? To be a rancher?”

Horacio had thought long and hard about this, especially when confronted with the ghosts of his old life. Any worries about being lured back in were swiftly abated. If anything, it confirmed what he, deep down, already suspected. “Yeah, I think I do. But only if you still want to move back to Texas.”

“I thought I’d never move back. But after I left Colombia, you seemed so at home. And for once, so did I.” Javier didn’t say the rest out loud because he didn’t need to. His book dedication had done it for him.

“I was,” was all Horacio managed to get out before he kissed Javier, unhurried and thorough.

“It’s not like I’ve got any career plans lined up elsewhere anyway,” Javier added once they pulled apart.

“There’s still time to figure it out.”

A knowing smile passed over Javier’s lips. “That’s what Señora Romero said this morning. After I fucking lost it because you were a few minutes late.” His smile morphed into a self-deprecating scoff, traces of embarrassment still left over despite the kindness he had been shown.

“What?”

Now it was Javier’s turn to open up; for the second time that day. He reclined against Horacio’s chest, the fingers stroking through his hair relaxing his mind and muscles as he talked.

“Fuck, Javier, I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, hey, no. It’s not your fault. And it’s not your responsibility to fucking babysit me. I was fine after a drink and a pep talk.”

Horacio strained his neck to meet Javier’s eye with an incredulous look.

“Okay, well, after that, then.”

“I didn’t go too far, did I?”

“No. It was perfect,” Javier replied without hesitation, meeting Horacio’s gaze head-on and with ease. A simmering afterglow had overtaken the initial sensitivity, but he was confident he would feel it for the rest of the day, maybe even tomorrow if he was lucky. “Was, er, was it good for you too?”

The luscious whip of his palm was still vivid in Horacio’s mind, along with Javier’s pleas for more and the spiral of his tongue as he fucked and feasted. Not to mention how the tension they had been carrying throughout the morning visibly dissipated in the aftermath.

“I think perfect just about covers it,” he replied, hunting down Javier’s mouth again before they collapsed into each other’s arms.

“Señora Romero’s been through a lot too,” Javier said after a soporific silence almost tempted them towards slumber.

“I know. She never talked about it much. But after the bombing, she mentioned Spain was always carrying old wounds.”

“I guess we all are. So, there are bound to be bad days sometimes.”

Horacio hummed in agreement against Javier’s forehead. “I should’ve been there with you, though.”

“You’re here now.”

Another string of kisses followed, the next more charged than the last. Because now wasn’t just tomorrow, the next day, week, month, or even year. Now was the rest of their lives.

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They could easily have whiled away the rest of the day in bed. But the sun’s heat had broken through the haze of early morning fog by lunchtime, and it was the ideal afternoon for a walk around El Retiro Park.

The park was rarely quiet, but it was vast enough to disperse the crowds into all corners. They started with the gardens and fountains, one, in particular, stopping them in their tracks.

“Well, that’s…striking,” Javier said, cocking his head and taking off his aviators to get a better look at the imposing statue in front of them.

“La Fuente del Ángel Caído. The Fountain of the Fallen Angel. It’s the moment Lucifer was cast out of heaven.”

Javier turned to Horacio with a raised brow. “So, are you an expert in all artistic impressions of the devil, or just this one?”

Horacio feigned an irked glare. “I used to run this way sometimes with it being so close to the Consulate.”

“Oh, well, that’s a relief.”

It was the truth, but at that time of Horacio’s life, there was a strange and dark affinity to be found with the story of a fallen angel in exile. Occasionally, he would stop to study the fountain in all its horrifying glory, a visceral reminder of why he was here.

They quickly moved on to the Palacio de Cristal, the weather optimal for the impressive architecture above them. Sunbeams descended a halo down from the glass roof, a hush spreading through the crowd as they craned their necks in awe. It gave the building the peaceful atmosphere of a church, but it was a world away from the harsh wooden pew Horacio had prayed in every week.

Without meaning to, his hand brushed against Javier’s as they stood side-by-side, barely a hair’s breadth between them, and too subtle to be noticed by anyone around them.

Javier didn’t flinch, didn’t even look in Horacio’s direction, yet for the briefest of moments, their fingers connected in a way that could have been passed off as accidental if necessary. But of course, they knew there was nothing accidental about them whatsoever.

They came to the lake next, sitting on steps that led up to a grand monument by the water. On the base of it lay a statue of King Alfonso XII with three smaller ones beneath representing peace, freedom and progress, a stark contrast to the Fallen Angel.

“I never found the time to come down here before, but it’s a beautiful spot,” Horacio said, wishing he was wearing his Stetson now he was having to squint in the sun.

“Yeah, it is.”

Somewhere between arriving at the lake and finding a free spot, Javier exchanged conversation for staring out across the water.

Whilst watching the hire boats glide backwards and forwards, out of nowhere, he was reminded of the river back home. The traffickers made it look as easy as a leisure pastime. Like they never got the memo about the turbulent currents that required navigating life as the Rio Grande did, flowing in limbo and helplessly watching the gulf between each side widen like a splitting wound.

Javier vaguely remembered hearing stories from his Abuelas and Abuelos about their journeys across the border. But it wasn’t a subject he and Chucho talked about much. Officially, that was due to Chucho being so young at the time, but unofficially, Javier wasn’t stupid. He knew of the bleak dangers and challenges involved with moving to el otro lado, as he often heard the other side called, more so now than back then, and he always suspected there were stories his Pops would rather keep to himself.

“Hey, you still in there?”

Horacio’s voice brought Javier back down to earth. “Yeah. Sorry.”

It was typical of him to be sitting here ignoring Horacio and the scenery in favour of daydreaming about the very place they came here to take a break from. Their late morning interlude had apparently taken it out of him, and he was already reverting to losing himself in thought rather than focusing on the present.

But as Javier went through the day’s events, his attention still on the lake, an idea came to him. He could sense he was being watched as a playful smirk took hold. “Fancy a ride?”

It didn’t take long for Horacio’s mind to wander, despite the fact he could plainly see what Javier was referring to. Always the tease, which he’d no doubt pay for later. “Only if you take it in turns with the rowing.”

“Deal.”

Soon after, they set off from the jetty in a pale blue and white rowing boat. Horacio took the oar first, the reason already paying dividends as he watched Javier trying but failing not to fixate on Horacio’s arms.

“Nice view out here,” Horacio deadpanned.

Javier cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, triggering a welcomed reminder from a matter of hours ago and handing victory straight to Horacio. “You could say that.”

That was all Horacio had wanted in the way of revenge because two could play at that game.

They rowed in comfortable silence, taking in their picturesque surroundings and the fact it was easy to be around others yet still be alone here. From a quick glance at other boating parties, there was a diverse mix of groups and couples, and no one appeared remotely interested in them for a change. It was an antidote to the heavy conversations and emotions from earlier, even if that had been a necessary step for them to take.

“Do you think this still counts as a bad day?” Javier asked now that Horacio had taken a break from rowing, letting them slowly drift in the deserted end of the lake.

“A bad start, maybe. But I think we might’ve just about salvaged it.”

“Me too.”

Their eyes met across the boat, the afternoon light casting them in a golden hue. Their feet were the only part of them touching, both a frustration and a catalyst. But they knew that would be rectified once in the privacy of their apartment.

“We better be getting back,” Horacio said with reluctance. “Especially as it’s your turn to row.”

That earned him a “Fuck you” and a splash of water in his general direction.

But Javier accepted the oar, and set a course back to the jetty, Señora Romero’s words still echoing in his ears.

Because she was right; they couldn’t always be in the same boat. It was unrealistic to expect otherwise. But they could work hard to be as much as possible. They could take turns to bear the load, be the other’s anchor and cherish the times they succeeded. And today was proof of that.

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In the week before Easter, there were celebrations across the city for La Semana Santa. Whilst Javier and Horacio preferred peace and quiet to the processions through the streets, they couldn’t say no to Señora Romero’s invitation to a festive meal.

As it turned out, they were also roped into helping with food preparations in exchange for an extra pitcher of lemonade and leftovers to fill their freezer up to the brim.

Señora Romero’s family were to visit the next day, so they made multiple batches, and it was all hands on deck. They prepared an array of dishes, including espinacas con garbanzos, empanadas, croquetas de bacalao, bartolillos madrileños, buñuelos de viento, flores fritas, and torrijas, passing along their contributions like a conveyer belt, Señora Romero issuing instructions without even looking up from her work.

“My Mamá would’ve evicted us from the kitchen by now,” Javier said after his first attempts at frying flores fritas resulted in a sea of uneven misshapes floating in the pan of hot oil.

“No such luck today, Javier. Try holding the mould for longer in the oil after each one. The batter won’t stick to it if it’s not hot enough.”

Javier did as he was directed. And lo and behold, Horacio soon was sprinkling sugar and cinnamon over light, crisp, fully-defined flowers.

“And give yourselves some credit,” Señora Romero continued, finishing cutting up her empanada dough and spooning filling into the segments. “Your tamales are delicious. My lot will be lucky if there are any left by tomorrow. You’ll have to tell me your secret.”

Repeating their success from Laredo had been a challenge in their apartment kitchen as it wasn't as well-equipped or organised as Chucho’s. There must have been something about the simple domesticity of the situation that appealed to them – or perhaps memories from the guesthouse – as they found a pleasing way to pass the time whilst their tamale fillings cooked, involving Javier sitting on top of the kitchen unit, legs wrapped around Horacio and their hips grinding together. They didn’t undress, the friction of their jeans enough to have the desired effect.

“Oh, just plenty of practice over the years.” Javier's tone was guileless, although the roguish expression he fixed Horacio with told another story.

The heat rising in Horacio’s cheeks rivalled the pot of oil simmering on the stove, and it was time to rescue the conversation fast. “Erm, yeah, the pork ones are my Abuela Margarita’s recipe. Alejandra and I made them every Christmas. My Papá would watch us like a hawk. He said it was so we didn't burn the house down, but I think he wanted to be first in line for the tamales.”

It seemed stupid in hindsight, but Horacio looked forward to his Papá checking up on them like that because it at least meant he was home and spending time with them rather than with his work. It meant he was proud of Horacio, even if it was in the most trivial of ways.

“My Mamá made them when I was a kid. Pop insisted on the beef being from our best cattle, though, because he always wanted the best for us." The mischief in Javier's eye had been replaced with something more earnest. That had been the one role his Mamá allowed his Pops to undertake when it came to the tamales, and it was a role taken seriously.

“So many of my family’s traditions started in the kitchen. Recipes I use in the café were handed down to me through the generations, ones I’ve made with care and love; over and over again. What better way to remember those no longer around?" Señora Romero broke off to place her tray of egg-washed empanadas into the oven. "And that would certainly explain it too.”

“Explain what?” Horacio asked.

“Your secret,” she replied with a simple smile, as though it was the most obvious statement anyone could ever have made.

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The morning passed in the blink of an eye as they filled the apartment with a tempting blend of aromas, and it was late afternoon when they sat down to enjoy the fruits of their labour.

Plates, bowls, and dishes filled the table, and they tucked into a feast that rivalled one of Chucho’s. Not that Javier dared to ever tell his Pops that.

Once they had eaten as much as their stomachs allowed and chatted over coffee long past sunset, Javier bid Señora Romero goodnight, taking two large Tupperware boxes of leftovers back to their apartment, a haul that would stave off hunger for at least a month or two.

Horacio stayed behind to help Señora Romero clear up the kitchen. He was the designated washer whilst she dried, on account of knowing where to put each item back in its rightful place.

Once all the cutlery, cups, and plates were washed, Horacio refilled the sink, a comfortable lull in conversation settling over them.

“It was him, wasn’t it?” Señora Romero asked after she delivered a second load of dishes to be washed. “When I asked if there was someone back home.”

Horacio switched the tap off now the sink was full, concentrating intently on swirling soap suds and a cloth around the serving bowl he had plunged under water. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, dear. You didn’t owe me an explanation then, and you don’t owe me one now. I understand when the newspapers have been no better than the days of Franco. And mark my words; those were dark, dark days.”

A righteous anger erupted from the surface in Señora Romero’s tone. It was one that Horacio had rarely heard but recognised and understood instantly.

“Spain’s old wounds,” he stated rather than asked.

“On good days, I like to think of it more as scar tissue.”

“Makes sense.”

“We used to hide people whenever there were raids. Sometimes you’d know why they were hiding. Other times, you didn’t ask; you just did it. Anything to keep them from harm. So, please know that you and Javier will always be safe here.”

“Thank you. That means a lot.”

“How was it living in Texas?”

“There was gossip, a few looks and comments, as you can imagine. But Chucho, Javier’s father, was like – he treated me like family.”

“Sounds like we’d get along. And what about your family?”

“I, er, haven’t told them. Alejandra knows I’m here but not why or who I’m with. I never told her or my Mamá about Laredo either. So, I know I owe them the truth.”

“It’s your truth, and you decide if or when you share it with anyone else, Horacio. I can’t pretend to know your family, but if my child or brother had been through everything you have, I’d count my blessings he was alive and well. And happy.”

A palm landed on Horacio’s soapy hand resting at the edge of the sink, the last few dishes now cleared. He had no words to offer beyond thank you, even if that felt wholly inadequate.

He wished her goodnight, returning home to join Javier in bed, both wiped out after a busy day of good company and far too much food.

Horacio slotted himself in front of Javier, back to chest. Slow, deep exhales and groggy mumbles passed between them as Javier instinctively scooped Horacio closer to him, an acknowledgement of each other’s presence without the expectation of conversation.

Javier soon fell back to sleep, leaving Horacio caught somewhere in the middle as snapshots that could have been dreams or memories – or both – played like an old slideshow in his head.

In one, he and Alejandra were kids again, flicking water from the kitchen sink and squealing with delight. He couldn’t see them, but he knew their parents were in the next room as faint traces of their voices travelled through the house.

In another, Horacio was his current age, standing at the sink in what he remembered of Alejandra’s kitchen in Manizales. Every surface was piled high with dishes waiting to be washed and dried. A flash of movement in the corner of his eye revealed his Papá walking briskly across the room, his police uniform a vivid green even though the outline of his form was incorporeal.

Horacio followed and called after him as they made their way through the house, but there was no response. He looped back to where he started, his father now gone as he stood by the sink with hands submerged in hot, soapy water. He noticed the dishes stacked on the drainer were somehow clean, so pulled the plug, water whirlpooling down the drain until all that was left was suds…and a glint of gold. He reached through the bubbles until he was grasping his father’s necklace.

That was enough to pull him fully awake, the spasm in his limbs causing a chain reaction as Javier roused too.

“You okay?”

“Hmm, yeah, I think I was dreaming. I’m fine, though.” Horacio shuffled them around the other way, placing a reassuring kiss at the nape of Javier’s neck. “Go back to sleep.”

It was likely an exchange neither would remember in the morning. But as they settled down again, and Javier placed their hands over the crucifix at his sternum, Horacio swore he could feel an invisible weight around his own neck.

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The transition between spring and summer in Madrid was abrupt if you weren’t used to it. But one advantage to August was most Madrileños escaped to the coast or mountains for respite from the heat. It left the city emptier than usual, which was more than fine by Javier and Horacio.

It was a strange contradiction for them to seek refuge in a city as lively as Madrid when they preferred the tranquillity of ranch life these days, but city living brought anonymity. Las Posadas was like being under the microscope, whereas no one bothered them here.

Prime shaded spots in the park or the outdoor seating at cafés and restaurants were plentiful. And there were no problems hiring a boat at El Retiro Park before the hottest part of the day kicked in. Then they would hide out in their apartment during siesta hours.

It was doubtful if many people actually slept during siesta these days. But it did mean some shops closed for a few hours, and a general hush would fall over the city.

Sometimes, they would watch T.V. and old films or listen to the radio. Occasionally, Horacio would read aloud to Javier like last Christmas, the significance of Lorca’s words being spoken in their shared apartment, in this country not lost on them. On reflective days, it was rare but not unheard of for hands to connect, their cross clasped between their palms and their minds quiet.

There were also regular phone calls to Laredo, Miami and Medellín. It was funny; in the months they had been in Madrid, Javier had spoken more with his Pop than his entire time in Colombia. His Mamá was often a topic of conversation, Javier making sure to tell his Pops he’d been reading her book here as instructed.

“She always had her head in a book. And she always dreamed of travelling. She was like you when she was younger; she had her heart set on leaving Laredo. Even though your grandparents did everything they could to keep them here. But maybe that was why she wanted to spread her wings; I don’t know.”

“What changed her mind?”

“She met me.”

“Oh, well, good to know ruining lives is a Peña family trait.”

“Think of it as a gift, Mijo. I can’t take all the credit, though. She built herself a good community here. And then, she got involved with the farmers’ unions before she was ill. I think she was just getting started.”

They moved on to how Abuelito Mauricio never intended to settle permanently in Texas. He had left Abuelita Imelda and their brood – Chucho being the eldest – back in a rural town in Guanajuato, and he would send his wages home to them each month. Once the then-small plot of land he scrimped and saved to purchase grew, and made a profit, the rest of the family followed.

“What did Abuela Rosa and Abuelo Guillermo do again?”

“Your Abuelo ran a grocery store downtown, and your Abuela was a seamstress. She did more than that, though, especially in the ‘30s, when they nearly lost the store. Some of their extended family were repatriated back to Michoacán. And many of their customers left for Mexico too. So, they had no staff, and takings were down. Your Abuela managed every cent and dollar of their finances. She’d mend clothes for a small fee or in exchange for food to make sure they never went without.”

“Sounds hard.”

“It was. The ranch struggled too. There weren’t many workers left, and most people couldn’t afford a lot of meat. But we were luckier than most. Some never came back, and even those who did were strangers on one side of the border and a threat on the other. Things got ugly for a while.”

“What happened to the ones who came back?”

“They had to start from scratch again. Local charities were set up to help with travel costs, finding somewhere to live, reuniting separated families, that sort of thing. Your grandparents did what they could to help. It was your Abuelita’s idea to build the guesthouses. Your Abuelito took on labourers struggling to find work for the construction. Then they hosted a few families until they got back on their feet. I think that's why your mother wanted to keep them over the years – because someone always needs them.”

It wasn’t the first time Javier had been told about his family history, but it might have been the first time he asked. And it was strange how differently the same pieces of information could be interpreted depending on the stage of life in which they were shared. In his youth, it was hard to see the drawbacks of leaving Laredo. Because anywhere else had to be better.

But now, all he could think was how much of a throw of the dice it was. Too many families weren’t as lucky as his parents; they never got the option of crossing back over the bridge or pursuing the illusive American Dream. And if fate had decided otherwise, Javier could have grown up on the bank of the Río Bravo rather than the Rio Grande.

Chucho would also discuss ranch business with Horacio, updating him on staff changes, how the newborn calves were thriving, and the latest local gossip.

“Ciro’s thinking of selling up,” he informed Horacio one afternoon.

“Hasn’t he threatened that before?”

“Oh, plenty of times when his back plays up. Or when the weather’s on the turn. But Malena’s health isn’t so good now. And like me, Ciro’s not getting any younger. He was talking about moving closer to their daughter in San Antonio.”

Ciro and Malena Ortega owned the corn farm next door and had been there long since before Javier was born. They had always shared a close professional and personal relationship with the Peñas by selling them feed grain for the livestock and helping in any way possible during and after Mariana’s illness.

“Have they found a buyer? Or are we going to need a new supplier?”

“Not sure yet, to be honest, Mijo. I’ll keep you posted.”

They rounded off their catch-up with the latest on Luna’s, Sol’s and Leo’s adventures. But when Horacio discovered that Luna still waited outside the guesthouse door from time to time, he almost booked himself on the next flight to Laredo.

He had also managed to catch up with Trujillo a couple of times. But it was hard pinning down a busy Major tasked with clearing up whatever dregs were left of the Medellín cartel. After Steve opened his big mouth about Trujillo’s girlfriend, Horacio had half a suspicion he was being avoided deliberately.

In Miami, Connie was back in the E.R. part-time now Olivia was old enough for day-care. A promotion and countless commendations had been thrown Steve’s way since the New Year. If anyone suspected he was the source of the Cali intel – and both Javier and Steve knew someone would – they didn’t let on, apparently too busy getting off on the reflected glory of the Escobar circus.

“There’s a rumour we’re gonna be offered a fuckin’ book deal,” Steve said with a bemused snigger during one of their phone calls.

“A rumour from who?”

“My boss. My boss’ boss. Probably my boss’ boss’ boss. How about it, Javi? Fancy being an author now you’re unemployed? We could make a fortune.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” was Javier’s only response to that suggestion.

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

Regardless of what they did during siesta hours, one thing often led to another. They were hot and sweaty anyway, might as well fully commit or continue in the shower if the heat got too much.

Even though they didn’t have jobs to get back to, it was an indulgence to set aside time in the middle of the day for sex. It couldn’t have been further from their previous lives. But here, they could drag it out as long as they liked, teasing and edging each other, keeping their bodies still for as long as possible. It was as relaxing as it was arousing, intimate as much as it was erotic, and an apt way to spend downtime gifted to them by the city that once kept them apart.

This time, they had been reading on the bed before becoming distracted by lying mouth to cock in exquisite symmetry across the mattress. It was all bobbing heads and bucking hips swallowed down with muffled purrs of pleasure until they were satiated.

Fresh out of the shower, Horacio lay back on his pillow with a towel around his waist. From this angle, the mirrored wardrobe door reflected the image of Javier in the same attire as he shaved over the bathroom sink. There was still something sacred about witnessing the day-to-day rituals like this, and it was impossible to take them for granted.

“Did you always know?” Horacio asked once Javier re-joined him.

A vague question on the face of it, but Javier had already seen his copy of Giovanni’s Room on Horacio’s nightstand with a bookmark slotted in the centre of it.

“Not always. But there was this new ranch hand when I was about 10 or 11. He must’ve been 23, 24. I never spoke to him, just watched him work. I thought I wanted to be like him – I think everyone thought I’d follow in Pops’ footsteps back then. But, er, one summer, I walked in on him changing his shirt in the stables and,” Javier broke off with a boyish grin, “that was that.”

“So, that’s why you have a thing for cowboys.”

“Just the one cowboy these days, actually.” Javier shifted to face Horacio, fingers dipping beneath his towel seam until he squirmed. “Nothing ever happened with him; I was just a kid. I tried to ignore it, went to church, chased girls. And obviously, I couldn’t tell anyone. But it was always there in the background. Like some sort of...fucking unscratched itch. Then at high school, I met Antonio.”

Javier hadn’t said his name out loud in decades, but it stung more than expected. Antonio was Javier’s first…not quite everything, but it felt like it at the time. For almost two years, they were inseparable. They shared similar heritage and backgrounds, although Antonio’s family were crop farmers rather than ranchers. Not that it mattered when they had twice as much land to explore in the holidays or when Javier needed to escape the deafening quiet of the farmhouse now that it was just him and Pops. Or when they hid in the cab of one of Antonio’s father’s harvesters, passing a bottle of Chucho’s whiskey between them until they were drunk enough to take the plunge.

The following months were a whirlwind of exhilaration, fear, discovery and shame. Like the door had been unlocked on something that had never been a possibility until it was. However, they knew it couldn’t last. It had been a close enough call on the afternoon that Chucho came home earlier than expected. But the beginning of the end came when, without warning, Antonio’s family sold their farm and moved back to Mexico. Javier never did find out why, but once the place was up for sale, Antonio was no longer allowed to visit the ranch. And the only time they saw each other, and the only place they could say goodbye, was at school.

It was clear to Horacio that Javier wasn’t going to elaborate further. And if he wasn’t telling, Horacio certainly wasn’t asking. “I was in my first year at the Academy.”

“You about to make me jealous with stories of all the men in uniform you had your way with?”

“If you must know, there was just one…Andrés.”

Horacio hadn’t thought about him in a long time, a ghost from the past he preferred to keep there. He and Andrés were assigned to the same training barracks when they were cadets. There were supposed to be another two trainees sharing their bunkroom, but one withdrew his place at the Academy at the last minute; the other was a no-show at the first induction meeting and was automatically excluded.

Without the camaraderie of other cadets in their sleeping quarters, they had no choice but to rely on the other for company, which was no easy feat at the beginning when neither was particularly talkative. Bit by bit, they bonded over their work, discovering they both had fathers further up the ranks. It was often a bone of contention for other cadets, but that was never a problem between them.

There were subtle signs, lingering looks, and shared smokes even before they started gravitating towards each other in the shower blocks. Whilst there was an unspoken eyes-down rule that wasn’t worth a man’s life to break, when they were the last ones left under the spray, gradually, glance by glance, it was broken until their eyes locked, breathing hard, fists clenched by their sides. Nothing happened there and then, but it was a different story later that night behind the safety of a closed door and beneath starched sheets.

They never talked about it, couldn’t even if they’d wanted to, which they didn’t because there was nothing to acknowledge in the first place. Yet it happened again and a few more times after that, always under the cover of darkness, apart from one reckless time in the shower block when they didn’t have the discipline to wait, the thrill of it heightened and tempered by the possibility of being caught in the act.

But then, one morning, Horacio woke to find Andrés’ bed made and his belongings gone. He had requested and been granted a transfer to his father’s regiment without telling anyone. A perk of being a General’s son, Horacio supposed. He never heard from Andrés again.

“Even after him, I brushed it off as…circumstantial. An occupational hazard.” Disbelief caught in Horacio’s throat at the blatant denial in that sentiment, but it wasn’t like he knew better. Not when dread and nausea washed away any unnameable fleeting feelings that may have surfaced in his pre-Academy days. “Women were the only option, so I buried myself in work and tried to forget.”

“Before ‘81, right?”

“Yeah. So, maybe a blessing in disguise.”

“No maybe about it.” Javier’s sight line suddenly landed on the ceiling, even though he was the one who went there first.

This wasn’t a subject they liked to talk about, but there was no escaping the way the last decade and more had played out, even when they were neck-deep in the world of cartels and cocaine. Maybe now the dust had settled, and their minds weren’t so full of work, they were finally able to come to terms with all of it. Maybe now they could see so much of their pasts had been born out of fear.

“I still got tested when I was with Juliana, though. And with you.”

“I was the same after Lorraine. And definitely when I was in Colombia.” Javier couldn’t help but laugh, even though it wasn’t funny to think of those days anymore. Not because he was ashamed of sex, but he couldn’t deny it had been a sticking plaster at times. In his defence, despite the stance of the Catholic Church, he used condoms. Until Horacio, that was. “I never would’ve let you…if I hadn’t been sure.”

“Me neither.”

Horacio rolled on his side until they were face-to-face, his hand cupping Javier’s cheek, gently coaxing his gaze back to him.

Their lips met, both fully aware they had survived two war zones when the odds were stacked against them. When too many men like them hadn’t been so lucky. They had seen the headlines, the ostracization, the mishandling, and those in power looking the other way. But they were still here, alive and well. Surer of themselves and each other than ever before.

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Javier sat down at the kitchen table, bleary-eyed and reaching straight for the pot of coffee left waiting for him, the rich scent alone beginning to stir him awake. As much as he preferred staying in bed wrapped around Horacio, that wasn’t the most comfortable option at this time of year. At least there was still shade to be found outside at this hour, and Horacio was to bring back a breakfast of hot, fresh churros from Café Romero on the route home from his run. So, Javier could hardly complain.

He was several sips into his coffee when a key turned in the lock.

Horacio came through to the kitchen carrying the churros and what appeared to be a newspaper with a small envelope perched on top of it.

“Perfect timing, I’m starving,” Javier declared as he grabbed the bag and divided the churros across two plates.

Horacio murmured a vague “Me too” in reply. But his attention was focused on the envelope, which was addressed to him in familiar handwriting.

He tore the edge of it carefully and pulled out a card, a proud smile spreading across his lips after just a couple of seconds.

“What’s that?” Javier asked as he dusted excess sugar off his fingers.

Horacio handed the card over without elaborating.

Javier read it and soon had a smile to match Horacio’s. “I take it we’re going, then?”

“Of course we are.” He joined Javier at the table, his stomach swooping like he had missed a step on the stairs. “But I think I need to make a phone call first.”

[aviculor]

The new film adaptation of Salem's Lot is here. I haven't read the novel or seen either tv miniseries, but I know it's about a writer who moves to a rural town in Maine and the town is evil. Why yes, it was written by Stephen King, how did you guess? Anyway, the townsfolk are being turned into vampires. Sorry to spoil a book that was written in 1975. It's a vampire story.

I was looking forward to this, but I forgot the release date and I was pleasantly surprised to find out it was my next day off.

Oh no, it's the world's toughest 8 year old who even the teachers are afraid of. Let me guess, is his dad the sheriff or something? A plucky band of kids whose bullies are legitimate threats to their lives is of course another Stephen King staple, most notably seen in It.

There's some really great visuals here. I liked seeing Straker appear behind the boys in the woods, I liked the scene of Danny awakening after his funeral, and I loved the scene of Danny trying to get Mark to let him in. The dialogue is a little iffy at times, but that's to be expected given the territory of a Stephen King adaptation. Better than an H.P. Lovecraft adaptation though. Fucking Suitable Flesh.

I do have to admit it's a little funny how the runtime is nearly two hours but we barely even bothered with the "What are you talking about? Vampires aren't real" stage. But broad strokes, I'm liking this.

"This is some shit."

I'm not sure if a rabies shot is going to help, but by all means. Oh, I guess it did. Okay.

That 11 year old boy is unflappable.

With all the "modern twists" that have been going around for decades, maybe it is a good thing to just have a traditional, old-fashioned vampire movie with modern production values. Have I mentioned that I'm looking forward to Nosferatu this Christmas?

[lamaenthel]

Tivaevae | Chapter Fifteen: Epilogue

Still struggling to emotionally recover from Master Obi-Wan's deception, Ahsoka discovers in the aftermath that twelve-year-old Boba Fett has been locked up among adults in the Republic Judiciary Central Detention Center. After convincing Chancellor Palpatine to grant him a pardon, she manages to secure his release on the condition that she serve as his legal guardian. Now, with the help of Master Plo and the Wolfpack, she vows to help him track down what family he has left.

| AO3 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 |

Fandom: Star Wars Characters: Ahsoka Tano, Boba Fett, Plo Koon, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Mace Windu, Kanan Jarrus, Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious, CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives, CC-1119 | Appo, Dexter Jettster, FLO | WA-7 (Star Wars), Shaak Ti, ARC Commander Blitz (Star Wars), CT-6922 | Dogma, Original Clone Trooper Character(s) (Star Wars), CC-3636 | Wolffe, Clone Trooper Sinker (Star Wars), Clone Trooper Comet (Star Wars), CC-2224 | Cody, CT-5597 | Jesse, CT-4860 | Boost, Aurra Sing, Tobias Beckett, Null-11 | Ordo Skirata, Kal Skirata, Original Mandalorian Characters (Star Wars), Original Droid Characters (Star Wars), Original Jedi Character(s) (Star Wars) Total Word Count: 123,000 Chapter Word Count: 2,938 Chapter Summary: Ahsoka finally meets Taarak.

The crèche still smelled the same as it had as far back as Ahsoka could remember; chalky aquarelle paint and sweet craft paste, sharp calligraphy ink and sun-warmed tatami mats, all overlaid with the minty dalas wood incense that Crèchemaster Vereixem always claimed was calming to a child's disposition. He'd lit a stick ten minutes ago, probably sensing her irritation.

Kento—the ancient dras lizard that Ahsoka had once liberated from the Halls of Learning and hid under her bed for a week—lay sleeping on a java wood branch in his transparasteel enclosure in the quiet corner. The bone masks that her Kaleesh Crèchemaster wore were displayed high on the bamboo wall, out of reach of his curious wards and magnetized to avoid being pulled down with the Force. Each youngling he helped raise decorated a mask for him. They were made from mumuu bones that he harvested himself then carved to resemble the faces of various animals across the galaxy.

Hers hung three spots over from the floor-to-ceiling window that looked east; she still remembered painting the mask with careful fingers, sure that she would make the best mask ever for the nicest Crèchemaster in the galaxy. She had chosen the one that resembled a borgle bat and covered it with green, pink, and purple splotches–attempting a sort of patchwork look that she had really thought that she'd nailed at the time—and glued an obnoxious spray of white feathers in the center.

At the time she'd thought it a masterpiece, but now that she looked at it with fresh eyes the best she could say was that it wasn't quite as ugly as some of the others. The patchwork effect she had been going for made the skull look diseased and the feather crest was doing the same thing Anakin's hair did when he fell asleep flat on his face. Not that Vereixem cared, of course; as far as he was concerned, every single mask that one of his younglings made was perfect, no matter how ugly it was.

Taarak made a happy chirp that was muffled by Anakin's thumb. She glanced up from her coloring page just long enough to see that the little usurper was still dreamily munching away on her Master's ruined glove instead of coloring, distracted by the taste and feel of leather in his mouth and the toys levitating in front of him.

She knew she was being irrational. There was nothing to be mad or jealous or territorial over. Taarak was a kriffing toddler, he wasn't about to steal her Master out from under her. His constant scent marking was done from instinct, not as a challenge to her.

"Ndi mtundu wanji?" Anakin asked Taarak, bouncing him on his knee. His aura was a radiant cloud of coppery-blue pride-affection that made Ahsoka fight down the possessive urge to lean across the craft table and scent mark him into oblivion. "Pano, look. Ndi mtundu wanji, do you know?"

Taarak cooed and reached for the yellow block Anakin was pointing to. "Dzuwa," he sang softly.

"Inde, inde, very good." Vereixem had put out a bowl of raw bantha meat cut into cubes for them to share. Anakin popped one into his mouth, chewed it, then fed it to the toddler as a reward. "In Basic it's yellow, can you say yellow? Nena yellow?"

"El-low," Taarak said, blinking up at him.

"Yellow, inde, good boy." Anakin fed him another cube of chewed bantha meat, practically glowing with blue pride.

"Are you treat training him?" Ahsoka asked, trying not to scowl.

Anakin smirked and shrugged. "Worked for you, didn't it?" he asked, his aura going deep, brassy gold with affection-humor. He popped another cube in his mouth.

"You didn't—" Ahsoka began heatedly. A familiar tutting noise cut her off.

"Big feelings, my little kit, what do we do with our big feelings?" Crèchemaster Vereixem cooed at her over her shoulder. The mask he wore today was a ronto, decorated with rainbow-colored Sriluurian butterflies. Hundreds of small yarn chains the color of ruddy turu grass clicking with glass beads hung down his back.

"I don't have big feelings, Master," she grumbled.

"Really?" Vereixem chuckled. "How odd. My Empathy may not be visual like yours, but I could have sworn I sensed some very big feelings coming from this table."

"Perhaps they were Taarak's," she replied, coloring in her bantha forcefully.

Vereixem squeezed her shoulders. "Shall we sing the big feelings song together?" he asked.

"Master, I don't think that's necessary," she said faintly, cringing. She felt her stripes heat to black.

"I do," Anakin said in a serious voice, his aura gone molten gold with hilarity. "In fact, I'd like to learn it so that I can help you with your big feelings out in the field, Padawan."

"Oh, what a good idea!" Vereixem beamed at Ahsoka. "Ready, dear? We'll sing it together."

Ahsoka glared at her Master, who smiled back like a tooka with a mithoo in its mouth. "Go on," Anakin encouraged her.

Ahsoka took a deep breath. "I have big feelings, very big feelings. They make me yell and, they make me cry. But I'm bigger than, all my big feelings, so to the Force, all my big feelings fly."

Anakin helped Taarak clap his little red-orange hands with a face-splitting grin.

"Force, Force–" Vereixem paused with his hands above his head. "Come now, Ahsoka, don't forget the next part."

Ahsoka sighed and raised her hands. "Force, Force, like the rain, wash my big feelings away." They trailed their fingers down in tandem. "Force, Force, like the breeze, blow away my big feelings." They made their hands swim through the air. "Force, Force, like the sky, help make my big feelings fly." They painted a rainbow above their heads in an arc.

Vereixem clapped cheerily. "Well done, Ahsoka. See, don't you feel better?"

"Yes, Master," she said tonelessly, wishing she was dead.

"Can you do that again?" Anakin asked innocently, opening up the holocam on his wrist-mounted commlink.

Ahsoka growled at him. Taarak's eyes went wide, round, and nearly black, and his yellow aura brightened with milky fear and teal protection. He bared his little baby fangs at her and let out a returning high-pitched growl. Across the room, Kento's rainbow-colored frill popped up around his neck and he made a high shriek that Ahsoka had never heard before. He threw himself at the transparasteel wall of his enclosure and slid down, leaving a wet trail of venomous drool behind.

"Ayi, Taarak, ayi," Vereixem said sternly, striding over to the enclosure with his hand out. His pink aura reached out to Kento with minty serenity and calmed the creature, who sulkily crawled into his hide. "We do not use animals to hurt people. Knight Skywalker, translate for me please."

"Calm down, you two, there's plenty of me to go around," Anakin said, his aura gone a very smug shade of red. "Palibe nyama, Taarak."

"Inde," Taarak sang sweetly, pulling Anakin's head down so he could rub his lek all over his cheek again. He made steady eye contact with Ahsoka as he did, his aura glowing bright metallic green with victory-possession.

Ahsoka closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and centered herself. She was sixteen. Taarak was two. She was not going to snap at a baby. She focused on empathizing with the toddler instead of dreaming about biting him. Coming to the Temple was scary. He was possessive of Anakin because he was lonely and he was the one who had brought him to the Temple. It made her Master feel more familiar to him than he really was, so he was clinging to him like… like a little tick.

She opened her eyes and met Anakin's. He was biting down the urge to laugh and his aura was still bright gold, but he pulled a chewed cube out of his mouth and offered it to her. She accepted it, slightly mollified; she remembered what he'd said about treat training her a second too late.

His wide smirk said that he remembered too. "Good girl," he said with a pat on her head.

Taarak stuck his lip out and turned red with offense-disappointment at seeing her be fed one of his bantha cubes. He sniffed and looked away from them both.

"Why don't the three of you go for a walk?" Vereixem suggested. "Wear out Taarak for me so he's good and ready for a nap when you return."

Anakin seated him on his hip and Ahsoka accepted a farewell kiss on her cheek from Vereixem. "If you run into Parna, please tell her that I need Grogu's updated nutrition plan by tomorrow."

"Grogu?" Ahsoka asked, trying and failing to place the name.

"Have you not met him? He's a youngling assigned to Master Beq. For this decade, at least." Vereixem chuckled. "I believe they're in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, if you're headed that way."

"We're going to the meadow meditation room, but we'll keep an eye out for Parna." Anakin tickled Taarak's deeply clefted chin.

"And don't be afraid to come back and visit me once in a while, my little kit." Vereixem gently stroked her cheek with his dry, reptilian fingers that smelled like red clay. "You are all so precious to me, and this war has taken too many of you." His aura thickened with violet grief.

Ahsoka's heart sank. She took his fingers and kissed them. "I will, Master," she promised guiltily.

"So what did he mean by Grogu was assigned Master Beq for this decade?" Anakin asked once they were back out in the hall.

"He must have a long infancy," Ahsoka said with a shrug. "Some species need longer individual care before they can join a clan." She plucked a cube of meat from the bowl Anakin carried, chewed it, then held it out to Taarak along with a tendril of amber amenability.

Taarak darted narrowed eyes between her face and the offering. Ahsoka watched the little wheels turn in his head as he weighed his options, his aura switching back and forth between yellow suspicion and green trust, before he cautiously took it from her fingers. He held the meat in his mouth, swallowed it with a loud gulp, blinked a few times, then chirped and held his arms out to Ahsoka.

"I knew he'd warm up to you," Anakin said warmly as he handed him over, his aura awash with solid blue happiness.

Taarak nuzzled up against her neck, then pulled the tip of her lek into his mouth and started to suckle. One hand snuck around the back of her neck and started absently stroking along the seam between her rear lek and the base of her skull, sending a warm tingle down her spine. "We should learn to get along now. I have a feeling we'll have a Master in common one day." Ahsoka tried not to let her knees buckle from the endorphin rush.

Fierfek, and to think that she'd been labeled as a master manipulator as a kit. Taarak put her to shame.

"Are you trying to choose my next Padawan for me?" Anakin asked teasingly.

"Pretty sure he chose you, Master," Ahsoka said, then grinned. "But maybe I'll do what you did to Master Kenobi and steal him out from under you once he's old enough to be a Padawan."

"Hey, I didn't steal you, that was all Master Yoda!" Anakin protested, his aura still glowing gentle gold with humor.

Ahsoka purred and rubbed at the crook of Taarak's lekku buds. He purred back and her heart melted a little. "Kriff," she mumbled under her breath.

"So you never actually told me what the big deal was with his clan name," Anakin said, trying not to laugh at them.

Ahsoka caught Taarak's other hand before it weaseled down the front of her robes. If he thought she was going to nurse him just because she had the equipment for it, he was sorely mistaken. "Na'Hane is what we call people who were exiled after…" she tapped on her teeth and raised her brow markings meaningfully.

"They have their own clan?" Anakin asked, surprised.

Ahsoka shrugged. "Some of them end up sticking together for survival's sake. They can't chew, right? But a baby born to the Na'Hane would never be forced to bear that name after they were taken. I can't imagine why his adoptive parents would have kept it."

"Well, they were Toydarian. They must not have known." Anakin looked away and his aura briefly flickered with a purple line of guilt. "They probably thought they were honoring his heritage."

Ahsoka rolled her eyes. "It would have taken them five minutes on the holonet to find out what it meant, but you're probably right. Is it too late to change it in his records?"

Anakin held the turbo-lift door open for her. "I'll find out. So when you say taken…" He trailed off and looked at her sideways.

Ahsoka shifted Taarak's weight. "A Na'Hane can't be trusted with a child," she said firmly.

"So you just… take them?" Anakin asked, frowning.

"It's not like we go out hunting for them," Ahsoka said. "Usually, they're left on the edge of the village in the middle of the night by the Na'Hane."

"But if you ran into one out… doing whatever your people do, you'd just take them home?"

"A Na'Hane is a Togruta exiled from their clan for doing something horrible, Master," Ahsoka snapped, trying not to get annoyed with him. She pulled Taarak's hand out of her robes again. "It's to protect the child, we don't–"

"Easy, little one, easy." Anakin patted her between her montrals and fed her a bantha cube. "Don't get defensive, I was just curious."

Ahsoka swallowed her treat and tried not to sulk. Taarak's purr sped up and he suckled harder, running a fat little hand up and down her lek comfortingly as he did. She hugged him closer. "Anyway," she said, "I'm not saying that it would be a big deal here at the Temple, but if Taarak ever goes back to Shili it'll be pretty awkward. Imagine having to introduce yourself as Starkiller for the rest of your life because of something your mother did before you were even born."

Anakin's eyes widened and his aura went pale yellow with surprise-amusement. "Wait, Starkiller? His name means Starkiller?"

She didn't like how pleased he looked. "Na'Hane means killer," she said sourly. "Taarak—well, Tara—means star."

Anakin threw his head back and laughed. "Snips, there's no way I'm changing that. That is way too cool of a name to change."

Ahsoka scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Master…"

"Aww, who's my little Starkiller?" Anakin cooed, tickling Taarak's stumpy little rear lek. It twitched happily at the stimulation. "You are, yes, you're my little Starkiller…"

"Master, don't call him that!" Ahsoka said, exasperated. Taarak giggled around her lek.

"I'm absolutely calling him that and you can't stop me." Anakin pulled Taarak off of her lek with a loud pop! and blew a snozzberry into his neck. "Alright, Starkiller–"

Ahsoka groaned. "Master!"

" –Go get tired." Anakin set him down on the grass of the meditation room and released him. The kit squealed and took off for the koi pond, diving into a forward slide on his belly until he was peeking over the edge. His little red feet kicked in the air and he cooed at the fish in broken, babyish Toydarian.

Anakin put an arm around her shoulders. "So, did you and Obi-Wan make up? If I have to listen to him whine about his hurt feelings one more time I'll puke."

Ahsoka felt something go quiet in her chest. "Yeah. We're fine."

Anakin glanced down at her, his aura darkening with dark green unease. "Why do I sense that's not exactly the truth?"

She shrugged. "It's never going to be the same. It can't be. But I've forgiven him and I'm moving on."

Anakin sighed. "Ahsoka–"

"We can't stop change, Master," she reminded him. "I had to let him go. It's the Jedi way."

She rested her head against him and subtly rubbed her lek on his cheek while Taarak was distracted. "We'll have to let each other go one day too, Master," she said softly.

Anakin's aura brightened to staticky white with anxiety. "Yeah," he muttered. "One day." His hand twitched on her shoulder.

Ahsoka watched Taarak's aura lighten to burning orange with anticipation-excitement and his stubby little rear lek wag back and forth. She elbowed Anakin. "Just so you know, you've got about five seconds before Starkiller goes fishing."

"Before he–" Anakin's eyes went wide and he bolted for the toddler. "Ayi, Taarak, ayi! Osasambira!" He missed Taarak's ankle by inches, tumbling ass over elbows into the koi pond after him. He surfaced with a gasp a few seconds later, holding a giggling Taarak above his head while struggling to not let his long brown robe drag him back down. He looked like a sad, wet cat with his hair plastered to his forehead, but Taarak was delighted.

Ahsoka burst into hysterical laughter, falling to one knee and wheezing like she'd gotten the wind knocked out of her. Anakin's aura turned a menacing shade of orange with mischief. "Keep laughing, Snips!"

Ahsoka's laughs morphed into screams as Anakin lifted her up into the air with the Force and dropped her into the pond with them.

Notes:

TOYDARIAN TRANSLATIONS Ndi mtundu wanji?: What color is it? Pano: Here Dzuwa: Yellow Inde: Yes Ayi: No Osasambira: No swimming

Taglist: @starwarsficnetwork, @soliloquy-of-nemo Dividers: @saradika-graphics

[nerdmorkai]

Make me Admit Stuff (I'll do it myself edition)

MAKE ME ADMIT STUFF

1. Would you have sex with the last person you text messaged? Yes

2. You talked to an ex today, correct? No

3. Have you taken someones virginity? No

4. Is trust a big issue for you? Yes, my anxiety is bad enough with someone I trust.

5. Did you hang out with the person you like recently? Yes

6. What are you excited for? Finding Peace and getting laid (it's been a while)

7. What happened tonight? Chilled with a friend.

8. Do you think it’s disgusting when girls get really wasted? Yes, but it's anyone. My disgust is not gender specific.

9. Is confidence cute? Sure

10. What is the last beverage you had? Water

11. How many people of the opposite sex do you fully trust? Five

12. Do you own a pair of skinny jeans? Yes, I'm old

13. What are you gonna do Saturday night? Smoke and chill in Philly

14. What are you going to spend money on next? Presents

15. Are you going out with the last person you kissed? Hopefully in spirit

16. Do you think you’ll change in the next 3 months? I'd imagine so, trauma usually does that.

17. Who do you feel most comfortable talking to about anything? I have two close male friends I would tell anything and two female friends I would tell anything.

18. The last time you felt broken? Currently

19. Have you had sex today? Haha, no.

20. Are you starting to realize anything?I really have to start working towards re-building the life I want.

21. Are you in a good mood? Meh, 50/50

22. Would you ever want to swim with sharks? Not really.

23. Are your eyes the same color as your dad’s? Yes

24. What do you want right this second? Physical touch

25. What would you say if the person you love/like kissed another girl/boy? Be bummed, but people will do what they want.

26. Is your current hair color your natural hair color? Yes

27. Would you be able to date someone who doesn’t make you laugh? Nope, gotta laugh.

28. What was the last thing that made you laugh? Watched Mark Maron's last night. Dark, funny, and I laughed a lot.

29. Do you really, truly miss someone right now? For the rest of my life.

30. Does everyone deserve a second chance? Always.

31. Honestly, do you hate the last boy you were talking to? I don't really talk to boys. I guess no, my son is 14; he's still a boy.

32. Does the person you have feelings for right now, know you do? I'm sure they have suspicions

33. Are you one of those people who never drinks soda? Yup, maybe once or twice a year.

34. Listening to? we're eating each other - Juliet Ivy

35. Do you ever write in pencil anymore? Yes, I take a lot of notes to help me remember things.

36. Do you know where the last person you kissed is? In an urn waiting to be spread on a mountainside.

37. Do you believe in love at first sight? Yes, it's happened to me.

38. Who did you last call? I don't make many phone calls. Estate Lawyer.

39. Who was the last person you danced with? My wife

40. Why did you kiss the last person you kissed? Love, so much fucking love.

41. When was the last time you ate a cupcake? I'm not a cake guy. A few years. Pie though...

42. Did you hug/kiss one of your parents today? No

43. Ever embarrass yourself in front of a crush? Oh yea, I'm an idiot.

44. Do you tan in the nude? Haha, I don't tan. I am the whitest of white folk.

45. If you could, would you take back your last kiss? Never

46. Did you talk to someone until you fell asleep last night? Many times.

47. Who was the last person to call you? Debt collector, only adulting shit starts with a phone call nowadays.

48. Do you sing in the shower? No

49. Do you dance in the car? Head bobs

50. Ever used a bow and arrow? Yes, I was a boy scout. It's been twenty years probably.

51. Last time you got a portrait taken by a photographer? Wedding day

52. Do you think musicals are cheesy? They can be, but that's also part of the fun.

53. Is Christmas stressful? Depends on the finances.

54. Ever eat a pierogi? Yes, I live in prime Pennsylvannia Dutch territory.

55. Favorite type of fruit pie? Mixed berry

56. Occupations you wanted to be when you were a kid? Comic book artist

57. Do you believe in ghosts? No in ways that are on Ghost Hunters.

58. Ever have a Deja-vu feeling? All the time. Especially from dreams.

59. Take a vitamin daily? Yes

60. Wear slippers? No, I am usually barefoot

61. Wear a bath robe? Sometimes but rarely. Usually just walk naked to the dresser.

62. What do you wear to bed? boxer briefs

63. First concert? Hooty and the Blowfish

64. Wal-Mart, Target or Kmart? None of them.

65. Nike or Adidas? Neither

66. Cheetos Or Fritos? Cheetos

67. Peanuts or Sunflower seeds? Peanuts

68. Favorite Taylor Swift song? I don't have one.

69. Ever take dance lessons? Nope, but I've thought about it.

70. Is there a profession you picture your future spouse doing? Nope.

71. Can you curl your tongue? And hotdog.

72. Ever won a spelling bee? No

73. Have you ever cried because you were so happy? Yes

74. What is your favorite book? American Gods by Neil Gaimen

75. Do you study better with or without music? With, but no lyrics. I listen to a lot of lofi while working.

76. Regularly burn incense? Yup

77. Ever been in love? I'd say three times.

78. Who would you like to see in concert? Lonely Island Crew

79. What was the last concert you saw? James Arthur

80. Hot tea or cold tea? If I had to only drink one, hot.

81. Tea or coffee? Coffee

82. Favorite type of cookie? Peanut butter

83. Can you swim well? I wouldn't say well. Mediocre.

84. Can you hold your breath without holding your nose? Yes

85. Are you patient? Extremely

86. DJ or band, at a wedding? DJ

87. Ever won a contest? No

88. Ever have plastic surgery? No

89. Which are better black or green olives? Indifferent

90. Opinions on sex before marriage? Required, sexual compatibility is very important for a healthy relationship (to me).

91. Best room for a fireplace? Living room/Den

92. Do you want to get married? No, I don't think I will

[thelezzer]

Civilian casualties - especially those of children - are a tragedy no matter how you slice it or what side you support. That being said, the double standard international media is exhibiting with the discussion of the deaths of Israeli children is staggering. The IDF has been responsible for the deaths of thousands of Palestinian children over the course of the occupation, and this is being ignored by most mainstream Western media sources. Here is some information about these atrocities to balance out the bias:

“Israeli forces are gunning down Palestinian children living under occupation with increasing frequency,” said Bill Van Esveld, associate children’s rights director at Human Rights Watch. “Unless Israel’s allies, particularly the United States, pressure Israel to change course, more Palestinian children will be killed.” x

“As of yesterday, according to UNRWA, there are more than 187,000 newly displaced people in Gaza, many of them sheltering at UNRWA schools, and many of them children. Some of the facilities sheltering displaced families in Gaza, including schools, have sustained damages. 

Hundreds of thousands of children are affected by the escalation of hostilities in Gaza and are in desperate need of humanitarian assistance and protection. Before this renewed violence, 1.1 million children were already in need of humanitarian aid in the Gaza Strip and the West Bank – accounting for approximately half the child population." x

2023 marks deadliest year on record for children in the occupied West Bank.

"At least 38 Palestinian children have been killed by Israeli forces in the occupied West Bank so far in 2023, making it the deadliest year since records began, said Save the Children.

On average, it equates to more than one Palestinian child killed per week. At least six Israeli children have also been killed this year.

As the second consecutive year for record numbers of child fatalities in the West Bank, this highlights the worsening situation for children's safety across the occupied Palestinian territory (oPt)." x

Israeli airstrikes kill at least 140 Palestinian children in Gaza.

"At least 140 Palestinian children have been killed in the Gaza Strip as the Israeli military launched an offensive over the weekend, according to the Palestinian Ministry of Health.

Israeli forces fired several missiles toward a residential building in the Sheikh Ajleen neighborhood, south of Gaza City, around 8:30 p.m. on October 8, killing 10 Palestinians, including three children: Yazan, 10, Abdulnaser, two, and Omar Ahmad Abdulnaser Shamlakh, five months, according to documentation collected by DCIP." x

(2021) “Eight Palestinian children were reported killed north of Gaza overnight, bringing to at least 40 the number of children killed there since 10 May. The age of these children ranges between six months to 17 years. Over half of them were under 10 years old. More than 1,000 people in Gaza are reported injured, some severely, including a high number of children. In Israel, two children, including a six-year-old, were killed since the escalation began. [...]

In Gaza, 35 schools have been damaged while at least 29 schools are temporarily sheltering displaced families who fled their homes due to heavy violence. Up to 10,000 people have been displaced, the majority are children. UNICEF received reports that three schools have been damaged in Israel." x

(2021) 2,171 Palestinian children have been killed in the last two decades by Israeli military actions, and 139 Israeli children have been killed by Palestinian militants. x

[thebookofnehemiah]

"The Deal." From the Book of Nehemiah, "the Exploration of the Mysteries of the Lions that Lay," 5: 6-8.

The Nsh is obviously very knowledgeable about the Torah, and uses his understanding to counter argue the approach of the Court of the Assembly to the biggest dilemma facing the future kingdom, how to dole out titles to the land.

Israel has apparently never had an owner anyone could love or trust. The world is tipping over because of this issue at the present time. Except the land was given to the Jewish people after World War II and the decision has been contested to this day. It is theirs, it does not belong to the Palestinian people or the Christians or the Muslims, but to the legitimate government of the People of Israel.

The State of Israel was established on May 14, 1948 when David Ben-Gurion, the head of the Jewish Agency, proclaimed its independence in Tel Aviv. This event marked the creation of the first Jewish state in 2,000 years. Israel is not a thing or a concept it is a place, it has been legally defined and is protected by its citizens. There is no need to continue the debate or cause additional loss of life regarding this.

The Nsh is a product of a process of much more than this. Monarchies like Israel itself are supposed to be longitudinal. Their systems of government depend on land owners who are able to proiftably see to the needs of the territory and the people without fear of the kinds of changes that are happening in America, i.e. upheavals and controverseys over petty silly ridiculous matters whose outcomes do not grow the wealth or happiness of the people. Other countries are worse off as we know, some are monarchies but this is happening because Charles Mary is corrupt and will not mint money or manage his peer group. The entire planet is on a downward slide into deep poverty because this man just wants to suck down heroin and suck on the toes of little boys.

We must not follow his example or that of the White House which has control of not one thing affecting the attitude or adjustment of its domain and remain true to the Deal God and Abraham struck so long ago. Contained in the Deal are the nine terms or Rooms or "level of height" all Jews must respect if they expect to attain to a title to the land within Israel. The wording like the Torah itself is encrypted.

The Call of Abram

12 The Lord had said to Abram, “Go from your country, your people and your father’s household to the land I will show you.

2 “I will make you into a great nation,     and I will bless you; I will make your name great,     and you will be a blessing.[a]

3 I will bless those who bless you,     and whoever curses you I will curse; and all peoples on earth     will be blessed through you.”[b]

4 So Abram went, as the Lord had told him; and Lot went with him. Abram was seventy-five years old when he set out from Harran. 

5 He took his wife Sarai, his nephew Lot, all the possessions they had accumulated and the people they had acquired in Harran, and they set out for the land of Canaan, and they arrived there.

6 Abram traveled through the land as far as the site of the great tree of Moreh at Shechem. At that time the Canaanites were in the land. 

7 The Lord appeared to Abram and said, “To your offspring[c] I will give this land.” So he built an altar there to the Lord, who had appeared to him.

8 From there he went on toward the hills east of Bethel and pitched his tent, with Bethel on the west and Ai on the east. There he built an altar to the Lord and called on the name of the Lord.

9 Then Abram set out and continued toward the Negev.

The Values in Gematria are:

v. 1: Go from your country. The Number is 7888, ז‎חחח, zchachach "purify, sublimate this and you will win." The Torah can't work in one place and fail in another. That is fallacy. There cannot be a fallacy regarding the Torah.

v. 2: You will be a blessing. This is not a farewell, it is a Commandment. The Number is 8066, ףסו‎ ‎, peso,

"The verb פסס (pasas II) means to disappear or vanish. It's used only once, in Psalm 12:1, where the psalmist laments that the faithful disappear from among men. Since faithfulness requires social cohesion (to establish and retain standards to be faithful to), the disappearance of these faithful was likely due to their density in society, which results from them being spread out."

v. 3: All the earth will be blessed through you. The Number is 10415, קד‎י״ה, kadijah, "As a deejay, a fishery." = through the Shule.

v. 4: Set out from the Harran. To be set is to be heated and then coalesced or cooled. The Number is 9917, טטיז‎ ‎, tetiz, "the echo, the ricochet, the splash." = "to form a social identity within."

"The verb שכן (shakan) means to dwell, to reside, to be domiciled, to live somewhere. In our modern day and age we might imagine that our individual identity derives mainly from our private brilliance, character and resolve but in antiquity folks still understood that one's private identity derived largely from one's social identity. In that sense, our verb שכן (shakan) means to form a social identity with.

If one would imagine a visual depiction of society, in which individuals are represented by little colored circles that partly overlap, the picture would result in a flower-like image, with individual petals that connect to a communal heart that is formed from all the areas of overlap of all individual petals. That communal heart would have a color that is the sum of the individual petals. And here's the point: all technology, all law, all social codes, even all art and all language are part of that heart. Wholly private concerns that may show up in dreams or a person's most abstract thoughts sit in the petal that sticks out from the communal heart but everything else sits within the heart. There is no language without community, and there is no complex thought without language. In other words: you are not what you think but you are what you are with.

Our verb שכן (shakan) does not simply talk about residing somewhere. Instead, it speaks of forging a social identity. And since a single social identity ("the Viking") has many manifestations (namely everybody who is a Viking), the health and longevity of the social identity depends on the intrasocietal peacefulness of individual manifestations."

v. 5: Take Sarai, the government, Lot, civil protections, Harran and put them together and set Canaan, "conditions for royalty."

The Number is 9346, טגד‎ו‎, tagdu, "bind, unite, combine, and become legend."

v. 6: Abram became Moreh at Shechem= "protection through education and voluntary citizenship."

Abram= height through enlightenment rather than status. The verb ירה (yara) describes the bringing about of a unified effect by means of many little impulses (arrows, stones, words, instructions, rain drops, and so on). Noun יורה (yoreh) refers to rain that falls during the first period of the agricultural year, when seedlings bud but don't bear fruit yet. Noun מורה (moreh) may either also refer to early rain, or it means teacher, who is a person who teaches children who can't think for themselves yet. Noun תורה (tora), refers to any set of instructions (hence the familiar word Torah).

The verb ירא (yara') describes the same process, but rather from the perspective of the receiving "soil": to revere, to pay heed to, and in extreme cases: to fear. Nouns יראה (yir'a), מורא (mora') and מורה (mora) cover the broad spectrum between reverence and fear, between anything awe-inspiring and anything terrifying.

The important noun שכם (shekem) means shoulder, and one's shoulder was considered the seat of one's burdens, whether physical or metaphorical. Curiously, though, the denominative verb that came from this noun, namely שכם (shakam), does not mean "to shoulder" in the sense of to carry something, but rather to rise early or to make an early start. This seems to suggest that a person's burden was considered a thing of voluntary dedication rather than something forced upon this person."

v. 7: Build an altar. The Number is 6804, וףד‎ ‎, ped, "look after the poor and feeble."

v. 8: Go towards Bethel and Ai.

Bethel= The army, the Israel Defense Force, Ai= of Israel.

The Mishnah says the Jewish people are too spoiled, fat, and lazy so all Nobles have to serve in the military before they can attain to a title. The Melachim also warns us about spoiled people.

v. 9: Set the Negev. Negev means "rolling like hills or dunes." The term is unique to Judaism. The Jewish faith and culture like its people must somehow maintain a level asceent that rolls and curves but does not experience disruption or need course correction. The only way to explain is the course must be ascending curvilinear.

"The unused verb גבן (gaban) probably meant to be curved, contracted or coagulated. Adjective גבן (giben) means humpbacked. Noun גבינה (gebina) means curd or cheese. Noun גבנן (gabnon) means peak or rounded summit.

A certain grammatical construction that creates a sort of continuous tense of the verb גבב (gabab) is formed from prefixing a נ (nun) and making the double ב (beth) a single one. The result, a verb נגב (nagab) would mean to undulate, to wave, to have shifting dunes. That verb doesn't exist, but a mysterious noun נגב (negeb) does. This noun would thus denote a region with rolling hills, and came to be synonymous with "south".

The Nsh tells the people they have objected to his plan and strategy, and they have not kept the Deal. We must keep the Deal:

6 When I heard their outcry and these charges, I was very angry.

 7 I pondered them in my mind and then accused the nobles and officials. I told them, “You are charging your own people interest!” So I called together a large meeting to deal with them 

8 and said: “As far as possible, we have bought back our fellow Jews who were sold to the Gentiles. Now you are selling your own people, only for them to be sold back to us!” They kept quiet, because they could find nothing to say.

The Values in Gematria are:

v. 6: When I heard the charges I was very angry. Anger is a sign of idolatry. The Project will fail if we perceive it is for the sake of the Nsh. Nsh exists for the sake of the country. This has to be made clear. The people need coverage, someone to speak for them, someone who has been anointed to do it. This is the opposite of the creation of an idol.

The Number is 5255, הבהה‎, "staring." We stare at persons from whom we want approval and affection. The Nehemiah Torah says "be sure what you're looking at and why."

The verb שעע (sha'a' II) means to sport or delight in, although perhaps (BDB Theological Dictionary seems to suggest) the action of smearing something over may lead to the idea of smoothing something out, which then may lead to delight, or in other words: there might not be two distinct verbs at all, but one. But some more or less clear instances of to delight are Isaiah 29:9, 66:12 and Psalm 119:70.

Like שעע (sha'a), the verb שעה (sha'a) also has something to do with the eyes, as it means to gaze (Genesis 4:5, Psalm 39:13). In some cases it's not clear at all which of these two verbs we're dealing with (Isaiah 32:3 for instance)."

v. 7: I pondered them, the Nobles in my mind. You're charging the people interest! = people are going to line up and they are going to compete. They will become religious, they will join the military, they will appply the effort. This might be the best thing that has ever happened to Israel.

So, the Nsh has to meet with the government to discuss the creation of the Peer Group. Other countries have done this for centuries we should discuss with them.

The Number is 7798, ז‎זטח‎‎, zaztah, "keep society moving from underneath."

"The common noun, adverb and preposition תחת (tahat) means beneath or under, and often expresses a balance between a load and its support rather than a mere burden or lower position.

Adjective תחתון (tahton) means lower or lowest, and adjective and substantive תחתי (tahti) or תחתית (tahtit) means low, below or lowest."

Creating a class of nobles from the poorest but most capable arms in society is the way to go. The people will not forget where they came from, how they escaped poverty, nor will history. Where they go...that must also follow the record.

[fukuokanodivision]

Terminus

Even before OverDrive’s debut, Kairi Seishin holds a special reputation for music. Becoming a professional musician at 8-9 years old, it goes to show how much of a sound prodigy she is, much like her brother in the idol industry. Though, during Traffic Light’s sudden and unexpected disbandment, she knew something was wrong — very wrong… Figuring out the damage done to her brother and his teammates, she was furious. Developing a hatred for Chuohku, interest toward the Division Rap Battle and being given a Hypnosis Microphone of her own, she explained the situation to Yuno Kamora’s older siblings — Shu and Zaria. Gifting them their own Microphones, both of them accepted Kairi’s offer to create an unofficial rap team. Following OverDrive’s official debut, they became known as “Terminus” 1. “Synesthetes”

Alias: Synesthetes Real Name: Kairi Seishin Age: 11 Position: Leader Of Terminus Affiliation(s): *Terminus *OverDrive Profession: *Middle School Student *Professional Musician/Disk Jockey Weapons: *Hypnosis Microphone *Electric Garrotte Belt Skills + Abilities: *Synesthesia *Hypnosis Microphone Manipulation *Musical Aptitude *Chuohku Expertise *Seismic Sense *ASL Bio: The younger sister of Eko Seishin, Kairi’s been surrounded by music since day 1. Maximizing her skills equally to her brother, she became a professional musician and Disk Jockey at only 8-9 years old. Now the leader of Terminus, she doesn’t mess around with supporting OverDrive’s mission and claims Fukuoka as “Untouched Territory.” “There’s words to be spoken and mouths to be shutting, I’ll have you face its wrath just like my brother…” — Kairi “Synesthetes” Seishin 2. Asthenes

Alias: Asthenes

Real Name: Shu Kamora

Age: 29

Position: 2nd Member Of Terminus

Affiliations(s):

*Terminus

*OverDrive

*Kamora Family

Profession:

*Steward [Errand Runner]

Weapons:

*Hypnosis Microphone

*Chained Daggers

Skills + Abilities:

*Asthenia

*Hypnosis Microphone Manipulation

*Enhanced Durability

*Chuohku Expertise

*Ki Sensing

*Linguistics

Bio: The older brother of Yuno Kamora [“Sibling” of Mai Yousei], Shu has always despised weakness. Although his family is supportive of his emotions, he feels as if himself has let down his father by being too afraid. Now the left hand of Terminus, he’s determined to leave his mark on the world and punish anyone in their rap battles who proves him wrong… “You’re going to cry? Wipe your damn tears! I don’t fight cowards in my territory, especially ones who’re weak and close minded…” — Shu “Asthenes” Kamora. 3. Schizein

Alias: Schizein

Real Name: Zaria Kamora

Age: 29

Position: 3rd Member Of Terminus

Affiliation(s):

*Terminus

*OverDrive

*Kamora Family

Profession:

*Steward [Errand Runner]

Weapons:

*Hypnosis Microphone

*Sword Of Themis

Skills + Abilities:

*Schizophrenia

*Hypnosis Microphone Manipulation

*Enhanced Intelligence

*Chuohku Expertise

*Logical Reasoning

*Eloquence

Bio: The older sister of Yuno Kamora, Zaria carries a headstrong sense of justice wherever she goes. Figuring out senses of righteousness and truth were usually glazed over, she knew she had to do something about it. Now the right hand of Terminus, she’s aiming to initiate a new wave of justice in the world, one blotting out Chuohku’s future plans entirely. “You expect me to obey you? Tough luck, it seems you hold all the red flags. And to me? You’re guilty as charged…” — Zaria “Schizein” Kamora.

[lavelled]

how it dwells.

I’m used to celebrities giving a subtle nod to my predicament, but never has an actor become internationally famous for acting, in feminist terms, like a megawatted asshole.

Team Rachel 623: Your pearl-clutching, hospital-corner, sorority-hazing client must be numb to morality. This is some sick cruel stuff. I had a cousin share personal items without knowledge or consent. And share he did. This is worse. Is the rental accomplice just passing through? I think I can writerly outrun you.

She and her Team have benefitted from a decades-old wellspring imprisonment, pushed their climber toward even more notoriety with a regal marriage to none other than enemy number one, allowed disturbingly theatrical speeches on ivory tower racism and hardship, both of which are untrue and unladylike, and showed contentment only for professional births and payday.

Her Hallmark movie, Dater’s Handbook. The title alone. 8. Jail. Booked. Oh, the lucky break of forging career mileage in code fluency. I don’t understand the decision, as a 40-something, to do the flippity flipping flipsters act, yet has sex with the ghost of the rapey man who stole my life, gets wedded to him, does rockstar crowd greets and magazine covers, accepts awards, and has his babies.

This isn’t a job. It’s life.

And her lying evil husband took away my life choices.

Two women with integrity: Chelsy Davy and Cressida Bonas. I’m sure they’re beholden to royal NDA laws. However, their marriages expose your perverse nefarious intentions, their link to a distanced British girl, and how the ending should go.

By and large, the approximation of tragedy is fueled by your family and your wife. From stabbings in Solingen, Germany to NYPD officer, Gregory Purvis, shooting himself last week.

XXXTentacion—the rapper and writer was fatally shot in the Riva Motorsports parking lot in Deerfield Beach, FL. Almost exactly one month after your wedding. June 18, 2018. His debut album was titled 17. He was 20 years old. His little brother, 13, is Aiden Kerr.

Denis Yurievich Ten—the Kazakhstani figure skater and 2014 Olympic Bronze Medalist was stabbed to death in July 2018. Two months after your wedding. Middle name sounds like You’re Rich. He skated beautifully to Gene Kelly’s Singin’ in the Rain at the 2013 Worlds. He was 25.

Yountville Veterans Home—a residential treatment facility for brain injured post-9/11 veterans in California. The gunman, Albert Wong, a former patient, fatally shot three female health workers and then himself. March 9, 2018. Two months before your wedding.

Parkland High School Shooting—happened on Valentine’s Day. February 14, 2018. Three months before your wedding. Seventeen students were killed that day. Ages range from 14-17. The perpetrator was Nikolas Jacob Cruz. Cruz told a psychologist that he committed the shooting on Valentine’s Day because he believed that no one loved him and thus wanted to ruin that day.

Steve Bing—Hollywood financier, founder of Shangri-La Entertainment and Shangri-La Music; produced The Polar Express starring Tom Hanks. On June 22, 2020, he jumped to his death from the 27th floor of the Ten Thousand Building in LA. He said he couldn’t take the lack of human contact during quarantine.

Four students from the University of Idaho were all stabbed to death at their home on King Road in Moscow, Idaho. November 13, 2022. Victims: Kaylee Goncalves, Madison Mogen, Xana Kernodle, and Ethan Chapin.

What country can you guys get kicked out of next? Denmark? No. That’s my King Frederik X. Norway? No. That’s my Marius Borg.

The scripted controversy over a Blackamoor brooch in 2017. Google it. I detect an unavoidable Sicilian reference and a concession in there. However, it’s also Harold trying to reinforce marked minor territory, which was collaborated together—despite real hate crimes and a known rape-bed desire—by her team.

As long as Rachel and Harry live better lives than most, including myself, getting richer with no public divorce, they will be flanked by critiques on why the world should tell them to go away.

Hope you had fun; she’s the last woman you’ll touch.

K

[yourghastlycloseness]

it’s all

about chemistry. chemistry with another person can make you look so attractive. see jennifer garner on conan o’brien vs jennifer garner with mark ruffalo

just rewatched 13 going on 30 and it’s weird bcos this is my third rewatch. first watched it in 2004 (when i was 8-9 and didnt care abt the film much), again in 2008 with some friends at J’s house (we were all 13, and it was the end of the year, last day of school or smth) and now again at 29 in 2024, a year away from 30–this time with mom, and i shd never that this is one of the most comforting activities to do in life: rom-coms with mom

things i didnt notice/understand when i was younger:

- matty not leaving wendy for jenna. as a kid, i lost some respect for him for not going aft the person wld truly make him happy. but now i respect the shit out of the decision, choosing someone versus following your passions

- wendy declaring her man is her territory & going “i’m sure you’ll be just fine” when jenna says she doesn’t know what she’d do without matty

- that wendy is a doppelgänger of grown-up jenna

- was neutral abt their swing kiss scene before. now think it’s wrong

- i thought adult jenna was a shitty person before, but now i just respect her ambition

- the stabs (literally) at J Lo considering ben affleck and his two jens

- i have a slight fear of shirtless men and i think this movie is what started it all lmao with jenna waking up and finding that blonde naked guy in her apartment

- not sure how i feel about a girl who’s mentally thirteen falling in love with a thirty year old dude

- if they didn’t up together the first time, i don’t see how they wld in any other timeline, or at least i can’t see them being together without eventually breaking up. feel like some things are consistent, esp our most pronounced traits, like jenna’s ambition

[purplesurveys]

1828

Do you take a walk every day? I don't do it as a routine per se, like around the neighborhood – but I walk a lot for work. I'll have meetings and events set in BGC often, and that's pretty much the most walkable place in Metro Manila so I'll usually get over 10k steps in whenever I'm in the area.

Who was your favourite musical artist when you were 15? Do you still listen to them? I was in both extremes of the spectrum lol. I liked the indie feel of alt-J, Banks, and Hozier; but this was also the peak of my punk rock phase and I was listening to bands like Against Me, The Bouncing Souls, and Rancid. I will listen to the latter every now and then, but I've largely let go of indie acts.

What's your preferred way of getting the news? Either through the TV or online, through the accounts that I deem trustworthy.

If you go to flightradar24 dot com to see the radar, are there any planes or helicopters in your area right now? There's one flying over my province currently - it just passed my exact city - and is headed for Albay. All the other planes I'm seeing are clustered around Manila.

When was the last time you ate at a food court and what did you get? The last time I was at a food court it was in Malaysia, 8 months ago; I had nasi kerabu. It also came with sambal that even I couldn't handle lol, it was so spicy and it was the kind of spicy that was almost painful so I barely touched it.

Would you consider yourself traditional/old-fashioned? In some aspects; I wouldn't say it's my entire personality. I'm old-fashioned when it comes to recognizing hierarchies, doing things by the book, preferring to keep things as status quo...things like that.

How do you like your eggs cooked? Poached or over easy.

Have you ever taken a ride in a yellow car that wasn't a taxi? I may have! It's not a common color but in the thousands of cars I've ridden in over the years I must've been in at least one yellow one lol.

What was the last thing you had to return to a store and why? I don't really do this, but the closest equivalent has been returning a set of utensils to the counter at Starbucks since they weren't cleaned well enough and I was still able to see some food residue from the last customer who used it :( Gross. It's happened more than once too.

Do you need to get groceries right now? No, we just had our pantry replenished earlier this week.

What's your favourite place to go on vacation? Sagada and Bangkok are worthy of repeats, though I've only been in either place once.

What state/territory did you grow up in? Do you still live there? I still live in the same province I grew up in, down to the city.

What colour were the last socks you wore? Maroon.

Do you mark your emails as read even if you didn't open them, or do you let them just sit there? I barely touch my personal emails since no one sends me anything anyway and all I get on there are just promotional shit from websites I'm signed up to. As for my work emails, I read every single message – can't afford to miss even just one as I lead the entire department and I need to be up to speed with every single movement for every single deliverable for every single campaign for every single account.

Do you have a LinkedIn profile? I do but it's such a cringe website to be on lol so I barely use it.

Have you ever done your own compost? Nope.

Do you have any plans for tomorrow? If no, what about the day or two after that? I have a run event that I need to manage again, so I have another 2 AM calltime - my third this month. Fortunately this one's expected to end early, just around 8 AM this time, so I have the rest of the day.

Doesn't mean it'll be a day of rest though since I have a pitch coming up this Friday, so I need to spend a good amount of time tomorrow doing my research.

Would you ever get a tattoo on your hand or foot? My hand, so it can be more visible. If I'm gonna put myself through pain, I might as well be able to see it often haha.

Do you open your doors and windows on warm days? It's...the opposite. I'm likely to open everything so the air can come in.

Are the blinds/curtains in the room open or closed right now? Closed.

Who was the last person you said "I love you" to? Not sure, it may have been Andi.

Does your town have a bar or pub? Sure.

Were you mean to anyone in high school? Yes, but it's just to people I've seen being mean to others.

What's one of your favourite features of your phone? How it can extract details from photos. Helps when I either need to understand something in another language; or if I want to use a photo of someone in PNG format.

Have you ever accidentally started a fire? Nope.

Do you ever wonder where everyone's going when you're driving around? Sometimes. This mostly happens when I pass by the airport.

Do you forget things as quickly as you think of them? Yeah, this is happening more frequently now so I've started a habit of writing things down on my Notes app so I don't forget about them.

What is the last note you edited in your phone's notes app? Can't answer this at the moment, my phone's downstairs as I want to avoid any work messages that might come in this weekend lol.

Who is your favourite coworker? You can tell me about one from your past if you don't have one right now. Kata has always been my favorite. I haven't been as in sync with anyone at work as I was with her, and I haven't worked with her for two years now. I was also the closest with her, and ever since she left I haven't really been able to replicate that same closeness with anyone in the team.

Can you hear birds chirping right now? Nope.

Have you ever learned a language on your own, as in, not attending classes or lessons? I learned to read Korean entirely on my own – mere context clues helped coming from the sheer amount of Hangul subtitles they would have in variety/reality shows.

Do you know anyone who's adopted a child? Sure.

Are you good at parallel parking? I am, but I avoid doing it when possible hahaha.

Do you tend to wear your clothes more than one day before washing them? If I didn't sweat at all in them, yes.

What was the last video game or board game you purchased? Do in-app purchases count? I got a Friends category pack from a charades app I recently downloaded.

Pulp or no pulp in your orange juice? No pulp, but this is also because I've never tried pulp.

Is your middle name common? If we're talking about my second name, yes it's fairly common.

What's your favourite Robin Williams movie? Good Will Hunting. It's not your fault.

Do you decorate your house for Halloween? No.

[cottoncandy-cult]

Tw because I talk about a very dark anime near the end of my little ramble. I'll mark the end of the safety zone, under that is enter at your own risk 18 and up territory because the show I'm describing is basically the nuclear darkest side of history and has a lot of messed up events.

Never realized how active the Twisted Wonderland fandom was on Ao3 til now, I've yet to really find a place to stick as far as fandoms so Ao3 stills very distant and impersonal to me compared to places like here and and Wattpad. Like for me so far it feels like Ao3 is really professionally distant, Tumblr is a middle ground of friendly and responsive but still a little distant, while Wattpad feels like a house party. Like you know those Richboy Gojo fics that talk about Geto and Gojo always holding house parties where it's basically anyone who wants to show up can? Yeah that's how wattpad feels. It's where I started writing, so it's kinda like walking into your best friend's house during an active house party. I know where the kitchen is, I know where the drinks are, I recognize a lot of the people there even if I don't know them personally. I feel like Shoko at one of Geto or Gojo's parties.... I'm not sure why this got long, I was just trying to explain that Ao3 feels really solitary. But no, overall my point is I moved my Babification event for Twisted Wonderland on here to there last night. About 8 hours in I have 189 hits, a bookmark and 7 kudos. So I can definitely see that certain fandoms are more active than others. And I'm kinda bummed cause I'm like 99% sure that most of the anime I write for are gonna be dead fandoms or very low activity fandoms. I know this because the fandoms are already pretty low activity even on Wattpad and here. Like Black Blood Brothers, it was an old vampire anime with an interesting premise that fell off because it wasn't immediately popular. (The manga and anime world is cut throat, the underground anime market is saturated.) Now bare in mind it isn't cancelled, they just dropped it after it's first season. (Only 12 episodes but I really liked it). The fandom has been active enough that people have talked about petitioning for a remake or continuation, but not so active that there is a whole lot of interaction with their content. Sometimes these anime don't have any content available, much less limited content. I'd be happy with black blood brothers fluff. And I've always considered doing a rant and ramble series on anime I love but the fanbase is dead or just has a disproportionate number of willing readers to capable producers. Cause some of these anime I genuinely believe need more attention, especially when it comes to ones like BBB. Where they aren't really cancelled, just kind of sat aside. Cases like that would be the easiest to bring back.

🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞

Though I know some anime probably aren't gonna be popular, people won't want to remake them because they're to risky. Like Basilisk (and it's later part Basilisk Ouka Ninja Scroll), this anime comes with so many trigger warnings. It has a lot of basis in Japanese history, but it does have a touch of "magic", but when I say history I don't mean the prettier sides. There is blood and gore, there is sexual abuse (it's once in each part of the series the women that it happens too are "enemy" kunoichi, there is base for this in history as many diaries have been uncovered over the years talking about how female ninja are warned about being caught and in some cases are "prepared" to handle sexual torture. I took a couple advanced history classes in highschool and history is always way way darker than the blood splattered one we're taught in the regular classes. I had a couple classes where you and your parents had to sign wavers stating you knew that some of what we'd be learning about could be very dark and messed up. Not excusing it, just adding context as to where this is likely coming from. As it is meant to be based in history, unfiltered and at its worst ) and that's just the start, political corruption, abuse, torture, trauma, self harm and suicide, manipulation and gaslighting, sexism, and in the second part at the very end a psycho tries to force the 2 main characters (which were reincarnations of the characters from the first part, and came back as siblings raised separate.) Into incest to use the corrupted virgin blood to resurrect Nobunaga Oda. There is kinda boy love but it's in that screwy historical way, it is an overall dark anime that is not meant for the squeamish or easily triggered. It's unapologetic in how it represents the darkest parts of the time period. So I can understand why it never got super popular, and why it can probably never be remade in this day and age. Plus the ending of the whole whirlwind is very bittersweet, so if your mental health is easily damaged or it is currently in question. I wouldn't recommend bingeing it all at once (it isn't a very long series, 24 in Basilisk and 24 in Basilisk Ouka Ninja scrolls. You could probably skip Ouka Ninja scrolls as it takes a very sad ending and makes it sadder. So it's very watch at your own risk.

I kind of lost the plot, I don't really remember why any of this was important. Just kinda felt like talking about something even if it isn't to anyone specific. I was enjoying a bit of rum while I transferred my stuff to Ao3 in case something happens with Tumblr. So uh... I guess check out my Ao3 if you're interested in any of my Ao3 exclusive writings. I have links to 2 of my books in my Masterlist, scroll all the way to bottom and ignore my singular attempt at smut on here. It isn't as good as my Ao3 smut.