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oceanpulls · 8 months ago

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Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross have a plan to soundtrack everything

Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross – best friends and Nine Inch Nails bandmates – found unlikely creative fulfilment (and a couple of Oscars) by reassessing what they had to offer as musicians. Now they’re thinking even bigger, and imagining an artistic empire of their own making

By Zach Baron

Photography by Danielle Levitt

Every weekday, Trent Reznor makes his way from his house, a cottagey sprawl behind a white wall in a canyon on Los Angeles’s Westside, to a studio he’s built in his backyard. There he meets his best friend, bandmate, and business partner, Atticus Ross, and they get to work. Reznor and Ross observe the same hours, Monday to Friday, 11am to 7pm. “We show up,” Reznor told me. “We’re not late. We’re not coming in to start to fuck around.” It’s a methodical, orderly existence that Reznor could not have foreseen in the ’90s, when he was fronting Nine Inch Nails and struggling with a drug-and-alcohol problem that was his answer to success. “I would do anything to avoid writing a song,” Reznor said. “I’d rewire the studio 50 times.”

Now Reznor has a wife, Mariqueen Maandig, five children, and multiple jobs. He is sober. Since 2010, when the director David Fincher asked Reznor and Ross to score The Social Network, for which Reznor and Ross won an Oscar, the two men have had steady employment composing for film. This year, Reznor and Ross are also starting a yet-to-be-named company, built around storytelling in multiple disciplines: film production, fashion, a music festival, and a venture with Epic Games.

And then, of course, there is the oldest and perhaps still the most complicated of Reznor’s jobs: being the frontman of Nine Inch Nails. In 1988 Reznor formed what was then a one-man band; the first two full-length records Nine Inch Nails released, Pretty Hate Machine(1989) and The Downward Spiral (1994), have sold more than eight million copies. (Over subsequent years and subsequent albums, the band has since crossed the 20 million mark in sales.) In the ’90s, for a time, Nine Inch Nails were ubiquitous: a phenomenon on the level of Nirvana or Dr Dre. During that decade, the success of the band nearly killed Reznor. “I didn’t feel prepared to process how disorientating that was,” he said. “How much it can distort your personality.”

These days, Nine Inch Nails, which Ross joined as a full-time member in 2016, present a different problem – how do you make something old, something so already well-defined, new again? There are years when Reznor feels like he has the answers and years when he’s less certain. He has put the band on hiatus more than once; after the last Nine Inch Nails tour, in 2022, Reznor deliberately took a break from playing shows as well. “For the first time in a long time I wasn’t sure: what’s the tour going to say?” Reznor told me. “What do I have to say right now? We can still play those songs real good. Maybe we can come up with a new production. But it wasn’t screaming at me: this is what to do right now.”

But he and Ross still come to work, daily, in search of transcendence. “We sit in here every day,” Reznor said. “And a portion of the time organically becomes us just figuring out who we are as people and processing life and a kind of therapy session. And in those endless hours it’s come up: why do we want to do this? And the reason is because we both feel the most in touch with God and fulfilled.”

It is easy to make things when you are a teenager growing up in rural Pennsylvania, near the Ohio border, as Reznor was, and you have nothing to lose and everything to gain; it is considerably harder, once you’ve got older, and found a way to make things that people like, to keep going. It’s an old story: the act of creation can lift you up, but those sharp gifts can also destroy you, and if you make it past that, the sheer blissful regularity of life with money and a family can even you out so thoroughly that there is no friction left to work with. You look inside the cupboard and the cupboard is bare, or it’s a mansion and living inside of it is a person you’re bored of, and so you stop looking. But Reznor and Ross have never stopped looking, and the search for that magical feeling of finding something – that feeling of, in Reznor’s words, “I don’t know where it came from. I don’t know how I just did what I did, but I’ve channelled it into something that worked” – is still the thing that organises their days and their moods.

We were talking in their studio, which was low-lit and cold and full of synthesizers’ blinking lights. Reznor was on a sofa and Ross sat in a chair nearby. The two men first met in the ’90s, when Reznor signed Ross’s band, 12 Rounds, to Reznor’s Nothing Records. Soon after, they became friends, and then musical collaborators. “I was just getting sober,” Reznor said, “and I was in a pretty fragile transitional phase. And I just hit it off with Atticus right off the bat. And part of it was, he was someone who was on much firmer ground, in a mentor-y kind of way, than I was.”

Ross is two years younger than Reznor, but when they met, he’d already been through certain things Reznor was just getting around to. “I got clean when I was very young,” Ross told me. “So I had a bit more experience than him. Put it like this: I knew you could have fun without being high.”

Their friendship has been a constant in both their lives since. “I don’t know if parts of us are broken and we don’t feel good enough,” Reznor said, staring at the ceiling of the studio, “but we know if we work as hard as we can and do the best work we can, it fixes something. At the core of it, that’s what unites us creatively. On top of that, I think his take on the world and role in life helps me understand my place and not feel as detached in some ways.”

Reznor often jokes, or simply explains, that he is a “quart low” on whatever it is that makes people happy. “I think we can both, on our own devices, run below zero as a baseline,” Reznor said. “I don’t mean manic depression, I just mean we don’t take compliments well. It’s like when we won the Oscar, it was the day after: ‘Let’s take today guilt-free, kind of say fuck yeah.’ And tomorrow we’ll have settled back down to a few feet below sea level.”

In their years of collaborating with each other, both men have found some mutual reassurance – a little lift. Reznor gestured at Ross.

“I remember something he said to me – I don’t know if you want me to say this or not – in one of our talks years ago: ‘Here’s what I want today.’”

“I see what’s coming,” Ross said, nervously.

“I just want to feel OK,” Reznor said, quoting his friend. “I want to feel like I’m OK.”

One day this winter, Reznor greeted me at the door of their studio – in the course of reporting this story, I never saw him anywhere else – wearing a black hoodie made by the synthesizer company Moog, black jeans, and black running shoes. At 58, Reznor still retains the angular intensity and jet-black hair of his youth, but time and fatherhood seem to have made him quicker to smile. He looks a little like a college professor now, or an unusually-well-cared-for software engineer. He led me back, past walls of unused gear and several black-clad mannequins, all of which startled me, to their primary workspace, where Ross – a tall west Londoner (he grew up in Ladbroke Grove) with a stern face and a pleasantly reedy voice – sat at a computer, also all in black. (Once, I asked the two men whether their upcoming clothing line would feature any colour. “No,” Reznor said, incredulously. “Of course not.”)

They were on deadline for two films at the moment, including Luca Guadagnino’s forthcoming Queer. “But we’re trying not to work,” Reznor said, drily. Leaned up against one wall was a photo of the two in tuxedos, accepting the Academy Award for best original score for their work on The Social Network. Reznor had contributed to soundtracks before, in the ’90s, but he’d never formally scored a film until The Social Network.

But Reznor and Ross quickly realised that the work, in some ways, wasn’t so different from songwriting. “What do we do when we write a song?” Reznor asked. “We’re trying to emotionally connect with somebody.” Take the Mark Zuckerberg character in The Social Network:“Here’s somebody who thinks this idea is so important that it’s worth kind of fucking your friends over for it. And then realising maybe it wasn’t worth it, or I didn’t realise how I’d feel if I got what I wanted at the price of this. I can relate to that in my own language. Suddenly there’s music.”

“I’m grateful not to be as angry and frustrated and desperate as I have felt in the past,” Reznor said. “I couldn’t have predicted that I would feel this level of fulfilment.”

And Reznor found that he enjoyed the exercise of solving someone else’s problems instead of his own. “There’s something about not being the boss and working again in service to something that I initially felt guilty for feeling kind of fulfilled by in a weird way.”

Reznor said that on another Fincher film, Mank, the director suggested: “What if it sounded like maybe inspired by Bernard Herrmann and as if it were recorded in 1935 and this film canister sat on the shelf for 60 years?” OK, interesting. (Ross and Reznor were nominated for that one too.)

On the first film the two men scored for Guadagnino, Bones and All, “we got a cut of that that was nearly four hours long with no music and we kind of thought, Oh, fuck,” Reznor said. “Four hours we sat without a pee break, transfixed. It didn’t need music. And when you watch that you approach it differently.” Then Guadagnino brought them Challengers, due for worldwide release in April. Reznor said, “He started us down a path, saying, ‘What if it was very loud techno music through the whole film?’” (This is exactly what it turned out to be.)

“I wish I had his notes,” Ross said of Guadagnino. “His notes were so fucking funny on what each piece was meant to do.”

“Oh, yeah,” Reznor said. “‘Unending homoerotic desire.’ It was all a variation on those three words.”

They liked the challenge of scoring, they found, and that feeling of not being in control. They also liked the way it made them crave being in control again: “It makes you more inspired to work on other stuff when we’re finished,” Reznor said. “Even if it’s just, Thank God it’s done now and we can appreciate the freedom we had before we gave it up.”

These days, Reznor and Ross also like having jobs that let them be at home, around their families. Both men had tumultuous or lonely lives when they were younger; both men have found that fatherhood soothes certain unresolved aspects of their pasts. Ross has three kids, and “probably the greatest reward is how balanced and happy they all are compared to – certainly my growing up was an unusual sort of scenario. It was a fairly chaotic youth.” Ross comes from a notable English family, but his immediate lineage was more unstable. “My dad had a club called Flipper’s Roller Boogie Palace in LA in the ’70s,” Ross told me. “He went bankrupt in England and had a judgment passed against him where he couldn’t talk to a bank manager for 15 years. So he moved here and opened this sort of Studio 54 on roller skates on La Cienega and Santa Monica.” Ross held up a coffee-table book full of photos of the club. “You don’t need to look at it, but it was just a mad life. So I grew up in some madness.”

It is particularly endearing to see Reznor, who at a distance was a fierce and terrifying figure in his 20s and 30s, find domestic bliss. I am old enough that my adolescence coincided neatly with the S&M-flavoured, I wanna fuck you like an animal era of Nine Inch Nails; when I was leaving Reznor’s house one day, I noted with some amusement the cheerful mundanity of a basketball hoop in the backyard. “I’m grateful not to be as angry and frustrated and desperate as I have felt in the past,” Reznor told me. “I couldn’t have predicted that there was a world where I would have a sizeable family with kids and feel the level of fulfilment and comfort and be able to live in that.”

Was that something you were consciously seeking before you found it?

“I think I had some abandonment issues from my parents splitting up, or feeling I never fit in, and I’d gotten accustomed to being on my own. And largely due to my own, I think, inability to really be intimate with people, or share or be open or know how to be a friend or a partner to somebody… Trying that out and doing it with pure and full immersion has led to an unexpectedly great outcome.”

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The other film project Reznor and Ross were on deadline for was Scott Derrickson’s The Gorge, a science-fiction thriller starring Miles Teller and Anya Taylor-Joy. They were working on a lengthy, music-dependent scene that they’d already mostly scored. But, Ross said, “the director wants it to be a bit more, I can’t think of a better word than just a bit more scary and intense.” They weren’t sure what that directive meant, exactly, but they were content – they were happy – to try to figure it out: to enter the room once again, carrying nothing, and to try to leave it with something that didn’t exist before.

Ross called up the scene on a monitor at the centre of a long mixing board: Teller and Taylor-Joy in an evil-looking spiky forest. Reznor and Ross have somewhat fluid roles in their collaboration, but today the plan was for Reznor to improvise some music while Ross edited and manipulated it in real time. “Atticus’ superpower,” Reznor said, “is that I can come up with a melody and a chord change, and he can make that sit on the scene in a way that is meticulous, and mind-numbingly boring to watch him do.”

A studio assistant, also in all black, presented himself to help Reznor set up a microphone and a cello next to a keyboard that sat underneath another computer monitor. Ross hit play on the footage and what they’d already completed of the score, a kind of haunted, chanting murmur. “It’s basically atmosphere at the moment,” Ross said. Next to him was a synthesizer whose make and model he asked me not to print and which the two men use as a kind of sound ecosystem to feed stuff into.

Reznor began by pushing down on the piano’s keyboard, while with his other hand he manipulated the sound with a flat synthesizer on the desk in front of him. It began as a kind of mellow pan flute thing, and then, with a push of a few buttons, became more of a sad, Social Network-ish plonk. Ross stood up and started tapping the synthesizer to his left, and the sounds Reznor made began to loop and accumulate – little melodic figures that plunged in and out of feedback. Reznor moved from the piano to the microphone, where he sang a few soft passages in a baritone falsetto, more sad than spooky, and then to the cello, which he played slowly and choppily. Ross moved between the computer and the synthesizer, trying to harness it all as it built to a loud, echoing crescendo.

After about 20 minutes, Reznor sat back in his chair, and Ross soon followed suit. Everything got quiet again. “It’s going fishing,” Reznor said to me, shrugging. “Sometimes something happens.”

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Or, sometimes, everything happens. One of the first things you see when you arrive at Reznor’s home studio are two original paintings by the Yorkshire artist Russell Mills – on the left, a razor against a rusty red background; on the right, a decaying yellow-and-black collage – that ultimately became the insert and the cover art for Nine Inch Nails’ The Downward Spiral. This is the record with “Hurt” and “Closer” on it. It’s an album Reznor nearly didn’t survive.

Why do I bring this up? Well. If I may, for a moment, sound like the ageing dude in a black T-shirt leaning against the back wall of a bar where you’re just trying to be young and free of recitations of what the year 1994 felt like, there was a different quality to the way things would happen in music. Bands would labour for years, unknown, and then just get struck by lightning, is the best way I can put it: one day, you’re just a guy, and then one radio station plays your song, and then every radio station plays your song, and everyone is listening to those radio stations, because there is nothing else to do, and then MTV loops your video, and everyone watches it because, again, there is nothing else to do, and all of a sudden you are known by millions of bored people in a way that doesn’t quite happen now. This is a gross oversimplification, of course, but here Reznor is, one of the very few people who have experienced the thing I’m describing. I thought: let’s just ask him what that was like.

Reznor said, OK, he could tell me exactly what it felt like. He gave me a single moment: Woodstock ’94, which Nine Inch Nails almost didn’t play – “it seemed like it was going to be gross, to be honest with you” – but ultimately did. “And when we got there, it was terrifying,” Reznor said. “It was way bigger than I pictured in my head and walking on stage. But this is the point of the story: I knew. You could feel like you were in the right place at the right time.”

In retrospect, how did you handle success?

“Had a drink. That’s what sent me down the path. I wasn’t the guy that, you know, at 12 years old cracked a beer. That wasn’t it at all. Just, I feel anxious around people. I’m not sure how to act, especially now that you’re someone that’s supposed to act a certain way. There’s a projection. It feels uncomfortable to walk down the street and people are looking at you because they recognise you. That’s weird. Suddenly everybody wants to be your friend and you’re the coolest. Everyone wants to date you and shit like that.” Reznor said he found it was “easier to have a beer before I go in that room, and then a couple of beers before I go in that room. And pretty soon over a period of time, wait a minute, things start to get out of control. And you know how the story goes.”

Here’s how the story went: Reznor began to wonder if Trent Reznor could ever live up to the Nine Inch Nails guy that people had in their heads. “The reason I was having to drink was to fix that problem, my own insecurity. But the net result is: I’m not really who I am because now I’ve got drugs or alcohol in my system and I’m not thinking as who I really am. And that comes into focus once one gets sober and has time to reflect and kind of think about what got you there and shit you did.”

Eventually, Reznor got sober, and built himself back up. Today he’s happy to talk about all of it, obviously, but he and Ross have done a lot together since – 10 albums’ worth of Nine Inch Nails (Ross was an official member of the band for five of them), among other things – and Reznor is, by nature, not one to dwell too much on the past of a band that he’s still very much trying to figure out. “We’re not fans of resting on our laurels. We’ve been afraid of thinking about nostalgia. That’s a whole other conversation, but the reality is we’re getting older and our fans are getting older and that’s a fact. And I think, say, during the pandemic, not that you asked this question, but as I’m sure everybody was, I was pretty genuinely freaked out and very clearly came into focus: I’ve got to protect my family.”

He was consumed by fear, by terror of what might happen, of what he might do about it. “I can’t even fit all my kids in a car,” Reznor said. “But in the midst of that anxiety, sitting alone in here, I found comfort in nostalgia. I found comfort looking back at things from my youth that I’ve been afraid to even allow myself to glimpse at because it meant artistic death. Because one has to look forward. One can’t be self-referential. I was so afraid growing up in a little shitty town. I could see people that thought the highlight of their life is junior in high school catching the football. You know what I mean? That’s it. That was the peak. I don’t want to fucking be that person. I could see my fate if I stayed in that town.”

In those moments sitting by yourself, what were you getting nostalgic for?

“I miss parts of living in Pennsylvania. I miss a simpler life that I grew up with. I really loved the first INXS album in 1983. I was a senior in high school, and when I listen to it now I could almost start crying because it fucking reminds me of driving in a shitty fucking car in the summer in Pennsylvania. You know what I mean? Man. I allowed myself to kind of immerse myself in who I was at that time, and what it felt like.”

Reznor had been trying to remake himself ever since he left where he grew up, and now here he is in Los Angeles, over 40 years later. “And I kind of went on a deep dive for a while and allowed myself to realise: I am who I am. And the things that made me weren’t the cool things. I’d always been ashamed of: I came from a shitty town; I didn’t have an exotic upbringing; shitty education, you know what I mean? That’s who I am. I’m not sure what the point of all that confession was.”

Well, except: “It plays into where I’m at now.”

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The last time I saw Reznor and Ross, it was once again in their studio. They were sitting very still. Had they been working before I got there?

“We were for a little bit,” Ross said. “And then nervously thinking about you arriving.”

Really? It’s OK if that’s the truth.

“That’s the truth,” Reznor said. They’d just been in this room for the past weeks, months – years, really, he said. Head down. Working. He gestured at me. “It’s a different mindset.”

And “I was thinking about something you said the other day,” Reznor said. That was on a Friday. I’d asked a somewhat rude question about their soundtrack work, which was: why would Reznor or Ross work for anyone else when they didn’t have to?

Now it was Monday. “I thought about that over the weekend,” Reznor said. “It’s like, Why are we doing this? The idea comes from what we think is a good place of ‘Let’s break it up. Let’s get sent down the rabbit hole on certain things and feel like we’ve got tasks being assigned to us rather than us just blindly seeing what happens creatively.’ ”

But, he said, “I think coming out of a stretch of a number of films in a row, I want some time of seeing where the wind blows versus: there’s a looming date on a calendar coming up and we’d better get our shit together. And certainly in the last few weeks I’ve been itching to do what we often do, which is just come in and let’s start something that we’re not even sure what it’s for.”

Some of that energy, he and Ross said, would probably become the next Nine Inch Nails album. Doing soundtrack work, Reznor said, had “managed to make Nine Inch Nails feel way more exciting than it had been in the past few years. I’d kind of let it atrophy a bit in my mind for a variety of reasons.”

But now, “I do feel excited about starting on the next record,” Ross said. “I think we’re in a place now where we kind of have an idea.”

And then there was the company, which Reznor and Ross spent the last two years putting together, piece by piece, with the help of John Crawford, their longtime art director, and the producer Jonathan Pavesi. The idea was, what could they do that they hadn’t already done around storytelling? Some of that might take the form of examining Nine Inch Nails from yet another angle – “we’ve been working on homegrown IP around Nine Inch Nails, stories we could tell, and we’re working on developing those in a way that are not what you think they’d be.” (As in: not a biopic.) They also have a show in development with Christopher Storer, the creator of The Bear, they said, and a film with the veteran horror director Mike Flanagan.

Reznor put on a pair of black-rimmed glasses so that he could examine a piece of paper next to him. “We just wrote some notes because I knew I’d forget what the fuck I’m about to say.” There was a short film coming with the artist Susanne Deeken. There was a clothing venture, a T-shirt line made in collaboration with a notable designer whose name they’d like to keep secret for now, which will arrive this summer. There was a music festival that they were currently planning, “where we’re going to debut as performing as composers along with a roster of other interesting people,” and a record label, both scheduled to launch around the same time.

And for two years they’ve been working with Epic Games on something that is not exactly a video game, in the UEFN ecosystem Epic has built around Fortnite – “It’s what Zuckerberg was trying to bullshit us into calling the metaverse,” Reznor said. “You can’t say that word any more, but in terms of the tool kit, thinking about it through the lens of what could be possible for artists and experiences, we thought that would be an interesting way to tell a story through that.”

They were nervously contemplating the prospect of having day jobs again, of being responsible for more than just themselves. Early on, as they contemplated launching the company, they’d sat down with David Fincher to ask him about movie production: how does it work? “And he’s like, oh, you’re fucked,” Reznor said. “I can distil a two-hour conversation into that. Because, he said, ‘I know you guys, and no one’s going to care more than you do, and you will not be able to let it go.’”

Reznor has actually had this experience before, of being sucked into a project bigger than Nine Inch Nails and having it take over his entire life. Years ago he worked as an executive, first for Beats and then for Apple, building a streaming-music service.

“Trent was very clear when we started,” Ross said. “We cannot let this get into Apple terrain.”

Reznor laughed. “What I mean by that is – I will make this brief; I’m trying to think through what I’m about to talk shit on. Just to self-censor for a second.”

Reznor paused for a moment and then explained. For years, he said, he’d wondered: what would make a good streaming service? This was before the advent of Spotify in the US or Apple Music. Jimmy Iovine, Reznor’s old label boss – later, Iovine would also become Ross’s brother-in-law, after he married Ross’s sister, Liberty, in 2016 – was launching a music service at Beats, which was then acquired by Apple, and Iovine said to Reznor: come try to make this thing a reality. And Reznor surprised himself by saying yes.

“It was a unique opportunity to work at the biggest company in the world at a high level,” Reznor said. “And it was interesting, the scale of the people that you reach through those platforms, just the global amount of influence those platforms can have was exciting. The political situation I was dropped into was not as exciting.”

Reznor enjoyed working with Apple’s design team and its engineering team. “But it made me realise how much I want to be an artist first and foremost.” Reznor also became discouraged with the possibility of fixing the problem that he was trying to solve. “I think the terrible payout of streaming services has mortally wounded a whole tier of artists that make being an artist unsustainable. And it’s great if you’re Drake, and it’s not great if you’re Grizzly Bear. And the reality is: take a look around. We’ve had enough time for the whole ‘All the boats rise’ argument to see they don’t all rise. Those boats rise. These boats don’t. They can’t make money in any means. And I think that’s bad for art. And I thought maybe at Apple there could be influence to pay in a more fair or significant way, because a lot of these services are just a rounding error compared to what comes in elsewhere, unlike Spotify where their whole business is that. But that’s tied to a lot of other political things and label issues, and everyone’s trying to hold onto their little piece of the pie and it is what it is. I also realise, I think that people just want to turn the faucet on and have music come in. They’re not really concerned about all the romantic shit I thought mattered.”

Anyway, Reznor said, turning to Ross, “That was a long-winded way of saying, when we talked about this company, I just said, ‘Be aware of what success might look like because it will turn into something that eats up lots of cycles and time and attention and energy.’ ”

But, Ross said, taking on new responsibilities was, paradoxically, also a way to stay a little younger. “I know we’ve all been talking about being dads and being adults and all that,” Ross said, “and there is a part of me that thinks: it’s important to keep the kid alive.” Meaning the child inside yourself, rather than the one you’re responsible for.

He told a story about him and Reznor visiting the director David Lynch at his house to work with him on the 2017 revival of Twin Peaks. “And I don’t know how old he was at the time,” Ross said, “but he was older. But just walking in there, and he had the room set up and there’s a screen there, there’s some chairs here and there’s some musical instruments there and he’s smoking a cigarette. There’s nothing old about that dude. You know what I mean?”

Lynch showed them some Lynchian footage. It was incredible, even if they didn’t quite know what they were looking at. Lynch was probably 70 or 71 at the time. “But it’s that thing of it doesn’t matter how old he is,” Ross said. “He is alive. It’s that bit of it all that one doesn’t want to lose with age.”

The point was, Reznor said: “Let’s try some stuff. We’re bored. We are. You know what I mean? We’re grateful. We enjoy doing films. We can write a better Nine Inch Nails record, I think. We can put on a cooler tour. We are aimed to do that. But man, what if we try to do that?” Meaning, the company. “What if we could take what we’re good at, like we did with film? We identified something I think we’re good at and we figured out how to apply it to something else. What if we take that theory and try it on some other things? And that’s led us into: we’re not beaten down completely yet. And it feels exciting. That’s what matters to us right now.”

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Styled by Mobolaji Dawodu Grooming by Johnny Stuntz using Dior Capture Totale Hyalushot SFX Makeup by Malina Stearns Grills by Alligator Jesus Tailoring by Yelena Travkina Set design by Lizzie Lang at 11th House Agency Produced by Emily O’Meara at JN Production

#my ninposting #my transcription #trent reznor #atticus ross #nin #nine inch nails #trent #reznor #gq

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doueverwonder · 28 days ago

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a whole bunch of notes on Illithiya and her and Utah's kids under the cut;

Born in 1963

25 in 1988

26 in 1989

29 in 1992

33 in 1996

43 in 2006

55 in 2018

61 in 2024

okay, this is actually where we're at with her age, and if you look below here's where I am with the kids.

Ogden UT. ‘Zach’ (he/him): Est. 1846, born 1988. Currently 19 physically.

Salt Lake City UT. ‘Jaxson’ (he/him): Est. 1847, born 1989. Currently 18 physically.

Provo UT. ‘Kayleigh’ (she/her): Est. 1849, born 1992. Currently 16 physically. [twin]

West Jordan UT. ‘Kinsley’ (she/her): Est. 1849, born 1992. Currently 16 physically. [twin]

Sandy UT. ‘Jayden’ (he/him): Est. 1871, born 1996. Currently 14 physically.

Orem UT. ‘Kayden’ (he/him): Est. 1919, born 2006. Currently 8 physically.

West Valley City UT. ‘Brayden’ (he/him): Est. 1980, born 2018. Currently 3 physically.

Ahmed. (he/him): Born 2003, adopted in 2007 at age 4. Currently 21.

General notes: yes she was 55 when she had Brayden deciding rn if I'm going to mess with the math more (mostly just make the age gaps with the last two smaller) or if I'll just leave it this way and use the miracle baby excuse.

personifications age 1 year for every 2 that pass until they're 'adults' (usually around 25 physically), this is why Ahmed is older despite being younger than the majority of his siblings. They could be angsty about it but instead he just uses it to tease his older siblings :p

I think they stopped trying for more after Jayden, and were in the process of adopting Ahmed when they found out Illithiya was pregnant with Kayden and after 'much prayer and meditation' (<- freaking the fuck out for 20 business days) decided to adopt Ahmed anyway bc to heck with it.

Nah but like Kayden was a 'oh weren't expecting that but we're always happy to make our family bigger :)'; Brayden caused the panicking and tears, and "we can't have another baby, I shouldn't be able to have another baby!" bc it had been 12 years since Kayden was born, and 11 since they adopted Ahmed and suddenly here's another kid??? they love him so much but holy fuck bud u came out of nowhere.

I do actually have an essay typed up on Illithiya, Ahmed and Zach specifically pertaining to how Illithiya and Ahmed will grow old and die and the rest of the family wont. It's bullet points is

Illithiya considers herself privileged and chosen in someway to be Utah's wife and the mother of cities. she thinks that God somehow hand picked her for the job, and she doesn't like that her husband and children aren't 'normal' all the time, but this is what gets her through it. Then God gave her Ahmed so she would be able to watch one of her children grow and have a normal life.

Ahmed always thinking he was just different because he was adopted, then in his mid-teens processing fully that that's not the entire reason. Dude randomly remembered that time he got it explained to him that his dad and siblings are semi-immortal beings the represent pieces of land, their governments, and their people 🤯

uhh angst about Zach leaving the church, there were a lot of reasons he left but the straw on the camels back was absolutely in relation to the fact that Illithiya and Ahmed would die long before he would and he'd have to live without them. The snapping point was an argument he got into with Illithiya where he asked her "if you're actually chosen, like you say you are, why is God letting you die?" and when Illithiya didn't have an answer (and even if she had he had already made up his mind on the matter) he decided he was done.

but i'm not posting the essay unless someone wants it bc it is LONG and pretty angsty lmao

#wttt #welcome to the table #wttt illithiya #wttt utah #tw: religion

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tarynisbunhead · 5 months ago

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Man, CGI has really ruined Hollywood.

I've said how much I hate CGI in the past. How at this point I can't see the movie but just CGI blobs, or how about the fact that CGI takes away jobs like Make-up artists and costume design? "Hey if the computer can do it, why bother to wear the costume at all?" This is why corporations now turned to AI, and it's backfiring.

So why even bring this up? This summer I decided to watch Young Indiana Jones Chronicles again. I watched the first half of volume one, so far the first four adventures follow 10 year old Indiana Jones as he travels the world with his parents and tutor. Eventually the series tackles what happened to Indy's mother and the bitter relationship between father and son but as for right now Professor Jones is traveling and lecturing. This series was released in 1992 and as a kid when this series was released I didn't miss an episode, it was one of my favorite shows - why the fucking hell is Hollywood stupid now? This isn't some crummy nostalgia trip because I have the set and watch it on occasion, in the last 20 years Hollywood has given us reboots and self inserts, I'm not entertained watching someone's fan fiction play out.

This show starts off with a monologue explaining how Indy got to be an adventurous kid, and how he ended up with his dog. It then slides into how the family started their trip around the world - their house is a Victorian style house so you know the rest of this will be shot on location. Even as a kid I loved the location shots and costumes, I wanted to go back in time and wear Mrs. Jones clothes, I thought she was so pretty.

Okay now first of all, Professor Jones. George Lucas had to know after releasing Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade in 1989, and having Sean Connery as Indy's father, that wasn't going to be easy. The actor, Lloyd Owen, not only has the look but his acting style follows Mr. Connery. Right down to saying "Junior!" almost exact.

Shoot on location or green screen? I understand budget, but if you were given the money to show off the beauty of a country, why destroy it with computer generation?

I mean even the silent film Phantom of the Opera, that music hall set was designed using sketches. People thought that scene was filmed in an actual music hall. Lucas filmed on location in several episodes, using props that fit the time period, with 10 year old Indy the journey began in 1909.

Props and costumes really make a difference in transporting the audience back in time.

But even at that, through the series Indy meets several historical figures. Some show up several times like T. E. Lawrence and Howard Carter, so of course they had to look like the person they were portraying but what about Sigmund Freud? Tolstoy? Even a young Norman Rockwell?

This is the first episode, Carter and T. E. Lawrence are at a digsite. The crafty thing about Lucas is the characters mention King Tut so yeah you're gonna see these guys again

Here's a young Norman Rockwell

Here's Puccini, the opera composer who gave us Madame Butterfly. I watched the episode last night and didn't realize just how much it showed the actual Puccini - in the episode he went after Indy's mom, the real Puccini was a womanizer so there was no holding back

You can say I'm nostalgic and defend 2024 Hollywood but look at Who Framed Roger Rabbit that was released in 1988

Or how about Dick Tracy, released in 1990

Then there's Rocketeer in 1991

And then the same year that Young Indiana Jones Chronicles was released to TV, there was Newsies - 1992

Can we go back to movies and TV shows that look like the time period they were set in?

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stopthatfool · 1 year ago

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stop-that-fool's ICEMAV timeline for Your jeep. Your Teeth. The coffee that you bought me.

AKA where my icemav's story sticks to canon and where it diverges/changes-- all while trying to make it align with real military/historical events.

Also, thank you @sliderkerner for indulging me and saying that you wanted my timeline posted here!

DISCLAIMER! I am in no way an expert of the US Military. This whole 'timeline' should not be taken as fact or canon regarding TOP GUN. I am making this for my own understanding of my icemav story and to help myself and anyone reading keep track of the timeline. This is just for fun and mostly for me.

Quick note about the time off US Military members get. According to this website, people accumulate leave-- 2.5 days per month of work. I don't think that either Mav or Ice are eager to take time off. I can only see them wanting to take time off to visit Carole and Bradley (as Val Kilmer stated, I also believe that Ice does not have the ideal family). That's why a lot of their work seems back-to-back/never ending.

1986-

-The movie stays the same (Goose dies, intense amounts of sexual tension between Ice and Mav, "You can be my wingman anytime" etc., etc.)

-The FIRST change in canon is when Mav states that he's going to try teaching at TOP GUN. In TGM, Mav said he barely lasted one class. Within my story, Mav lasts until 1988.

Between '87 and '88-

-Ice comes to teach at TOP GUN (entirely for the purpose of his career/'resume' for working his way up for promotions etc., etc.)

-While Ice is there (for around 2 TOP GUN classes) that is when Ice and Mav start getting involved romantically.

-But Ice hates teaching. He leaves mid '88 and joins the Iran-Iraq War aboard USS Enterprise.

Late 1988-

-Mav completes one last TOP GUN class after Ice leaves and follows Ice to the USS Enterprise (a happy accident that they were stationed on the same ship). This then allows them to continue their 'involvement' and allow them to fly together again ("Bullshit, you can be mine" blah blah blah).

1990-

-The Gulf War. According to Fandom Wiki both Mav and Ice have the Kuwait Liberation Medal-- meaning they both fought in the Gulf War around this time. (Btw they are no longer on the USS Enterprise as she was no longer involved in the Gulf War past 1989 (I think))

-In my TOP GUN universe, Mav gets another 'kill' during the Gulf War (I have no idea if any naval aviators did this in 1990 (Mav didn't do this canonically) but it happens within the stop-that-fool fanfic universe). Merlin is also Mav's RIO throughout the the Gulf War.

1991-

-BUT Ice has the Kuwait Liberation Medal (Saudi Arabia) while Mav does not. Mav has the Southwest Asia Service Medal. So, for my story this time in between 1991-92 is when Mav pisses someone off and is moved squadrons/carriers to somewhere in Southwest Asia.

-Both of them, according to these medals, participated in Operation Desert Storm. (Mav also could have participated in Operation Desert Shield due to his Southwest Asia Service Medal.)

-Throughout 1991 they are able to see each other a couple times, but the fact that Mav keeps pissing people off makes it difficult. This is also because Navy deployments on average last between 6-7 months (according to a quick Google search) and for the sake of the story, their deployments and time off in between rarely overlap.

1992-

-This difficulty continues into 1992 where it all comes to a head on Dec. 31st 1992 (Ice's birthday! (Ice does not have a 'canon' birthday, but Dec. 31st is Val Kilmer's and I thought that bday also made sense for Ice)). Que the car scene in ch.4 and the aftermath the next morning.

-Throughout '92, Mav was in Iraq participating in the Iraqi no-fly zones. (I think. I find this UN mandate difficult to understand, especially whether or not the US Navy was involved or not.)

1993-

-Mav and Ice do not see each other in person at all in '93. But as said in ch.4 they-- "...talk about nothing on the phone. Ice never picks him up from the airport again."

-The US Navy also provided air cover for cargo planes that were bringing relief supplies during the Bosnian War. This is where Mav was placed in '93 (pissed off some captain or higher up or something).

-Ice and Mav don't see each other (in person) until '94.

The UNITED NATIONS MEDAL- In the TOP GUN fandom wiki page, both Ice and Mav are listed to have a United Nations Medal. What it does not state, and what I cannot find anywhere online, is what conflict they were a part specifically of for them to receive this medal. There are multiple options throughout the 1990's and 2000's that could have led to this award. BUT for the sake of my story, I will only be considering/applying conflicts that took place between 1994-98.

Between 1994 and '96-

-I think Ice received the UNPROFOR United Nations Medal for his service during the Yugoslav Wars. This is where he was between 1994-95. As I stated in ch.3 he was stationed somewhere in Europe after he and Mav 'break up' (I can't figure out what United Nations Medal Mav could have received-- it's difficult to figure out US Navy specific peacekeeping missions he could been involved in besides UNPROFOR.))

1997-

-It's around this year that Mav uses some of his accumulated vacation days to spend a longer period with Carole and Bradley. Ice is still stationed in Europe (workaholic).

1998-

-After Mav's time off, he's deployed again to Iraq.

As I mentioned in a previous post, not a lot of things happen in early to mid 1998 in regards to military conflicts, BUT Operation Desert Fox happens in December of 1998. I think the military would need to have people around before the operation before completing something of that scale. AKA that's why Mav is there in June.

-Then on an undisclosed date in early June, Mav crashes as stated in ch.1 (“You dodged some crazy bastards up there, then hit a bird. The plane crashed into the ground, and you ejected and landed on some rocks...").

-Mav is transferred to a hospital in California as he needs special surgery for his shattered knee cap.

-Ice has been in California for a couple days when Mav gets there because his paternal grandfather is dying (another happy accident that his grandfather is in the same hospital as Mav (god i love plot armour)). Ice had previously been permanently stationed somewhere in Europe (to get away from his family, Mav, and to work up to a promotion).

-Carole dies a couple days after Mav is released from the hospital. Bradley is now under Mav's legal guardianship. They move into military provided family housing on the Lemoore Naval Air Station with Mav teaching at the SFWSPAC (Strike Fighter Weapons School Pacific) once his injuries heal.

-Ice then reveals that he has requested to be stationed in California with Mav (the request was approved, Ice is now near both his family AND Mav... he's so silly).

-On June 21st 1998, Mav, Ice and Bradley drive out to West California to the beach cottage Mav rented (courtesy of Viper) with the plans of celebrating Bradley's birthday on June 27th (finally someone with a canon bday thank u Bradley).

Anyway, that's all we got so far! I would just like to say again that I am in no way claiming that this is accurate or canon. I also can't guarantee that I understand all of the wars, conflicts, operations, and details of the US military that I stated previously. So if I got something wrong; any of the language I used, details of the wars and conflicts stated, I apologize! Very deeply. From the depths of my soul.

#this is proof that i am a productive member of society #I AM NOT AN EXPERT #this is just for fun #all my info is basically from Wikipedia plz do not trust me #i tried to hyperlink everything that i referenced.. which is mostly Wikipedia #sorry about that.. but i don't care THAT much to find 'reliable' sources #like this is a military propaganda movie after all.. therefore i'm not like... dying to make this as accurate as possible #who am i kidding here #this is literally for a fanfiction #do u think tom cruise would combust on the spot if he saw this... all this for a gay fanfiction....#again this is mostly for me to reference-- my scattered notes and floating thoughts in my brain were not working anymore #so i made this for myself and then i thought i would post it #because sharing is caring #i got the fanfic name right #finally #the military propaganda got to me. IT GOT ME.#icemav #icemav fanfic #top gun 1986 #top gun #maverick #iceman #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #top gun fanfiction #thank u ily bye #ao3 #stopthatfool writes

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kirk-says-wah · 1 year ago

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Could I possibly request for your Metallica stories some James/Dave physical hurt/comfort ? With Dave being the hurt one? Set in like 1988 or 1989. Also I'm sorry you are going through a breakup 😭

Or some James/Dave college AU stuff. Literally anything. I just love James/Dave 🫣

I’m so so fucking sorry this took me so long to answer. I know this has been sitting in my inbox since august I can only apologise 😭

Anyways I hope you enjoy, and you can also read it on ao3 here

They’re as close to home as they can get nowadays.

The Bay Area’s only about an hour away from Daly City so he hopes to see some familiar faces in the crowd. He wonders if anyone’ll will even recognise them anymore.

They’re on their last song when James spots him.

A few rows in, head of thick, red hair. Angry sneer he can place anywhere.

It’s a surprise because he thought he’d be back in LA. Neither band really resides in the bay anymore. So it leaves James a little bit startled at the sight of such a familiar face.

He plays as if he hasn’t noticed, even when he can feel eyes bore into his skin. It’s definitely too hot in here.

As soon as they’ve finished, he bids the audience a good night and tumbles off stage with the others.

Lars snakes a hand over his back, patting his shoulder, shouting something that gets lost in the noise of the crowd. James just nods anyway, not really trying to listen, more interested in finding out why Dave was here.

He hits the showers quickly, wiping all the sweat off, ignoring the others’ jeers as he steps out before any of them have even stepped in.

He doesn’t even bother to help out any of the roadies and instead goes out into the crowd in search of Dave.

He comes up empty after fifteen minutes of sifting through the crowd trying to go unnoticed, and guesses Dave probably would’ve left by now. Probably didn’t want to see him anyways.

James sighs, gives one last look before sliding out the mass of people in search of a bathroom.

He shuts himself in quickly, noticing only one of the stalls are occupied.

He’s pissing in one of the urinals when he first notices it, a pair of feet sticking out from under the stall door, like someone’s lying on the floor on the other side.

He frowns, zips himself up and raps his knuckles on the door.

“Hey, are you okay?”

There’s silence, then a quiet “go away.”

It’s snarky, mean. James pauses.

“Dave?”

Dave doesn’t answer, before there’s the sound of retching. James doesn’t wait to be let in, and instead reaches in through the gap in the door and pushes the lock.

As soon as he steps in and closes the door behind him, he finds Dave sat on his ass, head bent half in the toilet bowl.

“Hey,” James says softly, bends down a little to be at Dave’s eye level.

Dave glares at him, spits into the bowl.

“Fuck off, Hetfield.”

James just rolls his eyes, grabs a few tissues before moving forward a little, reaching out to wipe the vomit from Dave’s chin.

Dave continues to glare at him but doesn’t really put up much of a fight.

“Drank too much?”

Dave huffs a laugh, arm coming to settle around his middle.

“Something like that.”

James can’t help the guilt that starts to build in his chest. It’s not his fault, and it’s been years since that fateful day when they told Dave he was fired, but it still makes James feel slightly queasy.

Especially when Dave starts puking his guts up again.

James kneels next to him, holds his hair back.

“Get .. the fuck.. off of me,” Dave spits in between retching but James just ignores him, smooths his hand over his forehead, uses his other hand to rub over his back.

He starts to worry when Dave sits back, eyes closed, panting heavily, and it looks like all the blood’s been drained from his body. This doesn’t look like drinking too much.

James wipes at his chin again. Dave doesn’t open his eyes, chest stuttering.

“Do you need a hospital?”

“Fuck you.”

James takes that as a no, even though he kind of wishes Dave had said yes, mostly because he doesn’t know how to help.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Leave me alone.”

James huffs. “Not gonna happen.”

Dave squints an eye open at him, looks at him like he’s searching for sarcasm.

“You’re not joking?”

That takes James by surprise. He doesn’t answer at first, and instead wrestles a mostly limp Dave into his arms, letting the guitarist rest his head against his chest.

“I know I fucked up, and I know we left on bad terms, but I’m not gonna fucking leave you like this.”

Dave’s breath is hot against his chest. Arms crawl up to hold onto him.

“Okay.”

James hold him for a little bit longer then, just until Dave’s stopped being sick, and then he hikes him up, an arm around his middle.

“If you’re not going to the hospital, then you’re coming back with me.”

Dave doesn’t really say anything, just grunts as he’s jostled against James’s side.

James bundles Dave into the car and tells the driver to go straight back to the hotel. He knows the others won’t be there yet, it’s usually another hour of post show drinks before they even think about going to bed.

Dave closes his eyes, rests his head against James’s shoulder. It makes James’s heart clench at what he’s lost. When they sacked Dave, he didn’t just lose a bandmate, but also a lover, and he’s never missed that relationship as much as he does right now.

Because he could’ve had this; Dave being by his side. And it hurts.

It fucking hurts to see Dave having fallen so low when he knows he had a hand in it.

He can’t help himself when he reaches over, takes Dave’s hand in his own.

Dave startled a little bit, but doesn’t look at James. But he doesn’t pull his hand away either.

When they get to the hotel, James helps him into the room, depositing him on the bed before getting a glass of water.

“Here,” he says, handing the glass to him. Dave takes it gratefully, downing it in one.

James kneels then, takes off Dave’s shoes one by one, feeling Dave’s eyes watch him closely.

“You don’t have to do this,” Dave says after a moment, voice uncharacteristically small, fragile.

It makes James cringe slightly. He looks up at Dave, meets his eyes.

“I want to.”

Dave blinks at him, face incredulous.

“Don’t fucking mess with me, James. I know when I’m not wanted.”

James pauses, properly looks at Dave. He looks ill, all pale and blotchy in a sickly sort of way, and his face is turned down, obviously expecting James to send him packing. It’s not like he’s never done it before.

Instead James just shakes his head, lets his hand rest atop of Dave’s knee.

“I want to make sure you’re okay.” And I miss you. He doesn’t say it. He wishes he could.

Dave just sighs, lets the top half of his body settle back onto the bed as James continues to unlace his shoes, pulling them off.

He goes for Dave’s jeans then but Dave feebly bats him away.

“Trying to get me into bed or what?”

That comment makes James blush slightly, but he just shakes his head, goes back to undoing Dave’s pants.

“You’ll be more comfortable. And besides, I don’t want you bringing any of that crap from the bathroom floor in bed with you.”

Dave makes a noncommittal noise but lets James pull his jeans off without a word.

“You’re letting me stay in your bed?”

“Well, you can sleep on the floor if you want.”

Dave just stares at him like he’s grown another head. James shrugs.

He pulls the comforter back, ushering Dave under the covers. He grabs the other pillow and takes it to the chair in the corner.

“What are you doin?”

James gets comfortable, which is difficult when he’s bigger than the chair. It’s one of those crappy ones you’d find in high school and it does nothing to quell the ache in his bones.

“I’m gonna sleep here.”

Dave frowns, rolls over slightly to face him.

“Don’t be stupid. Just get in with me.”

James stops, twists a little to look at Dave. There’s no sarcasm in his tone, but James knows that if he takes him up on the offer, he’s reopening up a door he closed long ago.

Dave groans, rests his head back onto the pillow.

“Just get your fucking ass here before I change my mind.”

James hides his smile and quickly shimmies off his pants before climbing in next to Dave, their hands briefly touching as he settles in.

It’s awkward at first, James doesn’t really know what going on between them, but then Dave rolls over, presses backwards until his back collides with James’s chest.

James takes that as his cue to sling an arm around his waist, splaying his fingers over his stomach under his shirt. He buries his face in Dave’s hair, hears Dave breathing falter.

He wants to say something, wants to tell him he’s sorry, that he misses him. That he loves him.

He doesn’t. That’s all in the past and he can’t let himself get submerged back into all that emotion again. He can’t.

Even when Dave snuggles back into him with a sigh. Even when he leans down, kisses Dave’s cheek gently. Even when Dave smiles, closes his eyes.

He can’t let himself fall. Not again. It’s not fair to either of them.

But for now, he pulls Dave in closer, revels in the heat of him, and hides his face in his neck.

#james/dave #metallica fanfiction #my fics #asks

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baconpncakes · 2 years ago

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oh. my. gosh. your house episode is so intriguing i really want it right now actually LMAOO

i want to know how you came up with everything actually im so so enthralled

Omg I'm so glad you asked ✨

Putting this under the cut bc it's long-winded lol

My sister (who has never seen an entire episode of House but I send her stuff from it and about it all the time) said that there should be an episode where House is taking care of a drunk Wilson and it's all very amusing until Wilson kisses him. House kisses back, but then he actually processes Oh Shit Wilson Just Kissed Me. The next morning House probes Wilson and it turns out he doesn't remember the kiss. House goes to Thirteen to talk about it and see what she makes of it. Here's where the quote came from lol. Then we said that Wilson would talk to Cuddy about how House was being weird and she'd say "Go talk to him. I have work to do." Eventually they'd get to the point where House asks "Why did you kiss me?" over and over and Wilson just keeps responding with "I was drunk!" and "I don't know!" and "Just drop it, House." until one or both of them finally snaps.

So I sent my sister a fake episode summary, with the elements that she presented and a case, which I made up: a drunk and 'irresponsible' patient to parallel drunk and irresponsible Wilson!

To do the summary I'd come up with a title (I looked at a couple songs but none of them felt quite right, then I realized I could use a Teardrop lyric and it was too perfect) and I needed my sister to know how clever I was for the it, so I wrote a little explanation, like they have on the wiki.

Then I thought, if I'm doing that I might as well also do the "major events" section of the wiki!

So I determined that I HAD to make it into actual fake wiki screenshots, which meant filling out some gaps.

For the timeline, I thought: House and Wilson have been drunk together tons of times. Why is this different? And figured that it would probably be different if saaay Wilson had just proposed to House after he pretended the two were a couple. Certainly enough to bring kissing House to the forefront of his mind. And THEN I looked at the episode scheduling and there was a week off between the original airing of The Down Low and the following episode Remorse, so it fit right in the middle!

For the diagnosis I actually went to Web MD, typed in the symptoms I thought the patient should have and went through the results until I found some that might work, then I picked the one that seemed like it'd be the best for the show. It also happened to be a condition that might come with personality changes, which plays further into the whole Wilson Was Drunk He Didn't Actually Mean It angle.

I went through a bunch of s6 directors and writers to see what episodes they worked on and who I thought would fit best.

And then I needed guest stars! The episode would have aired in 2010, and I wanted someone who would have been about 21, so I looked up "actresses born in 1989" and decided on Brie Larson. Then she needed a friend, so I looked up "actors born in 1988" and went with Nicholas Braun. Then Brie Larson needed a mom so I chose another birth year and went with Calista Flockhart (who's in one of my favorite movies). All of the actors I chose were people who felt could have been in House. Like if I watched an episode and a young Brie Larson or Nicholas Braun was there, I wouldn't be surprised. I also needed to name them, so I picked random names and then searched the wiki to make sure they weren't already taken lol. And Andre Braugher is there bc it's season 6 so House would talk to his therapist about what happened with Wilson and then ignore the advice to Just Talk To Him.

That just left trivia, which I was very excited about. Some of them are just details and callbacks to other episodes. The Minuteman thing is bc I chose Nicholas Braun and I knew my sister would get a kick out of it. I knew I needed a gay movie reference and But I'm a Cheerleader really felt like a movie that House would casually reference and make everyone, characters and audience, think that House is definitely queer (and we must never forget that House was actually canonically a cheerleader). And finally, since it was immediately following The Down Low and House MD loves musical theatre gay jokes, I wanted another A Chorus Line reference. I'm honestly appalled nobody had done that one before. Her nickname is literally Thirteen!

This is probably more long-winded than you expected but I spent way too long and put way too much thought into that thing lol

#thank you again i am so glad you enjoyed it!#let's talk about that #ask of cakes

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cheesybadgers · 1 year ago

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It's always such a struggle between not giving away spoilers and wanting to tell someone they've guessed right lol...I do try and keep quiet though 😉

Oh, don't worry, I didn't mean you were romanticising it! I just think the fandom in general tends to have an overly romantic view of Javi compared to what we actually see in canon. I mean, he and Helena were pretty upfront about using each other: he wanted intel and she wanted a visa. I think he cared about her beyond the transactional and he was worried about her safety, but then he does have a bit of a Knight in Shining Armour complex with his informants, so I think it says more about him and his issues than necessarily the women he forms these relationships with. Because he repeats the exact same pattern with Elisa, his embassy colleagues know what he's like with requesting visas for attractive women with sob stories lol, and even the narcos put Maritza in front of him as bait because they knew he couldn't resist a damsel in distress (and he didn't but we don't talk about that in this house 😭).

But for people to then suggest what happened to Helena was the reason Javi ordered Gacha's death feels like a reach in the context of what we're narratively shown in Explosivos, especially when Carrillo never seems to factor in those conversations, and I'm left wondering if we watched the same episode 😂

More ramblings beneath the cut:

And yep, Javi was told by the Ambassador in the episode before Explosivos to bring Gacha back alive. He then argues with Carrillo about how extradition/jail is the answer rather than death and Carrillo calls him out on this view because Javi doesn't have the same stakes in it as the Colombians, who are dying on Carrillo's watch and he has to carry that burden, whereas the gringos don't. It's only after this conversation and seeing Carrillo and Trujillo pray together (with a voiceover from Steve saying the cartel killed Trujillo's father and brothers), that Javi's perspective starts to shift. He shoots the potentially fake senator in the leg because he realises Horacio will get in more trouble than he would. Then it's Horacio literally in his earpiece before the "Give him lead" moment as well.

I think there's at least a year between Helena's assault and Gacha's death (Steve had only just arrived in Colombia for the former, which I think was 1988, whereas the latter was December 1989) and we never see Helena again, Javi never talks about her in that time or appears motivated to seek revenge on her behalf, so it seems unlikely she was at the forefront of his mind in Explosivos, and I really don't think that was the episode's intention.

I'm not pushing one ship over another here or anything lol, but I just don't feel like Carrillo as a character gets enough credit for his influence on Javi's and Steve's arcs. I think it was 100% a deliberate choice by the writers to use Carrillo as a narrative tool like this, because he, Javi and Steve are all at different points of the 'morality' spectrum, and that's what makes their dynamics and conflicts so interesting. That's what drives their stories forward.

I vaguely remember Adria Arjona being in Triple Frontier, so lol yes why not, her TF character can be Helena's sister for the ultimate PP Cinematic Universe crossover 😂

Aww bless you for saying that about the connections between places etc. 🥺 Even when I'm going off on a very non-canon tangent, I try to keep it linked back to the show's events somehow, especially given how traumatic a lot of their experiences were. Those aren't things you just forget, so even though they're trying to move on with their lives now, there will likely always be echoes in the background ❤️

Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 20)

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

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 12,881

Summary: An invitation takes Horacio and Javier back to Medellín, a city that has changed as much as they have since they were last in it. Amongst the celebrations, can they find a way to reconcile the old with the new?

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Emotional smut, religious themes, discussions of canon-typical violence and past trauma, grief, healing, allusions to period-typical prejudices, smoking, drinking, swearing.

Notes: So, this chapter took on a life of its own and ended up a lot bigger than it was originally supposed to be, oops lol. The initial idea was for this and chapter 21 to be chapter 20, but, as you can see, it didn't quite work out like that 😂

The majority of chapter 21 is done, I just need to finish it off but life (and covid...again) have been getting in the way lately.

After that, I just have chapter 22 and a short epilogue to do, then fin. So, I promise we are very nearly there now! Ideally, I'd like it all done by the end of autumn, but that might not be possible...let's see how it goes.

Thank you once again to anyone still reading and waiting for updates, your patience is greatly appreciated (as always, please feel free to drop me a line if you’d like to, I love hearing from you!)❤️

I’ve also added to my OHDH trivia post to cover this chapter if anyone is interested (and there's quite a few new points for this one, as I ended up doing a lot of research lol).

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 20: Something Old, Something New

Dappled light filtered through the Venetian blinds, splintering across the polished wooden furnishings and along the plush carpeted floor, bathing the hotel room in tints of gold. No traces remained of yesterday’s rain after a warm start to the morning, and the forecast miraculously looked promising for the hours ahead.

Horacio stood facing a floor-length mirror, his fingers wrestling with his jacket and a Cattleya orchid buttonhole until he tutted and gave up. It was the final addition to his outfit: a three-piece mid-grey suit, a pale olive green dress shirt, a bottle green tie and dark brown shoes.

“Come here.” Javier abandoned fastening his burgundy tie, letting it hang untied and loose around his neck. Instead, he took the buttonhole from Horacio and delicately pinned the flower on his left lapel. It matched the one already placed on his navy blue three-piece, which he had teamed with a rose-pink dress shirt and black shoes.

“Thanks. It’s been a long time since I’ve worn one of these. I’m out of practice.” The last wedding Horacio attended had been a friend of Juliana’s, and for some reason, attaching a flower to his jacket was trickier than his CNP lapel pins.

“At least the last time wasn’t your own wedding…which you never actually made it to.”

“Fair point.”

Javier smoothed down Horacio’s lapels, slow caresses on either side, chestnut lost in charcoal as he took all of him in. “Beautiful.”

“Likewise.” Horacio’s fingers slid up to Javier’s tie and worked their magic, managing a knot neater than Javier could ever make. He positioned and repositioned it at the collar until it was symmetrical.

“Satisfied?”

“Hmm, not quite.” He took hold of the length of the tie, pulling Javier down a couple of inches to his height, fresh mint and aftershave hitting their senses as they settled into it, careful not to squash the flowers at their breast.

Javier breathed hard against Horacio’s mouth. “I take it we haven’t got time for -”

“Absolutely not.” Although Horacio was panting as he re-straightened Javier’s tie, the sight of each other in formal wear a distracting novelty. “We’re meeting Steve downstairs in 5 minutes.”

“Shame. I miss Madrid already.”

“Our bed will still be there when we get back.”

“Who said anything about a bed?”

“Come on, we can’t be late,” Horacio reiterated with great reluctance, avoiding the look he knew Javier was giving him. “You ready?”

Javier took a deep breath and picked up the invitation from the nearby nightstand, his eyes scanning over the details one last time.

Juana Marisol Vargas Restrepo

Felipe Gabriel Trujillo Rojas

Con la bendición de sus familias, te invitan a celebrar su boda

(With the blessing of their families, they invite you to celebrate their wedding)

El sábado, 21 de enero de 1995

(Saturday 21st January, 1995)

A las tres de la tarde

(At 3 in the afternoon)

Iglesia del Señor de las Misericordias, Manrique

(Church of the Lord of the Mercies, Manrique)

Recepción a seguir en el Jardín Botánico de Medellín

(Reception to follow at the Botanical Garden of Medellín)

“I think so. Of all the churches in Medellín, though.”

Horacio let out a wry huff to match Javier’s. “I know. The bride’s choice, apparently. Plus, it’s close by for the reception.”

Javier hummed, his eyes still glued to the invitation as if the antidote to the discomfort simmering in the pit of his stomach was hidden between the lines.

“You okay?”

“Yeah…yeah, I’m fine. It was always gonna be like this. Wasn’t it? Being back here.”

“I don’t think there’s a way around it. But at least it’s a celebration this time.” Horacio placed a gentle kiss on Javier’s forehead. “And it’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

“I know.”

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After locating Steve, they shared a taxi to the church, where they met Connie and Olivia on account of Olivia being in a particularly fussy mood.

“I think it’s the travelling and being out of routine. She was up early this morning. So, of course, she’s tired now.” Connie gestured towards Olivia, fast asleep in her dad’s arms, before hugging Javier and Horacio.

“You look stunning, love the dress,” Javier said, noticing he owned a shirt in the same shade of turquoise.

“Aw thank you, you all look so handsome!” Connie stood back to admire them then leaned in to kiss Steve. “And not hungover?” she added with a raised brow, rubbing away the smudge of lipstick left behind on his cheek. “I take it I need to thank Horacio again for keeping you in one piece?”

It took Horacio a second to get what Connie was referring to. But then he remembered a paralytic pair of DEA agents slumped in the back of his car, alongside practically carrying Javier to his bedroom, removing his outer layers and plying him with water, then lying him on his side with a pillow behind his back.

Horacio had been heading for the door when a slurred noise over his shoulder stopped him. One that sounded suspiciously like “Stay.” He couldn’t prove it or ask for clarification. But nor could he leave. So, he stayed until he was reassured Javier was safe and sleeping soundly. Then he tiptoed home, relieved the next day to find Javier had no recollection of any of it.

“I don’t know about that,” Horacio said in the here and now. “We were all on our best behaviour for today.”

“Yeah, Murphy needs his beauty sleep these days. Isn’t that right?” Javier threw a wink in Steve’s direction and wondered if Connie’s choice of words meant what he thought they did.

“Well, some of us actually have to go to work, Peña,” Steve shot back with a self-satisfied curl of the lips.

Connie playfully slapped Steve on the shoulder. “Ignore him, he’s just jealous.”

“Can’t even deny it.”

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Guests began to file up the stone steps into the church, the Murphys following once they had roused Olivia awake, with Javier and Horacio hanging back at the top of the stairs.

Their arms rested over the balcony wall as they surveyed the road beneath. There was no CNP vehicle parked up this time, but instead, a hive of activity with guests being dropped off and a space reserved for the bride’s imminent arrival.

“It feels like a fucking lifetime ago, doesn’t it?”

“It was.”

“I, er, never saw her again. Helena, I mean. I secured her a visa – figured it was the least I could do after everything. But she took her kid and ran before I could give it to her. Her neighbour said she was staying with her sister in Peru, but…who knows?”

Javier wasn’t sure if she even had a sister, but he always hoped it was the truth. He always hoped she and her family were safe and that she found the strength to put what happened behind her. But of course, he had no fucking clue if these were comforting lies he’d told himself over the years. It wasn’t love, whatever they had. Far from it. He knew that back then let alone now. But for a short while, they cared in their own way, and as much as their circumstances and jobs allowed them to.

“Probably for the best. It wouldn’t have been safe here.”

“No, I made sure of that.” Javier’s hand dug harshly into the jagged stone, leaving dents in his skin until the subtle and discreet touch of a finger made contact with his own, pulling him out of his spiralling self-flagellation. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t plan on bringing all this up. Especially not today.”

“It’s okay. And it’s not like we ever really talked about it at the time.”

It had been a sore point for Horacio, not that he understood why back then. Of course, he knew Helena wasn’t the first or the last, but he could see whatever they had, however short-lived, went beyond the mere transactional. He’d never seen Javier so worried for an informant, and as it turned out, he had every reason to be. Then, she stopped being a threat and became yet another victim.

“Funnily enough, no. You just took it out on Steve instead.”

A knowing look eased the tension in an instant.

“Could you blame me?”

“Absolutely not. Especially when he was encroaching on your territory.”

Javier couldn’t resist a wink, which caused a muttered “Fuck you” followed by their shoulders shaking in unison.

Once calm was restored, Horacio turned to face the church, the wall bearing the brunt of his weight. “Looking back now, though, I don’t think I should’ve been so surprised by what you did for me in Cartagena and Tolú.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I did the same for you that night here in Medellín.”

Javier joined Horacio; both now stood side by side, their gaze meeting in an acknowledgement of the rich history that existed between them that no words could ever fully convey.

And with the scattered remnants of their past now confined to distant memories they could at last put behind them, they made their way into the church.

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A waterfall of roses, carnations and orchids tied together with matching ribbons cascaded a rainbow of purple, yellow and white down the rows of pews. The flowers were supplied by the mother of the groom, who conveniently was a florist by profession. Every August, Medellín burst into bloom for Feria de las Flores, so if anyone was going to be in charge of the arrangements, it was her.

Candles lit a path from the aisle to the altar, reminding Horacio not only of Día de las Velitas but of his and Javier’s recreation of the festival during their first Christmas in Laredo. He was about to take a seat when he caught a flash of green dress uniform in the wings of the church and a pair of dark eyes picking him out of the congregation.

He excused himself to the sacristy at the side of the altar.

Trujillo peered out to the pews as his hands alternated between fidgeting with the knot of his tie and his cufflinks. “Is she here yet?”

“Not yet.” Horacio straightened Trujillo’s tie knot. “But it’s still early.”

“Yeah.” Trujillo nodded and took a deep breath.

“She’ll be here before you know it. So relax. I think we’ve been through worse.” Horacio’s lips stayed neutral for an impressively long spell until he caved.

“My hand was steady as a rock on that rooftop. But today?” Trujillo held out his hand to show the hint of a tremor.

“You ended something once and for all on that rooftop. Something that needed ending…for your father, Alfredo and Sebastián. For you. For Colombia. But today is the start of your future.”

“I always thought they would have been here for this one day. So, thank you. For being here instead. For coming back...after everything. For all those early morning drills and target practice. And for the free drinks.”

They laughed at the fact Horacio was a man of his word and hadn’t let Trujillo buy a single drink since arriving here.

“It’s the least I could do. And if you ever need anything, Felipe, don’t be afraid to ask.”

“Likewise…Horacio. That goes for Javier, too.”

Their silence was an acknowledgement that they had just shared an ending and a beginning of their own, no longer comrades in arms or superior and subordinate, but something different again, something equal.

“I thought my ears were burning,” came a voice from the doorway.

“Great way to kill the moment, Peñita.”

“Sorry. I wanted to wish you luck. And offer you some Dutch Courage, if you're interested?” Javier produced a hip flask from behind his back. “A present from Search Bloc,” was his answer to the quizzical looks he was met with.

“Just a taste, then. I don’t want Juana thinking I’m drunk.” Trujillo took a restrained swig. “Any last-minute advice?” he asked Javier, passing him the flask.

“You want marriage advice from me? Er, don’t do a runner before she gets here?”

“Good one, brother.”

“He did warn you,” Horacio added, shooting Javier a pointed look.

“True. Although,” Trujillo lowered his voice and glanced at the doorway, “neither of you might be married, but…you’ve been through a lot together. And I think it’s made you stronger. So, you must be doing something right.”

A wordless nod and one last swig for good measure were exchanged.

Javier and Horacio were unsure if it was the alcohol or something else causing the heat to rise in their cheeks. But either way, they were in quiet agreement with Trujillo’s assessment.

It wasn’t long before the words “She’s here!” were whispered with barely contained glee from beyond the door, and it was time to take their places.

The ceremony, even the drier elements, passed quicker than most weddings Javier and Horacio had been to. It was the first one Javier had attended since…well, not even his own now he thought about it because he never made it to the church. He never saw Lorraine’s dress either, as, unsurprisingly, she had changed out of it by the time he was forced to explain himself. Not that Javier really could explain at the time. But then, it was much easier to understand something was wrong once he knew what was right.

Between Felipe’s pristine uniform and Juana’s mantilla veil, memories of Horacio's Mamá wearing a strikingly similar black veil to his Papá’s funeral came to mind. But once upon a time, they had also stood at an altar like this with their shared life ahead of them, and even though the injustice of it being cut short would always linger, on this occasion, Horacio chose to cherish the fact it existed in the first place.

Furtive glances travelled between him and Javier as they bowed their heads to pray during the candle ceremony and for the exchange of rings and arras coins. It was a silent confirmation that whilst these rituals weren’t an option for them in the eyes of the law or church, their unofficial versions were no less significant.

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They moved on to the reception at Jardín Botánico de Medellín in the evening, a place Horacio hadn’t been to since his youth. The wedding meal was to be served under a spectacular orchid-shaped wooden canopy in the centre of the gardens. Tables dressed in white linen were decorated with flower arrangements to match those at the church, and favours included coffee beans and orchid seeds.

The newlyweds sat at the top table surrounded by close family and their padrinos and madrinas, the echoes of war still loud and everlasting given the notable absences. Javier, Horacio, Steve, Connie and Olivia sat on the next one, along with some familiar Search Bloc faces and Carlos Holguín staff.

At the adjacent table were Martínez Senior and Junior. Horacio and Martínez Senior had only crossed paths at occasional ceremonies and dinners, even though their fathers worked more closely in the past. As the war on drugs kicked in, it became apparent the two men had polar opposite approaches to their jobs. And whilst Horacio made Escobar his mission, Martínez took a different path, specialising in FARC operations in the jungle instead. Until their paths converged, that was.

“Do you think he knows?” Javier muttered over the rim of his champagne flute after Martínez Senior’s eyes briefly fell on them.

“About us? Why would he?” Horacio replied into the palm of his hand as he scratched his upper lip.

“I dunno. He knew about everything else. And he must have questions.”

“I’m sure he does. But do you think he’ll even want to speak to us? I already know he hates my guts.”

“He might be pleasantly surprised you’re not dead. You never know.”

Their hushed conversation was thankfully drowned out by Olivia interrogating Connie about everything from the guests’ outfits to the flower arrangements and when the food was coming, whilst Steve caught up with Jacoby.

The tables were soon full of plates and dishes bearing carne asada, lechona, patacones, arepas, tamales, milhojas, concadas, cuajada con melao, fruit salads and the centre piece Torta Negra Colombiana, decorated with flowers to match the colour scheme.

The cutting of the Torta Negra followed before the space was re-arranged, guests spilling out into the surrounding gardens, refreshing their drinks at the various pop-up bars or walking amongst the flowers and trees.

By dark, a dancefloor was unveiled in the centre of the canopy with a band playing cumbia, vallenato, merengue, bambuco, salsa and beyond.

Once the bride had thrown her bouquet, the single male guests gathered to place a shoe beneath her dress. Javier managed to escape the ritual in favour of sitting back and watching from the sidelines. But at the risk of inviting prying questions from his former colleagues if he did the same, Horacio reluctantly added his shoe to the pile. Typically, his was chosen by Juana, which, as per tradition, meant he would be next to marry.

From several feet away, Horacio could see Javier’s suggestive eyebrow and overt smirk, and they were even more brazen close up when Horacio re-joined him.

“Should we pick out rings, or…?”

An eyeroll was the only answer Javier was ever going to get to that question, and it came right on cue.

“Because, er,” Javier continued regardless, clearing his throat and casually glancing around to make sure no one was in earshot, “seeing you in your shirt stays this morning got me thinking how fucking good you’d look in a wedding garter.”

As Horacio was hit with a barrage of mental images and a dry mouth, a large cheer erupted as the next tradition got underway. This time, all male guests – not just the single ones – were rounded up to remove their belts, the idea being that the man with the longest belt was the winner. Of what exactly, Horacio was never sure when this had played out at past Colombian weddings he’d been to.

He stood opposite Javier as they fumbled with buckles, unhooking the leather straps from their belt loops and pulling them off in one swift motion. Their eyes remained fixed on each other from start to finish, an act fuelled by Javier’s last words.

The sound of cheering pulled them back with reluctance to the proceedings, and even though their belts were probably slightly longer than they used to be, they weren’t declared the winners.

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As the drinks flowed, so did the dancing, regardless of whether the paired-up guests knew each other or whether they could actually dance.

Javier’s next partner was a familiar face, though, who had at least taken a few dance classes to get to know some locals when first arriving in Colombia.

“Is Steve with Olivia?” he asked, grateful for a slower number so he could catch his breath and talk.

“Oh, no, she’s with the Jacobys. She’s made friends with their daughter, Chloe - they’re around the same age.” Connie twirled underneath Javier’s outstretched arm and back around again. “Steve is conveniently helping Horacio with the next round of drinks. He always did have hips as stiff as a board. I had to practically drag him up for our first dance.”

“That…doesn’t surprise me.”

“And what about Horacio?” Connie whispered into Javier’s shoulder as their feet slid across the floor in time with the music. “Does he need to loosen his hips, or is he a dark horse?”

“You should know a man never dances and tells. But…” Javier spun Connie on her heel again, pulling her close so his head was near her ear this time. “I can assure you there’s nothing wrong with his hips.”

“That doesn’t surprise me either. When did you say you were heading to Manizales?”

“In a couple of days.” Javier swallowed hard now the subject had been raised.

“How’s he holding up?”

“Okay. We’ve not really talked about it since Madrid. Figured we’d deal with it after the wedding, but -” Javier scoffed, cutting himself off mid-sentence.

“Now it’s nearly here,” Connie finished for him.

“Exactly. But I guess we couldn’t hide in Spain forever.” As tempting as it was some days.

They somehow made it to the other side of the dancefloor, narrowly avoiding multiple couples before escaping back to their table once the song was over.

“How’re you finding being back again?” Connie asked.

“Weird.”

“Yeah. Definitely weird at first.”

Their shared laughter came like a sigh of relief, a release of tension now they had spoken the truth out loud.

“But different.”

“It’s not like last time, right?” There was uncertainty in her unblinking eyes, a plea not only for reassurance but for honesty as well.

“Trujillo said anyone left from the cartel with half a brain cell skipped town or went underground before Pablo’s body was cold. They’ve been tracking down anyone dumb enough to have stuck around. So, no. It’s not like last time. I promise.”

His tone was soft but he looked Connie in the eye until she nodded, needing the conviction as much as she did.

“I know I never visited Madrid like I said I would – blame your ex-employer for that, by the way – but for what it’s worth, I don’t think Medellín’s the only one who’s different now. So, whatever happens, Javi…”

“I know.”

His hand found its way to hers on the table and gently squeezed. An acceptance that there was no denying traces of the past, as they had already discovered, but a translucent overlay had been placed on top of it now. Whether the two could co-exist in the long run, nobody yet knew, but at least it was finally the chance of a future for them and Medellín.

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Horacio picked one of the quieter bars, reeling off a list of drinks to the bartender and perching on a stool while he waited for his order.

“Thought you might need a hand.”

Before Horacio could respond, Steve had already sat on the adjacent stool, his back to the bar to accommodate his long legs.

“You sure you’re not just avoiding the dancefloor, Agent Murphy?” There was a hint of a mock interrogative tone to his voice as he turned sideways to face Steve.

Steve held his hands up in surrender. “You got me there. Although…” He dipped into the inside pocket of his black suit jacket and pulled out a couple of cigars. “Courtesy of the groom, if you’re interested?”

Horacio broke into a laugh. “He paid up, then.”

“Damn right.” Steve held one of the cigars closer to Horacio, tempting him despite the conflicted look Horacio was giving it. “I won’t tell Javi if you don’t tell Con.”

Horacio sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He put the cigar between his lips and took the lighter from Steve, hovering the flame near the foot until it took.

Steve did the same, a woody haze soon encircling them.

The bartender appeared with a trayful of drinks and once he was gone again, Horacio lifted a beer bottle and slid it across to Steve. “I never got a chance to say thank you.”

“For what?”

“Stechner.”

A scowl stormed across Steve’s pupils, and he took a quick hard swig from his beer bottle, placing it back on the table with a little more force than intended. “It was my fuckin’ pleasure. You should’ve seen his face. Covered in blood and tears in his eyes when my hand squeezed his throat.”

He swapped his beer for his cigar, relishing in that sweet memory as a ring of smoke hovered above his head like a misplaced halo.

Every now and then, Steve still surprised Horacio. Because occasionally, Horacio caught glimpses of the turbulence that raged beneath the surface. It was a clumsier, more unrefined version than he was accustomed to, but he recognised and understood it nonetheless.

“Not sure I’d have been able to stop squeezing,” Horacio confessed.

“It was touch and go for a minute. But rumour has it, the new Country Attaché, Alana Cortés, and Messina were roommates all the way through their Academy days. And for a few years after…before Cortés took an assignment in Mexico out of the blue. But now she’s back.” Steve toasted the air with his beer bottle. “So good luck to our old friend, Bill, trying to pull her strings.”

Horacio raised his glass to meet Steve’s bottle, although there was an ulterior motive to leaning forward a fraction. “I take it you’ve heard nothing else about the photos?” His words were delivered towards the floor in case of the minutest likelihood anyone around them was the world’s best lip reader.

“Not a thing. But I’d handle it if something did happen; you have my word. Cali’s beyond my remit, but I’d put good money on Stechner’s attention being there now he can’t use us anymore.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Oh, and you were right, too.”

“About what?”

“Javi tryin' to shut me out.”

“Well, thanks for not letting him.”

They bowed their heads and returned to their cigars, a surprisingly comfortable silence sitting between them.

“How was he in Madrid?” Steve asked in the end.

“Good, mostly. There were bad days, obviously. But he sleeps better now.”

“He’s not the only one.”

“No. I think there’s a lot of that going around.”

“It’s weird though, right?”

“What’s that?”

“Being back. Like it was all just some fuckin’ dream. Like it wasn’t really me on that rooftop. Like everyone knew it should’ve been you in that photo instead.”

Horacio might not have been there for the final showdown, but he'd seen enough newspapers and bulletins to know that photo well. The one where Escobar’s limp body was held up to the camera like a trophy, now the hunt was over.

“Yeah, well, I made sure it wasn’t me, didn’t I?” he said matter-of-factly. “I’ve had to make my peace with it. And so should you.”

“I played out that moment so many times. Thought about all the ways we’d catch him. Over and over, I let it run through my head. But I wasn’t expecting him to look so…pathetic. Like any other son of a bitch criminal runnin’ scared when his time’s up.”

“Because that’s all he was. But it was real. And he’s gone. No matter what happens, they can’t take that away from us.”

“But now what?”

“Now, we live our lives. We don’t forget, but we move on.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

Just as they toasted their drinks, they were rumbled.

“Might’ve known this is where you’d be hiding. Found them!” Javier called over his shoulder.

Trujillo followed behind Javier; his police uniform now exchanged for a lightweight guayabera. “Anything to avoid a dancefloor. Blondie, are those my cigars?”

“I think you’ll find they’re mine now, Major. I might have a couple of spares lying around, though.” Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out more like he was performing a magic trick.

Trujillo rubbed his hands together. “Now you’re talking.”

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Once Steve had braved the canopy to pass Connie her drink, the four men retreated to a deserted part of the gardens where pine tables and chairs with canvas covering them were dotted amongst the trees. White lights hung across the branches like fireflies and lanterns lined the decked walkways, the party and dancing reduced to a murmur in the distance.

The quartet sat around one of the pine tables, the first time they had been together like this since the old days back at Carlos Holguín.

“Can you believe we’re finally here?” Trujillo asked, savouring the spicy scent of his cigar as it combined with the fresh floral notes of the forest.

“At your wedding? Barely.”

Trujillo rolled his eyes at Javier’s teasing and shook his head. “You can tick comedian off your list of career options.”

Steve sucked in air through his teeth at their war of words. “See what I had to put up with.”

“Says the white boy who needed me to be his fucking translator 24/7.”

A collective braying sound travelled around the table this time before it morphed into laughter and Steve making use of any Spanish swear word he could think of.

“But in all seriousness...no, not really,” Javier replied in earnest after they returned to their cigars.

“Sometimes when I wake up, it takes me a minute to remember he’s not still lurking out there somewhere.”

“But he’s not.” Horacio’s eyes glowed with steely determination, needing to put a line under this once and for all. “You made sure of that. You gave Medellín a future. And now it’s time to start yours.” He raised his glass to the centre of the table. “To Juana and Felipe.”

“To Juana and Felipe!” Javier and Steve echoed as their drinks clinked with Horacio’s.

“And to Colombia,” Felipe added.

“To Colombia!”

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Once the cigars were stubbed out, Trujillo and Horacio were pulled away for a Search Bloc reunion, leaving Javier and Steve to their drinks.

“I was telling Carrillo about Cortés earlier.”

“How did you find out about her, by the way? You never said on the phone.”

“Just some good old fashioned slightly off-the-record detective work, that’s all.”

“You covered your tracks, though, right? Because they’ll know it was you who gave her my intel. Even if they can’t prove it.”

“’Course. Although it wouldn’t take a fuckin’ genius to figure that out. Same with Stechner’s busted face. Don’t think anyone bought it was your handiwork.”

“To be fair, there’s a critical shortage of geniuses in the DEA. Present company included, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Steve retaliated by raising his middle finger in response to Javier’s trademark wink. “But most people hate Stechner as much as we do, so no one came asking. Never saw him around the school again after that, although I’m sure he must’ve been prowlin' about somewhere.”

“More than likely. So, er…no one’s mentioned the photos either?”

“No. And like I told Carrillo, even if they did, I’d handle it, Javi. I promise. There’s more shit on Stechner out there, I fuckin’ know it. Messina was getting too close, remember. I don’t think I’ll have to dig deeper, but look at it as an insurance policy.”

“Makes sense. And thanks, Steve. For Stechner. For the intel. For reassuring Horacio, apparently.”

Javier laughed at the thought of them engaged in something resembling a heart-to-heart. But if truth be told, it brought warmth to his chest to realise the two men could be considered friends-of-sorts these days. Not that he dared tell them that.

Steve gave a lazy salute with one hand whilst the other took a swig of his drink. “Don’t expect that to become a habit, by the way.”

And there it was, right on cue, just as Javier anticipated. “Oh, no, of course not.”

“It was a one-time-only Wedding Special kinda deal.”

“Right. Exactly.”

Javier took a long sip of his drink to hide the smirk threatening to explode into an undiplomatic laugh if he wasn’t careful.

“Any idea when you’re moving back to the States?” Steve asked, seemingly oblivious to Javier’s impressive restraint.

“Not really. It depends on Horacio’s visa. We haven’t decided on the best route yet. I’d forgotten how much fucking paperwork’s involved.”

It was no wonder Javier held such disdain for bureaucracy when the wrong piece of paper was the difference between crossing a border and not. When someone’s life was reduced down to a list of rigid criteria without much consideration for the sacrifice and hardship it often took to get to that point in the first place. It was why he had done his best to help informants get an American visa wherever possible, even if it meant bending rules until they snapped.

He knew Horacio had more options than most – more than his grandparents’ generation did - and they had been lucky with their past visas. But he tried not to think about the fact their future would be in the hands of an officious government administrator. One most likely not prepared to bend any rules in the slightest.

“You got that right. Don’t s’pose he’s thought about law enforcement?”

Javier shot Steve a sharp look. “Hilarious.”

“I thought so. And what about you? Any ideas what’s next?”

“Me? Fuck, I dunno, man. Guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

“You’ll both figure it out, y’know.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. You always do. You’re like me and Con. We’ve had our rough patches, several of ‘em while we were here - and a few more since we left, come to think of it - but somehow, we get through it. Same as you and Horacio.”

“You drunk, Murphy?”

Steve contemplated that as though he hadn’t considered the possibility until now despite the array of empty glasses covering the table. “Fuck, I think I am.” He let out a loud snigger before hushing himself. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“My lips are sealed.” For all of Javier’s stoicism, he stood no chance, and it wasn’t long before they were giggling like schoolboys.

“About the rough patches, though…” Steve said once they had calmed down. “Any tips?”

“Someone once told me it’s okay to not always be in the same boat even if you’re in the same storm. Sometimes, you just need your own boat. But as long as you’re trying to sail in the same direction...and want to be in the same boat as much as possible, you can get through it.”

“Huh. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but that actually makes sense. Who do I need to thank?”

Javier smiled, almost able to smell fresh churros if he closed his eyes hard enough. “Someone a lot older and wiser than us.”

“Figures. And my point still stands, by the way.”

“What point’s that exactly?”

“You might not have worked out the finer details yet, but…” Steve gestured for Javier to move forward as though he was about to share highly classified intel. “The worst’s over now. We don’t forget, but we move on.” He nodded sagely before dropping his voice to little more than an alcohol-infused rumble. “This is your happy ending, Javi. Go live it.”

As they returned to the party, Steve alternating between leaning against Javier and patting him enthusiastically on the back whilst attempting something vaguely resembling Spanish, there was no doubt in Javier’s mind that Steve was wasted and probably had been for most of their conversation.

But when it came to the sentiment behind Steve’s garbled words, something told Javier that didn’t matter.

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

Maybe it was Horacio’s age or the quiet life he had become accustomed to, but he couldn’t keep up with Search Bloc’s drinking. The aguardiente shots were in full flow when he left them to it, doubling back towards where he had left Javier and Steve.

He made it past the bustle of the bar and round the corner towards a small rock garden with a walkway to the trees lying beyond.

“So, the rumours were true, then.”

Force of habit made Horacio momentarily reach for where his gun holster used to be as he spun around to face the voice from the shadows of a wooden bench.

“Depends which ones you’re talking about,” he replied in a measured tone now he knew the source of the voice. “You can’t believe everything you hear.”

“Well, let’s put it this way...you certainly look well for a dead man, Colonel Carrillo.”

“You almost sound disappointed.”

“Not at all. Vengeance isn’t my style.”

“Nor mine these days.”

“So I’ve heard. Congratulations on your retirement. I’d say that beats jail, wouldn’t you?”

Horacio scoffed as he sat on the opposite end of the bench, his brow flexing at such an expertly delivered blow. “I guess I deserved that.”

“I think we both know what a man deserves and what a man gets are rarely the same thing.”

“True. But you’ll always be Colonel Martínez: the man who stopped Escobar.”

“Perhaps so. But was death not the easier way out?”

“Easier than what? Vengeance?”

“Justice.” Martínez gave Horacio a long look from his end of the bench. “Gaviria was the one who wanted him dead. It’s no wonder you two got along so well.”

“I did my duty. As Gaviria did his and you did yours. We played the hands we were dealt.”

“Yes, and he dealt mine well when he signed my son up to Search Bloc before offering me your job.”

Realisation slowly spread across Horacio’s face, and without meaning to, he gave Martínez a look tinged with pity. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I kept him alive. He was transferred to a new intel unit instead…where he intercepted radio transmissions from Pablo the day we caught him.”

A curve of a smile formed on Horacio’s lips. “Funny how it works out sometimes.”

Horacio was reminded of his own double-edged sword of a path to becoming leader of Search Bloc. The journey began with Javier and a briefcase full of cash being deposited in the lap of General Jaramillo, forcing the General’s greedy hand to appoint Horacio as head of the anti-drug squad and make him a Colonel. A job that was already a poisoned chalice on account of his predecessor winding up dead at the hands of the cartel.

Javier using gringo money to buy Horacio a promotion had been a bone of contention between them back then. Too many heated discussions under the influence led to an argument where “Everybody works for somebody" and “Don’t ever mistake me for one of your whores again” were the last words to hang between them in a heavy fog of smoke, whiskey and undefinable tension for several weeks. During which time, Horacio was even more ruthless than usual. And as if to prove a point, Javier practically became a temporary resident at his favourite brothel.

The hypocrisy of the situation had sat uneasily under Horacio’s skin when he had always taken such a hard line on bribery from the narcos. Was this really any different?

But conversely, if he hadn’t been allowed to build his own force of incorruptible men, he would never have led the operation on Gacha. He would never have ended up in those quarters in Tolú with Javier. On his cot with Javier underneath him.

“Yes, it is. I did tell Gaviria I would bring Escobar into custody unless he resisted. But of course, he resisted.”

“Then maybe Escobar didn’t care about justice as much as you think he did. And there’s nothing you could have done about that.”

“Aren’t we supposed to care about justice, though? And I don’t mean the vigilante kind you and Los Pepes were so fond of administering.”

“You sound like the gringos I used to work with.” A surge of nostalgia rose in Horacio’s chest, and he’d have been surprised if it wasn’t showing on his face. Although, of course, it was one gringo in particular he had in mind.

“If you think I wanted Escobar to be extradited to an American jail, you’re mistaken. He was our problem to deal with, not theirs.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t give a fuck about a corrupt form of justice. How would that have been better than what I did? So many judges, politicians and journalists were bought or killed alongside our men. He wanted Colombia to bleed, and he’d have done whatever it took to make sure he didn’t remain in a cell. You, Trujillo, Search Bloc…you cauterised the wound that no one else could.”

“For now. I think we both know this was something of a Pyrrhic victory. And not the end.”

“Two things we can agree on.”

Reluctant smiles crossed their faces despite everything.

“I think our fathers managed a few more.”

“So I was told at Papá’s wake. How is your father doing these days?”

“He’s fine. Retired now but relieved the hunt is over. I think he hated watching from the sidelines.”

“I know the feeling.”

The distant drumbeat of the live band carried on the gentle breeze through the garden, whispering like ghosts through the plants and trees surrounding them.

“I may not have agreed with your methods, but I was very sorry about your father.”

“Me too. And for what it’s worth, I think my father would’ve been sorry about my methods as well.”

“I cannot imagine how losing a parent so young would have changed my path. And to be clear, this isn't to be taken as an excuse, but by your own ethos, you played the cards you were dealt, did you not?”

Horacio laughed. “Something like that.”

“I must admit, you were a tough act to follow.”

“Was I?”

“Yes. The level of respect you commanded from your men wasn’t easy to replicate.”

“You still got invited here, though.”

“True. And I accepted the invite despite my suspicions the groom was assisting Agent Peña before his departure.”

Horacio’s jaw ticked in anticipation of the treacherous tightrope he would need to tread here. He and Javier were out, done, without their badges or weapons. But Trujillo wasn’t.

“Suspicions or evidence?” he settled on in the end.

“Suspicions based on what I witnessed. But I think there’s irrefutable evidence his and Peña’s unfaltering loyalty rested with you rather than with me.”

“Trujillo also fired a bullet through Escobar’s skull.”

“Yes. An act I don’t judge him for in the circumstances. And rest assured, I have no intention of reporting my suspicions to anyone. Major Trujillo’s motives aren’t the ones still eluding me.”

Horacio swallowed down the dread burning the back of his throat like bile that was in danger of choking him if he didn’t get rid of it quickly. “What are you talking about?”

“You never struck me as a man afraid of death. And whilst I can understand the ambush might have made some reconsider their career choice, I wouldn’t have put you down as one of them.”

“Do you really think there was anything left for me in Search Bloc? My superiors already had your name on their lips to replace me long before I was shot.”

“In Search Bloc, perhaps not. But I’m sure the CNP would have allowed you back once the dust settled. They forgave you for far worse than being shot.”

Horacio huffed sarcastically despite how unwise it was to get sucked into the conversation. “I can assure you my decision was never about them. And it’s nothing you didn’t do for your son.”

That seemed to be the winning blow as Martínez nodded in concession. “True. We can’t afford to be afraid of death in our profession. But when it comes to the people we love, I must confess…I can’t apply the same rule.”

Horacio gripped the edge of the bench and focused intently on his feet, fearing even glancing in Martínez’s direction would fill in the few remaining blanks. He managed a minimal grunting noise in his throat that he hoped sounded like agreement.

“However, many times, I’ve asked myself why a man such as Peña would have destroyed his career so recklessly, and so close to the finish line. But I’ve been unable to settle on an answer.”

It wasn’t quite the change of subject Horacio hoped for. “Well, for starters,” he began, raising his gaze from his shoes at last, not out of a newly acquired sense of bravery but because he knew he needed to be convincing. “I wouldn’t read too much into Judy Moncada’s Get Out Of Jail Free Card.”

“Oh, I didn’t. I know Peña’s role was only a small part of something a lot bigger than he, you or I could control. But I have to wonder what leverage they had over him to make a deal with the devil impossible to refuse.”

Horacio had no intention of engaging further, but it wasn’t the first time he had wondered about the gap he left that was hastily – and bloodily - filled by Los Pepes. Would they even have been necessary if he'd never left? Or would they have tried their luck in approaching him with the offer of an allegiance? It caused his stomach to swoop if he focused too much on the people involved in that hypothetical scenario. But then he thought of Javier, and he knew with every fibre of his being if their roles had been reversed, he would have done the same.

“I’m sure every man has his reasons if the price is high enough.”

Martínez cocked his head in Horacio’s direction with a creased brow, holding eye contact for a fraction longer than Horacio was comfortable with. “Quite.”

Drunken laughter followed by a sniggered hush abruptly cut through the loud silence. The two Colonels – past and present – turned around to be met with the sight of Javier trying to control the swaying bulk of limbs belonging to his former partner.

Javier spotted them first and halted in his tracks, hoping the dim lighting hid the flash of horror on his face at the sight of two parallel universes colliding in front of him on a garden bench.

Steve apparently was oblivious to what they had stumbled across as he carried on along the path back to the party with just about enough of his faculties remaining to reunite with Connie.

“Everything alright?” Javier asked, fingers twitching on his right hand as he looked from one side of the bench to the other, then back again.

“Yeah, fine.” But Horacio’s eyes found Javier’s in the flecks of light from the lanterns hanging amongst the tree branches and told a more complicated story. “We were just comparing notes.”

“Oh yeah? Any interesting findings?” Javier’s eyes stayed fixed on Horacio’s or the floor for the most part, only risking a brief glance or two at Martínez.

“A few,” Martínez chipped in as he studied them more carefully than they were likely aware of. “Some that I will never be able to excuse or forgive, but I think I understand one thing more clearly now.”

“What’s that?” Horacio asked.

“I always believed there were two types of people in this world: those who rely on hope and those who rely on faith. But now, I see some rely on both.”

Before Javier or Horacio could formulate a response, Martínez announced it was time to locate his son as they had early shifts in the morning.

Their farewell involved little more than a handshake, a stern nod and an exchange of “Good luck.” But it was a necessary formality for all parties. A mark of mutual respect that wasn’t quite an offered or accepted olive branch but at least a truce. And that was enough.

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

“You okay?” Javier asked once Martínez had disappeared from view.

“Yeah. Well, I guess it was inevitable at some point.”

“Didn’t expect it to go like that, though. What the fuck did he mean? Just before he left. Does he know?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t think he’s telling anyone anything either way.”

“Agreed. We don’t have to stay if you’d rather -”

“No.” Horacio was quiet for a second, craning his ear towards the sound of the band behind the large cluster of trees they had sat amongst earlier. “I’ve got a better idea.”

He looked around them in all directions, twice, to be on the safe side, then took Javier by the hand and escorted him along one of the walkways. However, they branched off in a different direction than before, Horacio surprising himself with childhood memories of the layout of this place that he assumed were lost to the sands of time.

“What are -?”

“You’ll see.”

The path spiralled in circles, leaving them surrounded by greenery until they arrived at a softly lit water fountain in the centre. They were somehow closer to the sound of the music, even though they had moved further away from the party.

As they stilled, Javier looked expectantly at Horacio, who was already removing his jacket, placing it carefully on the ground and rolling up his shirt sleeves.

Javier did the same, still not understanding what this was all about, but the look in Horacio’s eye made him want to find out.

Horacio stepped closer, moonlight casting reflections from the fountain, illuminating the spark of hunger glinting in his pupils. “I’ve spent all night watching you dance with half the wedding party.” One hand dropped to Javier’s waist and tugged him forward into his hold. “It’s my turn now.”

Javier’s breath hitched as Horacio pressed them together, his hands automatically falling to Horacio’s hips to steady himself. “You only had to ask,” he said, the smoky timbre of his voice vibrating against Horacio’s ear.

“I thought line-dancing was more your thing.”

Javier nipped at Horacio’s earlobe in revenge. “That was when I was a kid. And you weren’t complaining about my dancing skills on our anniversary.”

Horacio let out an agreeable sigh as he chased the scrape of Javier’s teeth. “No, I wasn’t. But as nice as that was, we were hardly moving.”

“True. And if you must know, the Texas Two-Step got me several phone numbers back in the day. Lorraine’s being one of them. She was more into it than me, but it was actually kinda fun…for a while anyway.”

Memories of Saturday nights spent at old Texan dance halls and barn dances suddenly filled Javier’s mind. The faded aroma of leather and iron rust lingered alongside stale Lone Star beer, cigarette smoke and overpowering perfume as he led his partner across the worn wooden floor in time to the likes of Laura Canales and Hank Locklin.

His gaze would travel around the room – which was easier during a do-si-do - sometimes to make sure they didn’t collide with other dancers, sometimes to give anyone who caught his eye a discreet once-over. If he happened to hone in on a male dancer's tight-fitted jeans and fluid hip movements, it could easily be disguised as admiration for his female partner.

Not that it ever led to any encounters. Not there anyway; it wasn’t anonymous enough. But it was still a temptation. And yet another instance of feeling caught between two worlds: to have the tangible heat and beauty of a woman in his arms whilst fantasising about a mysterious, alluring man from afar, knowing he could never do the same with him in front of an audience.

“Juliana taught me to dance too. Or tried to, at least. She competed a lot when she was younger.”

Horacio smiled at the unexpected memory of them practising in her parents' kitchen, her father watching them like a hawk, glaring every time Horacio put a foot wrong or his hands fell lower than her waist despite the fact she was a grown woman. And his hands had already done much more than that whenever they had the place to themselves. His relationship with her father was the polar opposite of his relationship with Chucho, now he thought about it.

It wasn’t Juliana’s fault, though. And when they were alone on a crowded dancefloor, before his job and life came between them, before he understood the strange, borderline resentment twisting in his chest if he clocked male dancers with a particular look or build, they were content.

One of their favourite clubs ran a cumbia contest on the first Saturday of each month. The prize was tokenistic, free drinks on their next visit, but that didn’t matter on the occasions they came first when Juliana would tell her parents the good news at church the following day. The look on her father’s face as Horacio tried and failed to stifle a smug expression at her side would always be priceless.

“You ever danced any cumbia?” he asked Javier now.

“Some. At parties, weddings, quinceañeras…but that’s going back before I came to Colombia.” There might have been a few hazy nights in clubs and bars over here as well, but dancing hadn’t been his modus operandi in those days.

“So, you’ve never done it with a Colombian?”

Javier’s brow quirked of its own accord, and his tongue swept deliberately across his top lip. “No, er, you’d be my first.”

Horacio kept an impassive expression with his mouth, but his darkening pupils gave him away. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

“You know that won’t be necessary.”

Somewhere in the middle of their flirtation, they loosened their embrace, one hand linked in the space between them as their feet stepped back and forth, then side to side, their movements mirroring one another. Quick, quick, slow, quick, quick, slow.

Without warning, Horacio pulled Javier across his body and under their arms, spinning him around with force, then bringing them face-to-face again.

“Lucho Bermúdez was one of the great musical legends here in Colombia. Still is after his death last year. Mamá and my Abuelas listened to him all the time whenever the whole family got together. Do you know the name of this song?”

Horacio waited until their noses were almost touching to ask as their feet subconsciously glided over the paving stones beneath them.

Javier merely shook his head, their legs intermittently brushing together as their hips popped to the beat before he was spun once, twice, thrice until he was dizzy and out of breath.

“Tolú,” Horacio whispered as they reconverged, his lips skimming Javier’s and his eyes flickering shut as flashes of them on his cot in their shadowed quarters flooded into view.

Javier teased his bottom lip over Horacio’s, moustache swiping back and forth until they shuddered, a different first time as fresh as if it happened yesterday.

But they never stopped dancing. Horacio looped through their arms until he had his back to Javier, one hand each gripped at Horacio’s waist. They shimmied sideways, their free hands entwined by their shoulders to guide them back and forth, switching their hold each time they travelled across the floor. Another spin, another brush of legs, or an electric look making it clear which memories of Tolú they were thinking of.

The song ended, leaving only their charged breaths and the evening breeze rustling through the maze of trees protecting them from prying eyes.

Then, the band struck up again, so they kept dancing. Their bodies and minds synchronised as they paid homage to the country that had brought them together in the unlikeliest circumstances, Horacio interjecting with memories from childhood whenever old classics were played. He was even forced to swear on the cross between their chests that he had nothing to do with the band playing Noches de Cartagena of all songs.

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

By the time Javier prised his eyes open, unwelcome rays were already bursting through any gap in the blinds they could find. He craned his neck above Horacio’s still form, his watch on the nightstand reading 8:45am; ouch.

He’d survived on minimal sleep plenty of times, but he couldn’t remember getting home from a wedding past 5:00am before. If he was honest, they were tempted to call it a night once their private party for two ended. But it would have been rude to miss out on the dancers – professional this time - costumes and confetti of La Hora Loca. When in Colombia and all that.

They still had a few hours before they were to reconvene with the wedding party for the ultimate hangover cure of bandeja paisa, so Javier’s nose and moustache brushed over the nape of Horacio’s neck, arms slotting around him from behind.

A serene purr soon followed as Horacio stirred and leaned into Javier’s touch.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

Javier’s lips now worked their way to the side of Horacio’s neck, concentrating on a sweet spot below his ear.

“Liar.” Although Horacio’s whole body arched and his head tilted to give Javier what he wanted.

“Surprised I was awake before you, to be honest.”

“It took me a while to get to sleep…all of two and a bit hours ago.” Horacio winced into the pillow at how little rest he’d actually had.

“Everything okay?”

“Hmm, yeah.” He raised his head and shifted so he was lying face-to-face with Javier. “I was just thinking about my family.”

“Makes sense.”

“When we arrived, we were so focused on the wedding. I didn’t let myself think about what comes next. But now…”

“I said the same to Connie last night. But…maybe we’re ready to rip off the band-aid.”

“Maybe. Part of me just wanted to get it out of the way when I was lying awake. But you nodded off in record time.”

“I think you wore me out.”

“But you enjoyed it, though?”

“It was perfect.” Javier closed the space between them, seeking out Horacio’s lips until he was met with a hum of agreement.

Javier pushed his luck, ducking below Horacio’s ear and descending over the column of his throat. Testing the waters to see if Horacio wanted the distraction Javier was more than willing to provide. “And how’s this?”

“Pretty fucking perfect too.”

Their kisses started languorous due to their lack of sleep, building to something fervid as Horacio nipped at Javier’s pout, catching it between his teeth until it was plump and swollen.

Javier retaliated, coaxing Horacio’s tongue towards his with expert flicks, tasting faint traces of last night’s cigars, until he captured it and sucked, long and thorough.

Limbs tangled between bedsheets soon became Javier whimpering facedown into a pillow whilst Horacio dipped and devoured, creating a slick glide between Javier’s thighs, the relief visceral when lining up and pushing forwards.

Horacio experimented with bracing yet measured rotations as he mouthed along the expanse of Javier’s trapezius, lost in a sea of broad muscle. He’d always loved watching the fabric of Javier’s shirts stretch and strain at his upper back, an eye-catching contrast to the narrow hips his jeans hugged oh so tightly. And now, the shirt wasn’t required, and he was the one setting Javier’s skin alight, triggering a visible response to every touch or movement like putty in Horacio’s hands.

Javier loved being vindicated that there was nothing wrong with Horacio’s hips whatsoever. Of being denied any forewarning of what came next from biting down on a pillow with his eyes screwed shut, the only way he could avoid prematurely spilling all over the sheets beneath him. It was a close call several times, calming breaths required to refocus, a request for Horacio to stop or slow down needed before it was game over.

Knowing he reduced Javier to begging because it was too much put Horacio on thin ice, and any more pleas like that would have finished him off. But the throbbing of his cock was in sync with his pulse, loud and insistent, and keeping still wasn’t having the same effect anymore. The salty taste on his tongue as it swiped over the nape of Javier’s neck where the silver chain still remained was an aphrodisiac he couldn’t ignore.

“Fuck me,” he rasped against Javier’s ear.

Without hesitation, Javier flipped onto his back, the loss of contact causing an ache of frustration. But it was replaced by straddling, groping and grinding, propelling Horacio up the mattress until his thighs were encased around Javier’s head.

Now it was Javier��s turn to feast, spreading Horacio with vigour, darting, licking, kissing, leaving trails of saliva, moaning as wet heat engulfed his cock and fingers danced over his balls.

The scratch of nails scored Horacio’s ass as he worked Javier over, lapping with greed, hollowing his cheeks, bobbing his head and switching up the strength of suction, putting everything they had learnt in Madrid into practice.

They pulled off before it was too late, grabbing the bottle of lube and lying supine across the mattress with Javier underneath Horacio.

Javier’s feet were planted flat on the bed, giving him enough purchase to buck upwards with force, one hand holding on at the waist whilst the other roamed freely across the plains of Horacio’s chest, kneading fistfuls of pectoral muscles and skimming over his rib cage down to his thighs.

Javier caressed each thigh in turn, circling and massaging with his thumb, marvelling at how the span of his hand only reached a fraction of the way around them. “I meant what I said last night. About how good a garter would look on you.” His glutes clenched as he propelled upwards for extra emphasis.

The seed was sewn in Javier’s head as he watched Horacio dress for the wedding. It wasn’t the first time Horacio had worn what was a standard part of his dress uniform. A trick of the trade amongst police and military to avoid sanctions for a creased shirt. But it was the first time Javier had seen the shirt stays sitting snugly around Horacio’s muscular thighs. It was the first time he wanted to slip his fingers underneath the neat straps, maybe twang them or pull them tighter with his teeth whilst on his knees. Or as Horacio rode him with his back to Javier, one side of his shirt unclipped, underwear and a single garter tantalisingly removed, the other kept secured in place.

A guttural groan rumbled through Horacio’s chest like he had read Javier’s mind. “What kind?” he breathed out, surprised by his eagerness to indulge Javier and how fast his hand shot to his cock.

Javier choked back expletives at Horacio’s question and the sight above him. “I was thinking something leather…with a buckle…to match your belt and boots.” Each punishing thrust broke up his speech with strained grunts as he spread Horacio’s thighs wider, manoeuvring him up and down at the same pace. “Maybe one on your arm too….and a harness…to go with your hat…cowboy.”

“Fuck,” Horacio panted into Javier’s mouth at an awkward angle on the pillow, stroking himself roughly. Sparks of arousal multiplied with each wrist jerk as he pictured the look Javier gave him during the belt contest. Imagined him buckling the firm yet supple material until it bound tightly against Horacio’s sensitive skin like armour only they were allowed to put on or take off.

Javier’s hand replaced Horacio’s as he let his cock be held in stasis, basking in the heat and comfort of their joined form. His fingers journeyed back to Horacio’s mouth, tracing over it until Horacio parted his lips for Javier to feed two, then three digits inside.

Horacio sucked down, tasting himself as well as Javier as he swirled and licked, swallowing past the knuckles; faster and greedier. But it wasn’t enough.

Maybe it was the false pretences kept up the previous day and night combined with what lay ahead, but Javier seemed too far away. He always did when they were in public, but even more so when wearing a three-piece suit at a romantic wedding that wasn’t and couldn’t be theirs. It was why they still relished the time they could spend alone. And why they had needed Madrid. Because all those hidden looks and blink-and-miss, ‘accidental’ unseen brushes of hands could only be suppressed for so long. Last night, it had spilt out as inadvertent foreplay. But now, they needed more.

“Turn around,” Horacio said after releasing Javier’s glistening fingers.

They lay heart-to-heart, Horacio on his back, legs wrapped around Javier. Javier’s tongue skimmed across the breadth of Horacio’s chest, taking his sweet time working over each nipple, the scrape of teeth causing Horacio to lift upwards until Javier plunged him back down again.

And Horacio didn’t resist, his mind and body in free flight as the weight of Javier anchored him, allowed him to feel each and every nerve vibrate, his arms sliding above his head in complete surrender, offering them for Javier to claim.

Javier plotted a course across any patch of bare skin he could reach, licking up and down Horacio’s underarms, inhaling the musky scent of sweat before switching to his triceps, then biceps. On the left, he mouthed his way along the muscles; any marks left intentional reassurances and promises for their present and future, their bodies mapped stories of their lives.

Along the right, he eased up when he came to the faded scar at the mid-point of Horacio’s shoulder, placing tender butterfly kisses over the blemished skin, blinking away visions of a bullet tearing it open and taking care not to let his teeth make unwanted contact with their past.

He gradually dragged his mouth away until their gaze met, the rise and fall of Horacio’s chest compelling Javier to lay his head on it, soothed by the steady beat and the massage at his scalp.

Satisfied, Javier lifted Horacio’s arms back above them, sweeping over the peaks and troughs of fortified shoulders, forearms and wrists until they slotted through fingers that clamped around his like a vice.

Javier rocked in a pounding rhythm, Horacio’s legs rising higher, pushing Javier deeper as compensation for being unable to reach out and touch. Horacio honed in on the lifeline at his fingertips, the stimulation against his prostate and the safety of Javier’s forehead, all thoughts about the upcoming days put on hold.

But Javier could sense Horacio needed more again. It was written all over the beautiful agony of his face and the silent request in his eyes.

So, hands unlocked to let fingernails brand skin, tug at damp strands of hair and graze over stubble, the metallic ice of the cross contrasting with the fire burning in the core of their chests as they danced more synchronised steps only they knew.

A change in angle caused a slow build of release to skirt the edges of Horacio’s limbs, toes curling as jolts of pleasure transformed into overflowing currents. The fuse was lit, a chain reaction of heat stoking a fire in the pit of his abdomen on the cusp of burning him from the inside out.

Another snap of hips, his own hand jerking his cock in a frenzy, a rush of white noise, shuddering, shaking breaths and a release of molten bliss across their stomachs.

The ripples kept coming as every sound, quiver or fluttering around Javier’s cock pushed him closer to the edge. With one final thrust, he finished inside Horacio, a desperate growl tearing from his throat, the brunt absorbed by Horacio’s left shoulder.

They didn’t move, preferring spent velvet kisses, the world now in slow motion.

Javier concentrated on Horacio’s nose and forehead, pouring everything into each gesture of affection until he whispered, “I love you. And it’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

“I love you too. And I know.”

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

They dozed a little too long after wearing each other out for the second time in 24 hours, so Horacio went ahead first, leaving Javier to shower and join him afterwards. But it made little difference to the proceedings as plenty of other guests were slow off the mark, too.

Tables were laid out around the nearby restaurant owned by Juana’s parents, leftover flower arrangements used as decorations because it would have been a shame to waste them. It was a much smaller space than the botanical gardens, but not all guests from the night before were expected to attend. A fact that brought immense relief to Horacio because he wouldn’t have to make conversation with a certain Colonel again.

Whilst waiting for Javier, he worked his way through his belated first coffee of the day and took a bite out of an arepa.

“Is there room for two more?”

Horacio raised his head to find Connie with Olivia in tow. “Of course.”

Connie did her best to encourage Olivia out of her hiding place behind her legs. “Come on, sweetie. Do you want something to eat?”

Olivia peeped out from behind Connie, eyeing Horacio with suspicion.

“Don’t mind her; she’s just a little shy and overtired this morning.”

“Some arepas are going spare if that helps?” Horacio kept his voice low and gentle, peering around Connie until he drew a curious expression out of Olivia.

Olivia looked up at her mother, who nodded for reassurance.

“Go ahead.”

Olivia left her hiding place and took the chair between Horacio and Connie, mumbling a thank you as she ate.

“Help yourself, too.”

“Oh, no, thanks. I’ll wait for Steve, whose painkillers should hopefully be kicking in about now. I don’t feel too bad, but I left him groaning into his pillow. Were you and Javi in the same state this morning?”

Horacio fought down a smirk with every strength of his being. “Something like that.”

“I knew it was a smart move to travel to Cartagena tomorrow instead.”

“Where are you staying?”

“A resort just off La Boquilla beach. Steve and I would’ve preferred something quieter, but there’s more to keep kids busy where we’re at.”

“I don’t know the area well, but it is a nice coast up there. With plenty more arepas.” Horacio directed his last sentence at Olivia, who had already made a start on her second.

She slowed her chewing before smiling at Horacio, who had remembered a trick or two from the younger days of dealing with his nieces and nephews. If all else failed, food usually won them round.

“I’ve only seen Medellín and Bogotá, so it’ll be nice to get out of the big cities for a change.”

Horacio cleared his throat and took a long sip of his drink. “Yeah, it will.”

Connie leaned across the table to retrieve a freshly replenished pot of coffee and poured into her cup. “It’s a shame we won’t get a chance to see Manizales this time. But we’ll be thinking about it anyway.”

Horacio was startled out of his own coffee and met Connie’s eye, unsure how to respond before settling on a silent nod of thanks. “Maybe next time if all goes well.”

“I think we’d like that. Breaks like this are few and far between now we’re both back working.”

“How’s Miami these days?”

“Busy now we’re juggling our schedules with Liv’s. And we still have bad days sometimes, of course.” Connie gave Horacio a pointed look when talking of bad days, choosing her words carefully with Olivia in earshot. “But things are better now we’ve got more routine again…more stability.”

“Sounds familiar. I find being in the same country helps, too,” Horacio added with a wry smile.

“Exactly. Now we’re out the other side.”

“Yeah.”

They shared a knowing look, not wanting to say too much in front of Olivia about everything they had been through. It was hard to believe how much had happened and changed in the last few years, and it was clear everyone was still processing it all.

“How’s your arm doing now?” Connie asked in a hurry, keeping the mood light for the sake of her daughter.

“It’s as good as new. Well, almost. The ranch kept me moving. I think I built back more muscle than I had before. And I kept up strengthening exercises in Madrid.”

“Wow, you’re doing better than most of my patients. I never had to tell you off once.”

“I don’t follow many orders, but it wasn’t worth my arm – or life - to ignore yours. So, thank you.”

“Try telling that to Steve...or this one here. But seriously, I’m just glad I could help. Especially when I hear you might be making ranch life more permanent?” There was a conspiratorial tone to her question. A question she clearly knew the answer to already but was having fun asking regardless.

“That’s the plan, hopefully. Madrid was always supposed to be temporary.”

“But it helped?”

“Yeah. It was exactly what we needed. And maybe you’ll find Cartagena is what you need.”

“I think we will.”

There was that look again, one that spoke volumes about their shared understanding, even if their experiences were different.

Horacio’s gaze drifted up to Javier, who still wore his aviators until he flopped down at their table, already reaching for a cup and the coffee pot.

“Morning.”

“Afternoon, Javi,” Connie greeted with a wink.

“Very funny. But looks like I still beat your husband.”

“Don’t suppose you saw him on your way over?”

“Nope. I’m sure he’ll appear once the food does.”

Javier was right, of course. A worse-for-wear Steve arrived as the bandeja paisa was brought to the tables before they tucked into huge hot trays of beans, rice, chicharrón, chorizo, carne en polvo, plantain, avocado, fried egg and more arepas.

They ate in comfortable silence, letting the food work its magic and fill them up for the rest of the day, highlights from the reception still fresh in everyone’s minds despite their current weariness.

Before long, it was time to wave the newlyweds off on their honeymoon to Bequia. Their goodbyes were short and sweet, knowing they would be keeping in touch long after the celebrations were over, especially when Trujillo’s parting words were, “I’ll be waiting for my ranch invitation in the post.”

And even through the loud crowd of well-wishers, he managed to hear the mumbled “Cheeky fucker” echoed back at him in unison.

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

Javier and Horacio stayed to finish their coffees once the beeps of the wedding car disappeared into the distance, the majority of the party now dispersed and leaving them sat alone.

“Pops rang just before I left the hotel. Think he wanted to check in before…well, y’know.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine. The only bit of news he asked me to pass on was about him being offered first refusal on Ciro’s and Malena’s place.”

The fact the Ortegas were selling up wasn’t a surprise. Javier and Horacio had spent last Christmas in Laredo again, where Ciro and Malena had brought around a fresh batch of sopaipillas over the festive period. In the preceding months, they had gone back and forth on moving, but by December, they were set on putting the farm on the market in the New Year.

Horacio nodded slowly, his brow drawn tight across his forehead as he considered this new development carefully. “Makes sense.”

“Do you think he’ll seriously consider it at his age?”

“I think he has to. We buy the majority of our feed grain from them. Selling to an outsider could risk price hikes and shortages, or the new owners might want to supply to someone else. It’d be a big gamble. But if your father bought them out, then kept their staff on, used their expertise, maybe even increased the livestock with some of the extra land…I think it could be workable.”

Horacio was aware he was being watched and glanced up to face his audience. “What?”

“Nothing.” Although Javier knew his face told another story. “I just don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak such fluent cowboy before.”

“I’m not a –”

“Not yet,” Javier finished for him. “And I never said it was a bad thing.”

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

After every funeral, an additional service was held exclusively for CNP officers to attend. Whilst gravestones were located across Colombia in countless cemeteries, a modest wooden cross bearing a name was planted for each loss in the consecrated soil around the corner from Carlos Holguín.

Horacio had paid his respects here more times than he wished to remember, but he still wasn’t prepared for how vast the sea of the dead had become since his last visit. It was a silent expanse covering the grass for as far as the eye could see, the sole sign of life the weeds and wildflowers shooting up between the rows he walked between.

He recognised some names and could clearly picture their ashen-faced relatives as though it was yesterday when he stood on their doorsteps, hat in hand and solemn expression fixed in place. Others were indistinguishable from the rest. An indicator of the extent of the collateral damage and how long he had been away now.

As he stood in his civilian clothes, he felt strangely underdressed. But for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to wear his usual ranch attire since being back in Colombia and had returned to the beige khakis and polo shirts that felt like an unofficial uniform of their own. One that allowed him to get away with wholly unofficial business in the past, but today wasn’t about him. Today was about them. All of them. No matter who they were.

Perhaps against his better judgement, with the help of Trujillo, he had located the graves of Diana Turbay and Carolina García Velásquez. He didn't allow himself to remember Carolina’s name at the time, even though she had been plastered all over the papers alongside mysterious references to an “unidentified officer of the National Police” leading the raid on La Dispensaria. A story eerily repeated with Diana’s death.

He didn’t linger at their gravesides. But on those occasions, just like this one, Horacio bowed his head, recited a silent prayer and made the sign of the cross.

“Lo siento,” were the only words spoken before he retreated from the churchyard.

He had done all he could here for now, and it was time to…not forget but to move on. It was time to face his fears and look to the future. It was time to let old ghosts rest once and for all.

#Comment reblog #Narcos fic #Narcos #Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo #Javier Peña #Horacio Carrillo #Fan Fiction #Fan Fic #Long post

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neil-gaiman · 2 years ago

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Ahoy, sir.

I know full well it's not going to sound great, but it's a question and you might have the answer, so here we go. It's about Johanna Constantine in Sandman.

I saw a tweet you wrote about Johanna being her own character - it was, i believe, in response to her being cleaner than John. You said she can be cleaner for the simple fact that she isn't John, or at least she isn't a gender-swapped John.

I have a question about that. If she's a different character, why is there so much that she takes from John ? Why giving her a Newcastle (even if it's not quite the same), why not modernize or reinject a version of her story with Pandora's box ? I think it's awesome to see a modern version of Lady Johanna, but I wonder what were your ideas behind keeping so much of John's in her episode, and why she wasn't push more into what makes her character different - money, sure, but also henchmen, guns and magic instead of tricks, to name a few.

I know how it sounds like - I met a few fans ever so annoying about the casting. I'm not trying to complain or bash the work you and so many talented people put behind the Sandman. I like this serie, I want more, I like Jenna Coleman as well as I'm thrilled by a Johanna Constantine in modern setting. I'm just curious about how she was thought about.

I also know you must get a whole lot of asks of the type, and i suppose it ends up souding like I'm asking for some justification. I'm not, I'm just curious - and if it seems to mean anything else, note that I'm sorry and that it's not what I meant.

Thanks, anyway, for all you do and have done, and for your attention ~

Because when you move the life essence of a character from universe to universe you keep some things and you change others. I grew up with DC Comics having Earth 1 and Earth 2, and a Batman and a Superman and a Flash on each. Both Batmans were Bruce Wayne, both Supermans were Clark Kent and Kal-El, but one Flash was Jay Garrick and one was Barry Allen. And these were ways of solving problems of time, of dealing with three decades of continuity. The John Constantine in Vertigo who was in his mid-thirties in 1989 is now a pensioner. And the Morpheus of that world escaped in September 1988.

In those terms, the TV version of Sandman exists on Earth-Sandman, a world that starts three decades on. It's not beholden to 1988 comics continuity, but it uses it when it wants to. The person holding the Constantine life essence in this world is Joanna. She didn't sing in a punk band in the 1970s. Her Astra Logue went to Hell, but it wasn't Joanna's fault in the way it was John's in 1979 in Hellblazer 12. She didn't spend the time in Ravenscar Secure Facility from 1979-1982.

She's smart, not grubby, a lot more like the original dandyish John Constantine who showed up in Swamp Thing in 1984 than the unshaven wreck of a man he became.

And we will get to see a lot more of Lady Johanna in Sandman, if we get future seasons.

Does that help?

#constantines #john constantine #joanna constantine #sandman

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hauntedwitch04 · 2 years ago

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Kiss this dead girl walking

Childhood friend!Steve Harrington x Childhood friend!Reader

Heathers AU

Words: About 1.5k words

Warnings: mentions of sex, with some scene smutty?, Steve Harrington (and yes he is a warning), under age use of alcol (?)

Author’s note: Hi everybody! After what it feels a life I come back into writing. During this period I watch all Stranger Things and I littleraly fell il love with Steve Harrington, so here I am with a one shot about him. I decided to realize this in an AU of the Heather, the film of 1988, that I love deeply and I probably love the musical even more. I took inspiration from the song Dead girl walking, that I'll put at the end of the story. Hope you like this idea. I’m sorry for any eventual grammatical error, I just finished to write it!

Requests are open I Ask

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The words of Tears for Fears fill your ears to the beat of "Everybody wants to rule the world," a song released just this year in 1989. You're running away from the one and only worst party ever. Heather, the one you consider for some strange reason a "friend," has dragged you to the party of Kurt Kelly, the captain of the rugby team. Of course, she was gone right away, doing god knows what with god knows who, while you were left drinking, crammed into a dimly lit hallway among couples making out, people drinking but who were already too drunk by then, and people smoking, so much so that it created a huge cloud of smoke that obscured everything. You have recently managed to become part of the school's most popular girl group, after years of suffering and being bullied by them, but immediately you are beginning to regret it, seeing their behavior, and slowly realizing that their world, is a place where you don't belong.

The evening, however, is interrupted when, as yet another jerk hits on you, and you in response vomit your soul onto his shoes. The only thing you remember before you get into the car is Heather's contrite face at your gesture, to which you in response, thanks in part to some of the liquid courage you had drank, tell her to go to hell, and that you don't want to be friends with her anymore.

Those words were the signature for your death sentence; you are now nothing more than a dead girl walking.

You wake up from these thoughts that have numbed your mind so far, and you realize that you are standing in front of Steve Harrington's house. When you were kids you were close friends, then you sought the path to popularity, while he was happy in remaining labeled only as the odd boy, which was no longer enough for you. You don't know why but something is telling you to stop. You know he will definitely be alone at home, since his parents are always away on business. You park in the driveway, next to his car. You stop to think about what you are doing only when you are standing at the door, but at that moment you realize that you have nothing left to lose now and so you knock. It takes a few seconds before you hear someone on the other side, but eventually the door opens to reveal a glimpse of a sleepy Steve Harrington, who trots his eyes with a unique tenderness. He widens his eyes upon seeing you.

The first to break that silence is you.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't have to break you just..." You say suddenly unsure, but he immediately stops you, as if he has finally woken up and understands what is going on.

"No, no quiet meanwhile I was awake. Ehy but are you okay? You don't look so good." He asks, visibly concerned. You don't know why, but that gesture of his, that tone of his makes you burst into tears. He stands dumbfounded for a moment looking at you, then hugs you, and it's as if in a second you are again the little girl who falls down the Harringtons' driveway after getting tripped up, being hugged by that sweet little boy who is convinced that all it takes is a little affection and everything heals.

He pulls away a little from the hug to look at your face and you look up.

"Would you like to have a drink together? I know we haven't talked in years, and that this is all my fault because I've been a bitch, but I need to talk to someone and you're the first person who came to mind." You ask unsure, while tears are still drying on your cheeks. He nods and leads you into the kitchen. While he gets two bottles of beer from the refrigerator, you sit on the counter of the table. Once you send down a few sips of the ice-cold drink you begin to talk about everything inside, how much you suffered for Heathers, how much it hurt you to not be able to talk to him anymore, being afraid that he hated you, and what happened this very night a short time ago. Many times you apologized for your behavior, and every time he told you it was nothing.

You talk for hours, the beer bottles meanwhile multiplying until now you're lying on the couch in hysterical laughter at reminding yourself of the ridiculous harpy device that would kill your public image at school on Monday, until Steve gets improvidently serious.

"You know, I've always thought you were a fool in changing yourself and your appearance to join that group of snobs who think their biggest problem is the crease that came badly before school." The boy stops for a moment before continuing, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "You were always perfect the way you were. Without this unattainable girl aura. To me you were already perfect as the girl who loved to read books, and wore those cute prescription glasses that made her big, curious eyes even bigger." You continue to remain silent, too overwhelmed by the alcohol in your system and the closeness of the boy. His scent is worse than dorga, and all you want to do is draw him to you and stick your nose into the crook of his neck as you run your hands through that perfect hair of his.

You see him licking his lips as his eyes are on yours before you say.

"I have a distraction in mind, if you'd like, to forget about all these bitches, this shitty life, my practically nonexistent family, everything. What do you say, are you ready to take a chance, Cherry?" You smile at that nickname, which reminds you of afternoons spent with a Cherry Sluchie in your hand, your favorite, in front of his pool, while he enjoyed swimming, and showing you when he was good at diving.

Your smile turns into a gigno as you bring your hands to his shoulders. He instinctively comes closer and you feel him vibrating with excitement, as you whisper, with surprising courage for the second time that night.

"And what would you have in mind Harrington?" He doesn't answer, on the contrary he shows you, rubbing his nose on your neck. After teasing you enough, he moves on to leave delicate, light kisses on your neck, which over time become more and more passionate and important, so much so that you are sure you will be left with the mark of those kisses, and this only increases your desire to rip him off that had been on for too long now. You feel his hands wander over your body, until he finally decides to unzip the zipper of the dress you're wearing, and before you know it you're both unclothed, invested with passion, with the desire to escape, taking refuge in each other's arms. Your moans, filling the room like the smell of sweat and alcohol, as you make love on the couch.

It seems like it has happened a billion times before, and maybe it has in the minds of both of you, so much so that it seems like a dance whose steps everyone knows, and at the same time of a song that only you know. Your lips are like glued together, and they cannot stay away from each other.

At one point, however, he pulls away and immediately you moan, pulling him back to you, wanting nothing more than his sweet kisses that taste of beer, tobacco and licorice.

"Kiss this dead girl walking, you don't want her to die not remembering what your kisses taste like." You say as your lips lightly trace her jaw. He stiffens from the pleasure caused by that gesture, before responding.

"I wouldn't want to kill this dead girl who walks with my kisses in my arms, while I make love to her on the couch in my house."

"I see no better way to die." You retort before continuing your journey down the jaw.

You spend most of the rest of the night this way. In the morning you wake up very late, still on that couch, with him lying beside you, still bare-chested and one of his arms around your waist, still traveling in the world of Morpheus, and all of a sudden Heather doesn't scare you anymore, because you finally understand where you really belong.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #becky's writing #Spotify

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morewyckedthanyou · 3 years ago

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horror asks: 5, 6, 10, 12, 20

Thank you so much for asking! This became long, so I will be putting this under a readmore.

5. list your top five horror films I started thinking about all my favourite horror films and then realized there is no way I will be able to narrow the list down to just 5, so I am going to cheat. I am going to give you 10 films, in two top 5 lists. 5 faves from the 80's and then 5 more recent films that I enjoy. Why? Because I, for some weird reason, almost think of 80's horror films as this... completely separate thing when compared to newer ones, lol. Horror in the 80's was just really extra, I think.

So, with that being said, here are the lists.

TOP 5 / 80's

The Shining (1980) I first saw this when I was 10 years old and was terrified to sleep alone in my tiny attic room for at least a week or so, so for the nostalgia factor alone this film is going to have to be included, lol.

Pet Sematary (1989) Actually faithful to the Stephen King novel unlike the 2019 film which I immensely disliked. Genuinely disturbing in the right kind of way. The novel is also my favourite by Stephen King, however, so that greatly affected my decision to pick out this one.

A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) This is a classic. Although I remember laughing more than actually being scared when I first saw this all those years ago as a teenager. Still, a perfect typical 80's horror film.

Killer Klowns from Outer Space (1988) I hate clowns, but even so this movie doesn't really scare me so much as it does simply entertain me. I have watched it a few times and have in fact been thinking about rewatching it again sometime soon. I don't really even consider this seriously as horror I think? But it is fun, so it gets to be on my list.

Hellraiser (1987) My reasons for this are more to do with nostalgia than with this actually being a great masterpiece. I first watched this when I was 12, later I made my little sister watch it with me, and by now I can't even remember how many times I have actually seen it. I also like the second Hellraiser a lot, actually... but we don't talk about the rest. :/

TOP 5 / MORE RECENT STUFF

The Blair Witch Project (1999) A classic. THE found footage film for me, nothing else can really compare.

Sinister (2012) Horror films involving young children in one way or another usually always creep me the fuck out, enough said. I also remember being genuinely shocked by the ending when I watched this for the first time so... points for that.

Dead Silence (2007) I am terrified of dolls, especially ventriloquist dummies, and this features those. No matter how many times I watch this, it always gives me the creeps... but I know it is not a movie for everyone.

The Descent (2005) Let's go climbing into this unexamined cave, what could possibly go wrong? :D Well, let me tell you: So - many- things.

The Ring (2002) I think this one is maybe quite a cliché choice, but nostalgia factor is to blame for this one again. I used to have this on VHS as a teenager and that VHS was watched often.

There are so many other films I could've included instead of these ones, but I'm going with these 10.

6. what is your favorite genre of horror? Definitely paranormal/supernatural kind of horror. I have never been big on slashers or stuff like that, those have never really done anything for me. Body horror yes, but just... lots of blood and stabbing... no.

10. are there any horror movies/franchises you find overrated? Well, since I don't really like slashers or serial killer films, movie series like Saw and similar just... really aren't my thing. In fact I find them quite boring.

Other than that, I must say that I have seen so many people everywhere praising the 2015 horror film The VVitch but when I watched it I only felt really angry most of the time - and bored for the rest. So 0/10 from me, would not recommend. I guess I was not the target audience.

12. what do you think is the best halloween film? Oh no, I was afraid someone would ask me this. Because now I need to out myself as a fraud who has a) never watched all of the Halloween films and b) doesn't really even care about the ones I've seen. 🙈 I have only seen the first 2... and all I can even remember about them is that the first one almost bored me to death. Sorry! I know I am surely insulting so many people by just having admitted this but... now the truth is out. 😅

edit: Wait, now I started wondering if this question is about the Halloween-film franchise or Halloween-themed films in general? Oh well. I said what I said.

20. are there any ‘bad’ horror movies that hold a special place in your heart? Oh, there are actually so many. 😂 I'm giving you a few that I can immediately think of.

Amityville II: The Possession (1982) is the first one that comes to mind. Me and my sister used to watch this over and over again when we were teenagers, we quoted some of the parts to each other at random all the time and even today if either one of us would say some iconic~ line from this film all of a sudden, the other would immediately know. This movie is very bad. So bad it is good. Kinda? Or maybe it's just us and our fucked up sense of humour.

Tremors (1990), as Wikipedia describes it, "American western-themed monster horror comedy film". It stars Kevin Bacon who is battling huge flesh eating worm monsters, so what's not to love? 🤣

The People Under the Stairs (1991) So bad but so good? Or maybe it's just the nostalgia once again, since this is again one of those films I saw (too) many times as a teenager. This is what Wikipedia has to say: "The plot follows a young boy and two adult robbers who become trapped in a house belonging to a strange couple after breaking in to steal their collection of rare coins."

🔪horror movie ask meme🔪

#this was fun i encourage you guys to ask me more if you are at all interested!#ask games #horror movies #answer #marley-manson

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dutchforstrangers · 3 years ago

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Digimon Astrology Journey - 'Head first' buddies: Koushiro & Taichi

So I’m back with some headcanon Digimon Astrology and I’m diving into it head first! Something fierce leader Taichi would do, however he needs his loyal ‘brains’ there with him and that will be Koushiro. Where Koushiro is a thinker, analytical in every way due to his pragmatic Sun and Rising, Taichi is one of action due to his Moon and Rising (and Mars!). However don’t underestimate them, they have some serious airy energy going on, making them vocal, diplomatic and charming in their own individual ways.

These boys are so different, yet work together very well. They just have a hard time… talking to others or each other about… the complicated, personal specific stuff feelings. Must be the stars, right?

It’s been a while, but you can read back all things Astrology (basics, background, etc.) in previous posts Part 1 | Part 2. Furthermore, exploring Taichi and Koushiro’s birth charts is part 2 of this series, you can read the exploration of Sora and Mimi’s birth charts here.

The important stuff

Koushiro Izumi, August 26th 1989 (around 05.30AM)

Sun: Virgo (earth-mutable)

Moon: Gemini (air-mutable)

Rising: Virgo (earth-mutable)

Taichi Yagami, October 15th 1988 (around 5PM)

Sun: Libra (air-cardinal)

Moon: Sagittarius (fire-mutable)

Rising: Aries (fire-cardinal)

Warning: IT’S VERY LONG! I’m sorry in advance…

A little disclaimer before I start rambling: These are headcanons! Their given birthdays are not canon at all, but just me having fun combining my love for Digimon and my love for Astrology. It can be highly self-indulging, but maybe you can find some truth in it as well! If you want to know how I calculated their birthdays, read my previous posts as stated above. I use these birthdays in my own fanfiction, but feel free to use them as well. Some credit in the form of a reblog, like or mention of these posts and/or my Tumblr would be highly appreciated! See something you want to discuss? I love to learn and talk! As said these are my headcanons, but I’m not afraid to change my mind or to defend what I have if necessary.

Everything charts and the why under read more!

Koushiro Izumi - August 26th 1989

Assigning the Virgo Sun to this boy was the first thing I did, because I myself am convinced Koushiro Izumi is the embodiment of a true Virgo. I could be wrong, as I did not study Astrology and am a simple hobbyist, but everything I read about Virgos always lead me back to this particular maroon headed anime dork for years now. Hence why I gave him the same Sun and Rising sign, because Koushiro is who he is. Anyway, let me try to convince you.

For starters, here are a few (or actually all the) things about Virgos in general, for both Sun and Rising. Virgos are bright, practical, pragmatic, orderly, respectful, critical, perfectionists, security driven, communicative, tidy, nervous, detail-oriented… Can I stop already? Okay, now pick one of the above and tell me it’s not fitting for Koushiro.

…

Hm, I know. It’s hard, isn’t it?

Maybe his tidiness is questionable depending on the situation… But the guy is orderly and the chaos only exists in times when his perfectionism takes over. The nervous part from the Virgo can be seen in shyness or even being obedient. All of that makes Koushiro a dedicated friend who would do anything in his power to make everything work for you. Danger is that he will efface himself, thinking he’s not worth as much as the others. This is what happens in Adventure episode 28 right after he solved the card riddle. On the top left corner either the Agumon or the Gomamon is right, but he doesn’t know which one and he apologizes, which is not necessary at all, with: “I’m sorry I couldn’t live up to your expectations,” which is such a Virgo Sun/Rising thing to say..! The Virgo dynamic is alive and kicking.

It’s even more alive and kicking in his other strong Virgo placements: Mercury and Mars. With Mercury in Virgo, Mercury is in it’s sign of its rulership, making it a strong placement. And precisely that planet is the planet of thoughts and knowledge! The combination of his Sun, Rising, Mercury and Mars in Virgo makes him be, engage, think and act like a true Virgo. Detail-oriented, thoughtful, respectful, orderly, practical and curious!

The hardest part for his birthday calculation was his Moon placement. The Moon is all about emotions, needs, wants, behavior, responds, et cetera. I first gave him a Capricorn Moon, but my boyfriend is such a Cap Moon and it didn’t fit the bill for Koushiro in my opinion. So I read and searched and eventually came to the conclusion it had to be an Air sign Moon, simply for the fact that our boy Koushiro is the bearer of the crest of Knowledge and Air signs can be seen as the intellectual ones of the Zodiac! Eventually I went for the Gemini Moon and I’m going to explain why exactly.

One could say Gemini is the bearer of Knowledge just as much as Koushiro is. Gemini LOVE to know things! They are naturally curious and are great communicators, when it comes to knowledge (pun warning if you’ve seen the reboot: they love to bring joy to their knowledge). Gemini tend to be a bit superficial when it comes to having and sharing knowledge and of course we know that’s not the case with our Koushiro here, due to his many Virgo placements, making him more observant and inward. What the Gemini Moon DOES to him is making this boy very talkative! He likes to spill what’s on his mind, he likes to share what he thinks, he likes to ramble and rant. It’s something we see him doing in Tri a lot, especially that one scene in Reunion part 3 (episode 3) where he keeps on rambling about all the strange events and he misses the first part of the conversation between the other DigiDestineds (about the news and Jyou’s ‘girlfriend’ poor guy no one believes him). Koushiro misses the conversation because a) his Gemini Moon likes to ramble and keep rambling, and b) because his Virgo placements can make him a bit unaware of his surroundings quite the time…

That’s not a bad thing per se, Koushiro is just very much focused on his work and d e t a i l s, which is a VERY Virgo-ish trait. But lets not forget that his priority is to help others with that knowledge and that the combination of his Virgo placements with his Gemini Moon makes him a great mentor. Brings me to his role throughout the entirety of Adventure 02: The Mentor. You’re welcome.

Another Gemini Moon thingy is rudeness. Now we know Koushiro is the most polite person out of ALL DD’s, always using honorifics, even saying Hikari-san instead of Hikari-chan, because Koushiro IS respect. But Koushiro is not afraid to tell you what’s at stake in times of ‘danger’, he’s not afraid to tell the truth. There are a few examples for that in Adventure, Adventure 02 and in Tri, but I’d like to refer to one of my favorite moments in whole Digimon Adventure history. Because Koushiro x rudeness brings me back to Diaboromon strikes back when he’s obviously so done with everyone, then Mimi enters the scene and he doesn’t even care. In the English dub she literally says “How rude”. Ooooohhh Koushiro, you little rude demon… It’s not the biggest proof it’s a simple one and my personal favorite.

All of the talkativeness and rudeness is something we mostly see Koushiro doing when he’s most comfortable. So we won’t see him being all talkative all the time -sharing more than just plain, superficial knowledge and instead more personal helpful knowledge- with everyone, but we do see him being talkative and speaking up to certain characters he’s most comfortable with. Now name one boy he’s very talkative to compared with literally all the other characters… You know what? Scroll down.

Last thing and then I’ll stop rambling about this beautiful and lovely nerd. His Venus, planet of values (and love…) is in Libra. What does that mean? Well, I’ve seen quite some fans type Koushiro as a bi-sexual, or something in that direction. Or even better a ‘disaster bi-sexual’. I already agreed on that, but when I saw this birth chart… IT’S (HEAD)CANON! Seriously, Libra is the zodiac sign of doubt, decision making (or actually no decision making, but I’ll get there with the next boy) and relationships and if you have your Venus placed in Libra you’re doomed to be a disaster when it comes to making decisions in your love life both romantically and platonically! Venus in Libra creates the desire for a good and loving relationships, but Koushiro’s Virgo Sun/Rising makes him more shy, his Virgo Mars makes him hold back. Once again, the Virgo Sun/Rising-Libra Venus dynamic lets him efface himself in relationships, thinking they have nothing to offer, but they have!! And so Koushiro gets left behind with his unresolved feelings… the boy has a hard time in love, let’s give him all a hug!

Taichi Yagami - October 15th 1988

The protagonist. Okay, let me compare this goggle headed protagonist to another goggle headed protagonist outside the Digimon franchise: Naruto. This is probably more interesting to people who have watched and know Naruto, so you can skip the part. To me Naruto is the classical protagonist type; bold, adventurous, playful, (a little) obnoxious at some times, hot headed… These are traits we easily assign to fire signs in the zodiac, especially Aries. So I would immediately give Naruto the Aries Sun placement. However, when we see Naruto grow up, his behavior and the way he speaks and leads grows up with him as well. That’s only natural. And based on those changes I wouldn’t necessarily give Naruto the Aries Sun placements, although the Aries placement or another fire placement is very likely to be present in his chart.

Now I could go even further, explain the development from child to adult through Jung’s theory about cognitive functions, but that’s incredibly complicated and a looooong stretch I won’t be making here today. In short, Jung’s development theory is interesting, because it shows how we first see the obvious traits in a child which are the traits the child engages (Rising sign) the world with before it develops the other functions showing the person’s true identity (Sun sign). So we could say we first see someone’s Rising sign more clearly before the Sun comes shining through. Like with Naruto. And the same could be for Taichi in the case of this headcanon.

To tackle his birth chart and big three, I’ll be starting with explaining his Rising Sign before his Sun sign. And the Rising sign I assigned him is Aries Rising.

Like I said above, Aries is bold, adventurous, playful and above all: courageous. Especially the Aries Rising placement which is more courageous than its Aries Sun counterpart. Aries are born leaders, can be extremely competitive, are somewhat restless and desperately need to move. In Taichi’s case with the above birth chart, that urge to move is magnified by his Aries Mars placement. The dynamic of his Aries Rising and Aries Mars makes Taichi a mover, an adventurer, and incredibly determined. This could be both positively, always wanting the best (especially for yourself, as Aries is a pretty selfish sign), and a tad negatively, always going and going and going. In the Adventure series this could be the reason why he makes Greymon dark-evolve, because he wants things too bad and too fast. Aries are hot headed and can grow impatient if things don’t go the way they want. And the Aries Rising and Mars dynamic makes Taichi a very physical guy. Mix that with the impatience and he is not afraid to pick fights and use his fists.

All of this can make Taichi a very stormy and reckless boy (boundaries? What’s that?), but also a fearless leader. The exuberance, the impatience and restlessness comes back in his Sagittarius Moon placement as well. This Sag Moon in combination with his strong Aries placements in Rising and Mars makes Taichi a sportive, physical, optimistic and forward leader that is incredibly courageous and adventurous, which could make him a bit ‘superficial’ as a protagonist. But the Sag Moon also deepens and strengthens his leader skills.

Sagittarius is a sign pictured by a centaur with an arrow and bow. The centaur’s horse legs make the Sag want to move and be free, but the arrow aims in a clear direction and aiming takes knowledge and focus. Sagittarius thus is an adventurous fella, but also a philosopher. Taichi’s Sag Moon placement makes him a pro in seeing the bigger picture and connecting dots next to his never ending energy. He will make sure we’re going in the right direction by overlooking the whole situation. So we absolutely shouldn’t forget Taichi is a true strategist! He sees, understands what’s at stake in a situation, connects the dots, comes with a strategy and like a true leader knows his team and can place everyone in his right spot to get through the toughest of situations (once again referring to Taichi asking Koushiro to pick the cards in Adventure episode 28). Speaking about a great leader, gosh, Taichi, you’re truly amazing! <3

However, it’s his Aries Rising and Mars that often make him act before he thinks, preferably alone (Taichi is a teamplayer, but the selfish and reckless Aries in him makes him act alone. And the sum of teamplayer + acting alone = self-sacrifice mode… which happens ALL THE DAMN TIME). Or actually makes him act while thinking without doing a short reflection beforehand. Seriously, I’m convinced that this reflection in advance could have saved him a lot of trouble throughout Digimon Adventure. Let’s blame it on (t)his (headcanon) birth chart…

Also, all of the above vouches for Taichi having an amazing intellect, but the guys needs to be challenged… Hence why he’s always staring out of the window during classes in Tri, daydreaming away to where the adventure is. He feels trapped, needs to be outside and should use his intelligence for things he finds important (like saving the digital world, soccer and saving friends and the world). The daydreaming could also be his Libra Mercury who can make Taichi lose his focus and could make him lazy. Luckily Taichi has a very active Aries Mars in opposite aspect from his Libra Mercury that neutralizes that lazy and dreamy Libra Mercury.

Okay, back to topic. Now you maybe think: But if Taichi is good in knowing where to go, being the fearless leader, also an intellect who has the knowledge to aim straight and shoot… then WHY is he so lost, down and in doubt in Tri and so unknowing of his future in Kizuna…??!! I have an answer to that. And that answer is his Libra Sun.

I know I know, this is a very VERY unpopular Sun sign to give this goggle leader, but please hear me out. For starters, Libra is the sign of diplomacy and if we believe the 02’s epilogue what’s Taichi’s job? Right, a diplomat. We also know he studies something like political sciences in Kizuna (which I think is AMAZING and vouches even more for Taichi’s intellect! Politics is a tough study…) and to make it in the political field you really do need diplomacy and charms.

Taichi is an absolute charmer, in my eyes at least. I mean, look at his 02 self! He’s such a smooth charmer in every way… The way he sends off Sora to Yamato while acting all cool and collected, phew, that requires some serious smoothness. And still we often see Taichi depicted as a down and broody boy besides his energetic and bold (sometimes indifferent…) character, especially after Tri. That too could be due to a Libra Sun placement.

Like Sagittarius is depicted by a centaur, Libra is depicted by scales and those scales are all about harmony, balance and justice. Libra is the opposite of Aries in the zodiac, but also about weighing opposites in the sigh itself. When we look at the Aries/Libra opposite placement: where Aries can be quite selfish, Libra as an opposite is the people’s pleaser. Where Aries is reckless and impatient, Libra is thoughtful and patient and one could say that an Aries acts where a Libra waits. Where Aries makes the impulsive decisions, Libra keeps deliberating leading into constant doubt and confusion. And how do we see Taichi in Tri? Ah yes, in doubt and confused.

A Libra Sun desperately wants to bring peace and harmony, driven by justice, in a diplomatic way. Libra Suns are deep thinkers which can make them very doubtful, making them spiraling down into a hole of overthinking and doubts. The Libra Sun-Sag Moon dynamic makes this all even more deep and almost philosophical in a way there will always be more and more questions, but never answers because Libra simply can’t make choices. All while being solution-oriented!

As Taichi grows up from a middle schooler to a high schooler, it’s that doubt coming from the Libra Sun that kicks Taichi hard. It conflicts with his carefree and bold Aries Rising nature and as that Libra Sun comes shining through, we see Taichi becoming more cautious and reserved compared to his younger self. The guy has a strong inner dialogue always looking for the best solutions to please everyone and bring harmony (I wanted to say ‘balance to the world’, yes to all the avatar the last airbender cameos) to the people and world(s in case of the digital world) around him he so desperately wants to protect. This is what we see happening in Tri, where he can’t choose what’s the right thing… Most of the time that inner dialogue is hidden behind his Aries Rising (and Aries Mars and Sag Moon).

So under that tough and courageous Aries Rising demeanor (remember that a Rising sign is all about engaging and how you come across to others) is a very soft, sweet, friendly and overall smart Libra Sun boy who has troubles expressing himself because the boy is in conflict with himself (which we see in the Dark Master’s arc in Adventure where he expresses his concerns towards his sister to Koushiro… it’s so hard for Taichi to let it all out, even when he needs it badly). It’s so sad, he’s such a complicated character, but that’s also one of the most beautiful things about Taichi. He’s layered af. He could be the best listener (Koushiro’s feels this, that’s why Koushiro can talk so open and freely to Taichi, because Taichi lets him thank you Libra Sun) if it weren’t for his strong fire placements opposite from his airy Sun sign. But give the boy time and space and he can show you his charms in a way no one else owns those charms.

So Taichi’s Libra Sun is hidden away most of the time due to his strong Aries placements. Usually his Rising and Sun sign being in opposite aspect from each other, should neutralize the placements, but Taichi’s Aries Mars placement makes the Aries Rising overrule the Libra Sun. Still, we shouldn’t forget Taichi is a softy with a big heart. He just needs the right people around him to get his charm on and Taichi definitely has some great people collected in his life who can help him think and make decisions.

A few things I want to point out before I stop rambling, because this analysis is already WAY too long.

Taichi’s midheaven in Capricorn in combination with his Libra Sun and Aries Rising makes him very ambitious on the intellectual side! Directly aiming for the UN and quickly climbing up the promotion ladder (and being successful like a true Cap, let’s not forget that).

His Mars was in transition from Pisces to Aries during his birth. Which means his Aries Mars is highly influenced by Pisces which could also explain why he spirals down as Pisces Mars has a lot of stormy energy on the emotional side (whereas Aries Mars has stormy energy on the physical side). When this emotional energy comes out negative, it can lead to mental health problems (!!! TRI DEPRESSED!TAICHI), especially when close friends and family (can you feel it coming? The whole Hikari-trauma is a thing) are involved.

His Libra Sun makes him in need of a group of friends and he loves being surrounded by them! Though he doesn’t like to admit that due to his Aries Rising. Taichi is such a conflicted boy…

An end note on these two boys: A heart to heart/hard friendship with a lot of mutual understanding and support <3

#DFS Digimon Astrology Journey #head-first buddies #Koushiro Izumi #Taichi Yagami #Digimon #Koushiro #Taichi #Izzy Izumi #Tai Kamiya #Izzy #Tai #Astrology #Reference post #Digimon adventure #Digimon tri #Digimon kizuna #Digimon adventure: 2020 #LONG POST.#Digimon headcanons

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