#also....it's been 10 years?? cannot compute

[rebeccapearson]

She's the one who insisted on turning on the camera. Yeah, ‘cause I thought it would make you leave me alone.

[foone]

You know what I hate about modern mice? how pointlessly anti-repair they are. I have had plenty of mice break over time, and often it's just that some fluff or skin-flakes got wedged in the mouse wheel or under the buttons. You just need to open them up and clean them. Except.. where are the screws?

OH THERE THEY ARE. under the little skid-pads, which cannot be put back on once you take them off, because the adhesive has been ruined! You have to buy replacement pads, if they're available, and maybe cut them down to size, as well as clean off the residue of the previous pads.

You know how this problem could be fixed? JUST DON'T PUT THE PADS ON TOP OF THE SCREWS!

Then you'd have no problem. Easy to disassemble and clean.

But then it'd look 5% uglier because apparently people are scared of seeing screws, and also people might not just throw it out and buy a new one!

It's the terrible sort of weird planned obsolescence that happens as an almost accidental side effect of improving the product. Like, ball mice? They were designed to be disassembled. You didn't even need a screwdriver! Because you had to clean them regularly, or they'd gunk up too fast. Modern optical mice? They still get gunked up, the buttons and wheel still die eventually. They can be cleaned and repaired. But now that it's not required for all of them to be cleaned regularly, that function has been removed. they're designed to be disposable.

The same thing happened with TVs way back when. If you open up a TV from the 50s (or just look at the back, honestly, many of them were designed to be always-open), you'll find a schematic showing where all the tubes are and what models they are. Was this because the 1950s was a golden era of reparability? NO! it's because they burnt out all the time and you had to replace them! As soon as TVs got reliable enough that replacing tubes was no longer needed, the schematics became hidden behind paywalls and for authorized-service-personnel-only.

It would be only a minor change in aesthetics to make your mouse repairable/cleanable. Hell, most of the time when it's not simply fixed by cleaning it, it's because one of these broke:

This is an Omron D2FC-F-7N microswitch, used in a bunch of mice. It's designed to last about a million clicks. With a soldering iron and some solder (like 25$ on amazon) you can trivially replace it. New switches cost between like 10 cents and 2 dollars, depending where you buy it and how many you want. A couple bucks of parts and half an hour's worth of work, you can repair a 40$ mouse that's "died".

But they make it unnecessarily hard with the slide-pads being unreplacable. You have to find ones that match, you have to carefully clean off the old residue with IPA, or the new ones you just bought will fall off. All to make it look SLIGHTLY better (how often are you looking at the aesthetics of the bottom of your mouse, exactly? (no furries are allowed to answer this question!)) and maybe, just maybe, to push it over into "not worth it". You could do all that, but you have to buy new switches, new slide-pads/mouse-feet (SHUT UP FURRIES), and can you remember where your solder even is? you last used it when you were trying to fix that keyboard...

Basically one thing that is maddening to anyone with the very basics of electronic knowledge (seriously: the amount of skill you need for this is the kind you can get in less than an hour from watching a youtube tutorial) that we're surrounded by all this electrical nonsense that will break and have to be thrown out, but is mostly breaking in ways that could be fixed in a very short amount of time with relatively little work.

It's infuriating to go on amazon to buy another damn mouse and it pop up "hey you last bought this in 2021, you fool" and you're like I KNOW, IT SHOULD STILL BE WORKING TODAY!

I have computer parts from the 80s in my room right now that are still working when stuff made in the last 5 years is already dying! There's no reason it should be this way. It's an endless waste of time and money and resources and it's just to make some logitech or whoever executives slightly richer.

It's deeply bullshit. The modern day is going to be identifiable as the geological layer where most of the trash was generated. We're living in the middle of the quisquiliarumferous period: the layer of garbage.

[karliahs]

i often see people say they can't go to the library because they lost/never returned/dropped some library books in a bath or something, and now view themselves as heinous library criminals who would be yelled at and/or hit with a huge bill if they ever went back

and obvs i can't make promises unless you came into my specific library and were served by me but here are 10 reasons i think if you went in and politely explained the situation to a member of staff it'd probably be fine:

consider this from the library's perspective. those books are probably never coming back regardless. that value (having the books back), which is probably the reason the library has a fines system to begin with, is not gonna happen. the value of retaining you as a customer though is right there in front of them

if you explain that a fine is too high for you to pay and that that is keeping you from coming back to the library, what you've basically said is that there is an impediment to your library access. part of the job of anyone who works in a library is to remove that impediment

library computer systems will vary hugely and if it's been a long time there is a significant chance there isn't even a record of your lost books anymore

the pandemic affected library access significantly and a lot of libraries will have had amnesties once they reopened to get people over the hump of oh god oh god i've had these books FOREVER i can never show my face again. even if that amnesty is officially over, the fact that there was one helps the person in front of you justify waiving the fee (which, if they're like me and you aren't being cruel, they are probably looking for a reason to do!)

a lot of libraries have reduced or no fines for children, so if you lost books as a kid there's even more of a chance there won't be a fine

the person you speak to at the front desk at a library is probably not an accredited Librarian TM but a nice underpaid person who has to deal with a lot of difficult customers going off on them for no reason (also accredited librarian tms are also pretty nice usually). i would take 100 people politely explaining that they've lost books and are very embarrassed over one person whose purpose that day is to belittle me, a captive audience who has to be nice no matter what. library assistant jobs are often not that different from customer service jobs! a lot of library assistant jobs now explicitly are customer service jobs! it is so so likely that that person wants nothing less than to have an adversarial conversation with you

if you haven't been to a library since you were a lot younger, it is almost certainly no longer what you're picturing. most modern libraries are actively trying to move away from the image of severe quiet building where you will be shhhhed and sternly told to look after your books or else. we're trying to be vibrant community hubs full of friendly people who will do their best to help you

library employees, bizarrely enough, probably don't think of each individual book as being that valuable compared to other readers. if you own a book and keep it forever and read it maybe twice, barring any crazy accidents it'll probably last decades. if a book is on the shelves of a public library and is regularly borrowed, it'll last...3-5 years, maybe. a busy library will discard large volumes of stock every year because that's just how it works. you lose that sense of the sanctity of every copy of every book pretty fast in these kinds of jobs

libraries need people to use them! a huge huge part of getting library funding is demonstrating how many people use and value your service. you and the library staff are on the same side: they also want you to be able to use the library again

a public library has witnessed behaviours the likes of which you cannot imagine. people have shoved books down our toilets. people have looked at porn on library computers in full view of everyone around them. people have thrown chairs out of the window. losing books happens all the time and is so unlikely to phase staff who are probs a little bit dead inside

tldr: come back to the library, we need you visiting and using the service more than we need the books you accidentally lost, also if the person you talk to is anything like me they're probably just glad you aren't yelling at them

[shakespeareinnit]

9 february 2024 》 "Wanting to be someone else is a waste of the person you are." - Kurt Cobain

(I cannot find any evidence whatsoever that Kurt actually ever said this, but a pretty great quote 🤷‍♀️)

Starting to fall into a bit of a rhythm now, which is really great. I'm so proud of myself! Getting up at 8 in the morning no matter what has been so great for me. Even if I was up all night and I am shattered, it's one of my new non-negotiable morning habits. I make myself a cup of tea and even if I go back to bed, at least I gave myself the chance to start the day at a reasonable time! 💕

I keep tackling basic, but very anxiety-inducing things in life (like doctor's appointments, ugh) and with each one, I prove myself I am capable. Been really good this week especially at not getting discouraged by setbacks (like not going to lectures, rotting in bed all day or staying up until 6am). I really need to get on my sleep-schedule next, but I am trying not to overwhelm myself, so we're being gentle about it.

I need to get in my sleep until I can anyway, because assignment deadlines for this semester are coming up, and I am also going back to work in less than a month. Goodbye off-season, you were good while you lasted 💔 I do miss flying though (and getting paid asdffghh) even if I've been super anxious about going back to work. New roster is out though and the crew on my first flight back is fab, which is a great relief! ✈️

I'm still not as caught up on uni work as I'd like to be - and I really desperately need to email some people about uncompleted work from the previous semester 😬 - but we are slowly getting there. Yay!

Little treats after completing tasks is the way to go! I forgot how much I love the rocky road slices they have at all the different cafés around uni 🍫 Plus, been reading Abigail Roux & Madeleine Urban's Cut and Run series again for the hundredth time, and it's making me very nostalgic. I first read the books when I was 16, and today, reading a rather steamy scene in the uni library, brought back a very vivid memory of me reading probably the exact same scene on a school library computer while I should have been working on history coursework. 😅 That was 10 years ago! Insane. Anyway, I always always come back to these books. The rubbish ebook formatting can be very frustrating, and the storytelling is somewhat chaotic occasionally, especially in the first book, but, god, I adore Ty and Zane so much. Bisexual FBI agents enemies-to-soulmates wholesomeness is exactly what I need in my life right now. 🩷💜💙

[cheesybadgers]

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

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

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 12,675

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 23: Desde La Frontera

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shouldn’t be so irresistible.”

“Sorry about that.”

“No, you’re not.”

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

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

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

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

“And the family?”

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

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

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

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

“You did everything you could to help them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure about that?”

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

“Well, I still have my moments.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She is.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Simple?” Chucho supplied.

“Yes. Simple.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Happy Birthday.”

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

“I can take it back if you’d prefer.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You like it?”

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

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

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

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

“Good, that’s it, and another.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need you on all fours.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, are you gonna tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

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

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

“Does it matter?”

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

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

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Very funny."

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

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

“You liked it, then?”

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

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

"That wouldn't be hard."

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

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

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

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

“Keep it on.”

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

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

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

“I’ll try my best.”

He could make no such guarantees after dinner, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you mean?”

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

“Yeah, I remember.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For what?”

“For reminding me of my roots.”

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

“Better late than never, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not bad for a Colombian.”

“I guess I had a good teacher.”

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

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

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

“I’ll drink to that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For what?”

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

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

“Y tú eres mía.” (And you’re mine)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Very much.”

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

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

“Oh really? Hadn’t noticed.”

“Liar.”

“Maybe. But it does suit you.”

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

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

“Likewise with your present.”

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

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

“You’re the fucking cowboy, not me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When’s that again?”

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

“You still shadowing Gus Montoya?”

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

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

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

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

“It keeps me out of trouble.”

“Shame.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What isn’t?”

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

“We’ve always been careful.”

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

“Exactly. Completely different.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was.”

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

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“Your present.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[meruz]

another ask post

i mean i also read it because a friend whos rly into queer SFF fiction circles recced it but she did kinda lead with "the writer used to write hs fanfic...tasmyn..taz...?" to which i replied

of COURSE I read the locked tomb because i heard taz had written a book. of course. ill consume most any media made by a beloved homestuck bnf. thats also why i played undertale. and read like..snotgirl. and idk... watched the new dub of neon genesis evangelion.

if u made homestuck fanwork 10 years ago and havent even made it since chances are I still remember and I love you for it.

sdlkfhsg its funny you sensed that because that drawing did in fact start kinda more........ well, I'd be lying if I said my hands never wrought a drawing toeing over the pg-13 line LOL...

NOT to say i have a secret stash of porn or anything. in general im more interested in the implication of sexuality or mature themes over any explicit depiction. like everything i draw is so softcore itd almost feel silly to make a nsfw acc for anything.

but im not rly jumping to post anything on main either bc i get the sense i have a lot of kids in my social media following. it varies from site to site and fandom to fandom but the themes in my work often circle around childhood, coming of age etc and in general i like stories about kids so the fandoms i draw for have a lot of kids in them. even stuff like IT (stephen king) which is about kids but isn't necessarily for kids.. there were a lot of kids in that fandom lol.

actually thats why ive been censoring swears in comics lately because the tmnt fandom comes across to me as a little young...IDK I've had MULTIPLE people ask me what "sodomize" means because of the joke in this post and I'm like... I Cannot be the one to explain this to you. you have to look it up on your own klfsdhsdg like i wouldn't be doing this if i were doing a comic for mgs or even homestuck wherein the characters textually swear constantly LOL but sometimes u gotta change tacks depending on the faces u see in the crowd yknow.

i HAVE been thinking abt drawing nsfw of sunspot/richard rider/kobak from x-men red just because that comic seemed to be really asking for it. who knows.. if the need rly arises maybe my separate account policy will change.

its rly more a matter of the fact that i havent read/watched much of any other iterations... im sure id like most lol. I like most things related to my interests regardless of quality. i rly like the marvel ultimate alliance games for instance. sometimes seeing my fave guy is enough he doesnt have to be well written LOL. i dont exactly have a wealth of free time tho thats the real impediment.

i did watch the 2007 movie on new years eve and found it quite charming overall. and i have read about 30-40 issues between the mirage and idw comics. still feels like im barely scratching the surface but i liked em. i rly want to read all the sophie campbell stuff bc i think her work is interesting. jason aaron will be a mixed bag i think lmao. i say as the worlds biggest Wolverine and the X-Men (2011) fan.

hmm this is kinda hard bc i feel like i naturally draw very loose and the hard part for me is tightening it up. maybe some suggestions tho...

1) hand excercises. i think its easy to forget this when many artists sit in front of the computer all day but drawing is a physical activity u do with ur actual...bodys...muscles lol. if u feel urself tightening up it might help to strech (any google search for "artist hand excercises" should yield good results) or do a page of loose practice strokes like..big circles. long lines. scribbles. that kinda thing. whatever feels good for ur hand. this is also just good to do as a general warm up before u sit down for any drawing sesh.

2) draw further away from the canvas. as a general rule...when ur painting traditionally you do the big strokes with your whole arm outstreched and a long handled brush. and when you do the details its smaller wrist movements and a shorter handled brush. so it might help to take a step back or push back from ur chair a little.. or hold ur tablet a little further away. and hold your pen further away from the nib.

3) change mediums / brush types. some brushes and mediums are more suited to loose sketching and some more inclined towards detail work. so changing ur tool could help. also! i personally have this problem where sometimes if im using a brush i feel really familiar with the pressure to make a "good" "finished" "perfect" drawing is greater... if i want to force myself to loosen up ill switch to a tool i dont use as often so it feels like the pressure is off. a lot of times for me this is switching from digital to traditional. but sometimes its switching from a small pen to a big marker. or a smooth pen to a textured one. or a nice brush to a shitty dried up marker.

but also every body is different so i dont think these tips will work for everyone. u should listen to what ur body and mind tell u and how drawing feels to you

bro just sign up and set it up i dont think theres much to it... i dont rly think too much abt my itch.io store because its digital goods so u just upload the file and let it do its thing. no distribution work needed on ur part. youll notice i barely even advertise my itch unless i have smth new on there lol.. its easy. but good luck!!!

idk if im the best person to ask this im more a comic fan than i am a comic professional... a comic hobbist.

well. scott mcclouds understanding comics and making comics are good books on the craft. i think i had to buy them for a class in art school once.

other than that idk just keep at it. comics are really laborious i think for a lot of people the hardest part is sitting down and doing it.

i think a lot of people have a very instinctive understanding of how to read comics and what they look like so whatever you think seems like good way to tell the story you have in mind, its probably right. if u get stuck, study comics that have done something similar. most people in comics are relatively self taught and actually it can be problematic bc you can tell when a lot of comic artists are all copying the same like 5 old white guys LMAO. but on the flip side if you make sure to reference and study broadly your comics will almost assuredly feel unique.

sorry im responding to this anyways. this is just a really nice ask. i like when people reference my older work bc i feel like sometimes theyre subtly implying it wasnt very good LMAOOO. but its true! at least compared to the work i make now ^^ and the fact that im still making art is whats keeping me from being embarassed abt how much of my old art just floats around online lmao im never ashamed to be growing and learning. isnt that a nice thought <3

[sirfrogsworth]

Oh god, please don't do this.

Update your phone.

Maybe an argument can be made to wait a week or two just in case there are bugs in the new update, but updates are crucial to your phone's security. Updating apps is also part of that security. Unless it is an app that has no internet requirement, you need to keep them current. And if an app is no longer being supported or updated, you should probably move on to the next best thing. Even if that sucks sometimes.

And I hate to defend Apple all the time, but you cannot make current judgments based on the freakin' iPhone 4. Apple currently makes some of the longest lasting products on the market. Not only that, they support those products with software updates for pretty much their entire lifespan. Google and Samsung were being praised this year for promising 5 and 7 years of updates. Apple has been doing this for years now. They never put a number on it, but if a phone can run the software, they support it.

In fact, the big story about Apple slowing down phones is always presented as them wanting people to buy new phones, but in that case they were actually trying to extend the life of people's devices. If they hadn't throttled the CPU, the battery would have bricked a bunch of phones. Their error was not disclosing what they were doing. They got sued for that and rightly so. All people needed was a battery swap and they'd be back to full speed. It's ridiculous that Apple didn't just disclose that from the beginning.

Also, the days of phones getting too old to run new software are pretty much over. Moore's Law is slowing down and phones are incredibly powerful and anything within the last 5 years or so will probably last 7 to 10 years if you take care of it. Depending on your use, you might need a battery swap, but you should only need to replace your phone sooner if there are features you absolutely need in the new model.

Apple's big sin is not planned obsolescence but repairability. Their products are well made. They last a long time. And they tend to have fewer manufacturing defects than other brands. (In general. Your anecdotal experiences will vary.)

But... shit happens.

People drop things. They spill things. They abuse things. And when they break, you shouldn't have to get a whole new thing. Apple seems to have poorly trained diagnostic staff who commonly tell people their device cannot be repaired when the diagnosis is not apparent. Or they will misdiagnose something with a super expensive repair when it is actually a minor fix. (Which is why experienced repair shops exist and should be supported by Apple.) Apple has tried to micro-manage the repair process of their devices to such a degree that it has sparked an entire advocacy movement.

But don't let Google, Samsung, etc off the hook either. They suck too. If you are using Android thinking you have some moral high ground, they either do the same shit or they do slightly different shit that is just as bad.

Not to mention, Google is an advertising company. I don't understand people who are like, "Apple is evil, so I'm going to use this advertising platform instead." It's a lateral move, at best.

No good guys in capitalism, folks.

At minimum, repair shops should be able to use spare parts from broken devices to fix salvageable ones. And Apple is literally pairing screens and chips to one device so they can't be used to fix others. It's... diabolical.

So, update your phones.

Apple is bad at repairability but is good as far as planned obsolescence goes. Although when computers and phones eventually are able to last for 20 years, we'll see if that changes. For now, they make things that last until you fumble them into the toilet bowl and *that* is when they start to suck.

If you need a good villain to talk about planned obsolescence, I would go with Samsung appliances.

[snowzapped]

My computer has been in the repair shop for 2 days and I'm gonna call later to check how stuff are going. Wish me luck guys. It's 10 years old but I cannot affort a new PC. I need that one.

As an aside, Commissions are Open. Pencil sketches if you're in a hurry. Digital if you're not. (I will borrow my daughter's pc if it comes to it.) But I would really appreciate any jobs sent my way. Also pls pray for my computer 😅

[jenroses]

I just ordered a bunch of pieces parts that I'm gonna turn into a computer.

I've built systems before, like eh 15 years ago or more, and I cannot overstate how delightful it is that the persistence of modularity means that while the system I'm building now will be functionally the equivalent of dozens of times the power of the computer I built then, the bones of it are all pretty similar.

Motherboard. Cpu. Cooler. Power supply. RAM. Storage. Case. Fans. Graphics card. Operating system. Monitor.

Now some things have changed. You can now buy literally everything with vivid rainbow lights, and for a few minutes I stared at the pretty modern cases with their windows and rave -like interiors, and dreamed of the gayest computer on the planet.

Then I remembered that I'm a photophobic mushroom who computers in a darkened room and hates bright high contrast lighting and spent more dollars to get a case without a window.

Also, water cooling terrifies me. Not because the idea is unsound but because while I'm confident in my ability to insert tab a into slot b to assemble a computer by going slowly and following instructions, the very notion of me handling liquids around electronic components sounds inherently fraught.

So I did not go with components which require such things.

Infodumping below the cut.

(for the curious: fractal design define r5 case, msi pro z790-p WiFi ddr4 mobo, i5136000kf (14 core), 64gb ddr4 RAM, radeon rx6800 16gb, deepcool ak400 zero dark plus cooler, 4x 140mm case fans, Corsair 850w modular platinum ps, 1 tb ssd for the os and a 2tb ssd for the games, both pcie4x4 nvme, and a curved 27 inch 2k monitor. This is upgrading from a 2015 laptop which is still very robust with an i76700 quad core processor, 16gb RAM, 1tb ssd and a gtx950m 4gb graphics card which just this year stopped meeting minimum specs for the games I want to play. I figure the new system could last me another 8-10 years.)

Is 64 gb of ram overkill? Hahahaha yes. But it's about a hundred bucks. Is 3tb overkill? No but it's also about 120 bucks. Do I need a 27 inch monitor? Mayyyybe but it's $200. The real splurge is the video card and CPU, but I'm not going to regret those at all when I'm playing starfield and bg3.

(I'm also going to play every game I've been playing at low settings on ultra just because I can. Subnautica is gonna be so pretty.)

Interestingly, the parts come with three games, including the one I initially decided to build a system for (starfield). The processor comes with assassin's creed mirage and something I didn't recognize. Going with Intel for the processor and AMD for the GPU ended up being very much in my favor that way as if I'd gone ryzen, I'd have ended up with two copies of starfield.

I think the last time I built a system from scratch it had 4-8 gigs of RAM and a 2gb video card and maybe a dual core cpu maybe not. I've done some bare bones systems since then and a lot of upgrades, but not from-the-ground-up.

Amusingly, while doing this, I thought I was going to hand my laptop down to my son. Then I realized that in a pandemic fugue state in 2021 I bought him and my husband computers with part of the stimulus that were basically maxed out refurb systems that somehow are running 32g of RAM each and the only real weakness in their systems are graphics, which hubby doesn't use and which can be easily upgraded for my son for like <$150 to double his vram.

I have minimal memory of buying these systems but it makes sense for how little they complain about them. (old Dell optiplex systems. I think I spent 400 on each of them at the time. With upgrades.)

So since I've been hyperfixated on this process I've been watching a lot of pc building YouTube and it's been very helpful but also very popcorn. So much drama. Le gasp.

My one regret about not getting a flash light up system with lots of rgb is that it would impress the hell out of my 11 year old but I seriously can't deal with that much light up distraction and the extra cost for the components has been spent on a better GPU.

Anyway this is all going to be much cheaper than trying to find a system with equivalent stats prebuilt, and it's been a while since that was true when I was in the market for a computer.

[wishful-seeker]

Tw suicide mention

I find it interesting that when i talk about the difficulties of my physical disability, occasionally a mentally ill person will act like i am attacking them and i have no idea how hard mental illness is.

I am also mentally ill

I know both struggles

And i wish these mentally ill people could understand that they can go into any building and i cannot

They don't get stared at by every stranger they pass like i do in my wheelchair

People don't uncomfortably shift away from them like people do to me

I have struggled with being suicidal for many years, my mind melting, not feeling like myself, severe panic attacks that lock up my body in painful positions and i cannot move, screeming for 2 hours straight.

I fucking know

But now i am bedridden

I cant use a computer, write, drive, walk, or run. Im housebound, and cannot leave the house alone. I am in constant pain that is so excruciating and intense i have to put ice on my knees 10 times a day and take 4 scolding hot baths a day to achieve 15 minutes of pain free time.

And i have never experienced more discrimination in my life than with being physically disabled.

For me personally, my physical disability is the hardest thing I've ever been through

And there is a clear difference from bedridden from chronic pain than stuck in bed from depression.

And that doesn't mean one is harder than the other, even though for me personally there is one harder than the other.

Until now, i have never shared that my physical disability was harder, because i know people would attack me.

I am not downplaying mental illness, it is incredibly difficult

But me speaking about my physical disability

The ablism i experience

The constant firey pain

Is not an attack on anyone

Its not a competition

Im not here to argue

We physically disabled people just want mentally ill, abled bodied people, to gain some perspective and recognize and respect our experiences instead of trying to force us to be quiet.

You have no idea how hard this is, please respect that. Please respect that a physically disabled person speaking at all is not a fucking challenge towards you.

[things-about-cars-in-posts]

Any favorite Car Games™ of yours? Forza, GT, Beam, Automation, etc.?

Auto/Beam are particular favorites of mine and also i have 10,000 hours logged between them

Since I wasn't a spoiled bitch, I can literally just list all the car games I had in my childhood. All for PC that is, because since I wasn't a spoiled bitch I didn't have a console. Okay actually there was NFS Carbon: Own The City and Herbie for DS but that was it. We were saying.

Colin McRae Rally 04 You've no idea what pain I brought to those poor little cars. Frequently I got to the end of one of those 2/4m stages with the car dying every 10/15 seconds. Such a good game. It also ran without having to insert its CD, which was very cool at the time, and very useful when I was gaming on the go on Father's Dell. idk if I also played it on his Toshiba but no such memory surfaces. Man I loved Father's Toshiba. I should try to retrofit it with new internals sometime.

Colin McRae Rally 2005 Liked that one too, but memories are hazier since at one point I was no longer able to play it for reasons I cannot recall so I just moved to 04 instead.

Test Drive Unlimited Got it recommended and didn't like it much. In hindsight it was an absolutely gorgeous game structure, but I just didn't care because I didn't like the way the cars drove. It collected dust.

Race Driver GRID For a long while, by far the latest racing game I ever had. Enjoyed it quite a lot! I even submitted an absolutely incredible gameplay clip to FailRace, though unfortunately it never did get featured. Bullshit, I say. And yes, for the longest time, I think until like 2020?, I had one single game that was younger than '06. See the part about not being a spoiled bitch. <-absolutely green with envy

GT Legends Played it a little during my youth, then tried to reinstall it years later to see if it lived up to my few memories of it and if I could get more out of it then by being less of a stupid baby. It corrupted the entire operating system and made the computer unable to start. A solid "no" to both.

And of course, who could forget, the Need For Speed series! In their chronological order:

Need For Speed Underground In my early childhood I didn't play it much, because I was still using the auto gearbox like a PLEB and you couldn't map controls in that game so when I got to the first drag race I couldn't figure out where the shift up key was nor could find it or remap it in settings and just abandoned the game. It should be noted as a child I was, in absolute, cosmically stupid. Later on I did pick it back up and see it to completion, loving it throughout (except for the part where you unlock the final boss' Civic you were neck and neck with on an R34 Skyline GT-R and they tell you it was stock. Sure honey now if you wait how did this bag of Fuck Off get here?). If only it had free roam, more races, a more varied environment, refillable NOS, the ability to have different cars simultaneously, and you get where I'm going with this don't you.

Need For Speed Underground 2 Man I loved this game since I started playing it at some ridiculously low age and I never stopped loving it and I was right throughout. I love love LOVE this game. I know the map by heart, the soundtrack by heart, the circuits by heart, the upgrades by heart, the starter cars specs by heart, you have no idea. This has been my childhood. This is by far and away the one I played and loved the most, even though due to the needlessly convoluted and completely obscure progression mechanics that childhood never saw me finish it - although I guess that helped me keep playing it, as when I got stuck with no way to progress further I'd just start from scratch again with no clue what to fix. I was able to pick it back up and finish it later on in life, through middle/high school, and later on still through the power of mods I squeezed and crushed and stretched that game like Tumblr did with Danny Phantom episodes. I modded it so much it crashed every ten minutes. I ran it off an iPod Nano. I messed the cars up so bad I'd essentially created new game modes. I managed to make a good desktop computer over a decade younger than the game itself run it at seconds per frame just by editing four wheel coordinates. And now you spoiled bitches can download it for free on somewhere like MyAbandonware (dot com, of course) and give it a try. And I can't recommend it enough. Literally; because if I could, friend of the blog @demoness-one would have done so by now >:(

Need For Speed Most Wanted The best Need For Speed game of all time, according to everyone. Everyone but me. I mean, I did go through it, but it looks bleak, the cars just seem to want to bounce from wall to wall, and I just don't like police chases - it's a game, why would I want a limited number of attempts? Also, they madly stressed me out, so, and here begins a funny story, I abandoned it when unable to rack up enough chase points to challenge the final boss. I picked it back up a while later to find out if it was just me being a baby, and no, I still didn't like it - but luckily I'd learned of the bug where if you park on a certain railing all the cop cars will pile up under you but never bust you, and decided to actually finish what I'd started so long before. Those points racked up, I worked myself through the good hour of bullshit unfairness of the duel with Razor (I have to win every race to win but he can win any race to win? Understandable. hey the bag of Fuck Off's back), even quitting the whole shebang three races in over a wrong input and having to start again, until, after hours of unsaveable progress, I finally was able to win the last race. And did you know that after that, just when you think you're done, you get the biggest, most intense car chase of the whole game? :) Well, I sure didn't, because right after I finished the race the game crashed and I had to do all those five races over again. :) And then I did that and it crashed again and I uninstalled the game and watched the ending on YouTube. :)

Need For Speed Carbon The takes get hotter still: I like this one more than MW. The colors got fixed, I liked the handling better (while obviously not as good as the mighty Underground 2 OF COURSE), drifting, my favorite race mode, replaced drag racing, my least favorite*, and yes, the car chases, and I may even like the soundtrack better? Nah, that's bull, I don't remember much of those two soundtracks at all off the top of my head. But I saw this one to the end and enjoyed it very much. *For the unaware, in every NFS game I played in my childhood, drag races did not give you steering control - to avoid traffic or obstacles, you tapped the arrow keys and the car would switch lanes. So you told the car to move out the way and if it did, good, if it instead took too long and/or had an unappealable loss of control and crashed automatically terminating your race, too bad.

There were also a couple other games there's not much to say about (Ford Streetracing, loved it, V-Rally 3, I think it had some issues and I never did play it, London Racer World Challenge, I recall nothing)... and now we move on to the car games I played since.

Assetto Corsa I've only ever dabbled in it a couple of times, but it's very fun when it works. My hardware is limiting on this front and I think I've some config issues, but when I'll have time to solve those I will be very glad to jump into it - especially because I really love driving simulators. Where with other games you kind of need some external validation of how hard it was to win with the tools the computer gave you -because it's not inherently cool that you beat a game, it was made to be beaten from the start- proper simulators just chuck you into an experience where no accommodation has been made for you (short of the damage level set, that is) and whatever you manage in it is your own accomplishment, not something the game let you accomplish. And on that note...

Richard Burns Rally This game is absolutely fucking incredible. "It's a 2004 game, how engaging a driving experience can it be" enough to make many still call it the best rally simulator out there and one of the best driving simulators period. Enough to motivate thousands of people to keep making a plethora of mods for it every day (which i've never been able to make work lol). Enough to make me seriously recommend buying yourself a wheel with force feedback* just to play this abandonware game (because using anything but a wheel for it is like using anything but a spoon for soup). And to be clear, this game is HARD. It just gives you a brief but extremely good rundown of how to master the driving basics and then have fun around rally stages where, again, the road has not been widened for you, the ditches not been filled, the car has not been programmed not to roll over too easily… essentially, the main way in which they are substantially easier than driving them IRL is the luxury of trial and error. So when, through however many days of trial and error it'll take you, you finally glide through those bumps smoothly enough to wipe the red off that time delta, this commercial flop the dozen-people-team from the Animaniacs GBA game developed when RAM was measured in megabytes becomes the most exhausting, intense, rewarding experience a computer has ever provided me. And a computer has gotten me laid. *I recommend the Logitech G25s, found for well under a dub, and the G27s, a small revision of the G25 with more buttons and a better shifter usually found for not much more (I found mine for 80!). They're from 2004 and 2010 respectively, and the wheel Logitech sells today is just a G27 with more buttons which says it all about how good a budget wheel it is.

TrackMania Nations Forever I hate this game, I fucking despise this game. "Alright, it's the same game we made two years ago with new tracks, and it has no story, opponents, traffic, cutscenes, or really any dynamic beyond checkpoints, a finish and a timer. But even still, there are so many fun mechanics to master anyway, like jump distance control, which you hopefully figure out you have because it's not like there is any tutorial to tell you! Or drifting, which is necessary to beat the best time in one of the last levels - you do it by pressing brake, accelerator and a steering direction simultaneously. Hope you randomly decide to do it autonomously to see what happens and find out that can be faster! And if you don't have a specialized keyboard with more than the normal 2 key rollover, hopefully something possessed you to map one of those controls to a completely different keyboard zone than all the others, or pressing all three will make only two register and you never will find this out! But at least not making any tutorials or the likes and keeping the interface absolute garbage allowed us to have the driving on absolute lock! Well, except for that bug where if you take the fastest line through a corner your car may decide to ragdoll and fuck your run. Oh and also the one where if you land a jump on all four wheels you may randomly lose your speed. Good luck!" I now get why they hate French people. Unfortunately, as for a lot of destructive hatred of mine, it manifests in yet more determination to conquer the little shit. I've gotten author times on every single one of the tracks except the last one, not because it's eight times longer than by far the second longest at an entire goddamn hour but because I wanted an effort that lengthy to be a special occasion and that never manifested. ...Maybe a stream?

Actually, I visited MyAbandonware to check the NFSU2 page and apparently they include a mod that puts the uncensored edits of the songs in the soundtrack and honestly I hella want to play it again just to hear that, so that could also be a cool stream idea if it wasn't a criminal deed to play copyrighted music on stream (I've not kept up with that whole mess, can you do it if you don't keep a VOD?). Or I could stream myself playing Richard Burns Rally and make you go "oh this is HARD hard".

Links in blue are posts of mine about the topic in question - if you liked this post, you might like those!

[bandtrees]

for the warriors ask game :D

🗺 : first map you ever watched?

🖼 : first amv/pmv you ever watched?

(I used to watch MAPs religiously those are my jam)

yay thank you! warriors ask game except the questions are all weird and niche as hell!

know: my memory is bad. i've been into wc for... well over a decade now, so these are probably not accurate xP my first warriors video was i believe a spoof video about ashfur and squirrelflight, but my first map and amv? uhhh unsure!

🗺 : first map you ever watched? - i didn't actively watch maps as a small kid, or at least i don't think i did? the first map that i entirely remember watching was during my second major warriors phase by the time i was closer to... 15 maybe?? as opposed to my earliest memories of wc which are from when i was 10 or younger lol. little fang, which is making me genuinely super misty eyed to rewatch, it's just so so good, from the style to the designs to how well it gets into jayfeather and his family with only animation and music, the composition of every part is so good, the designs, all of it. the sole reason little fang is one of my favorite songs to this day it might, miiight, have also been evelyn evelyn? that one was certainly one of the first maps i ever watched that stuck with me. the dovewing kinnie has entered chat

🖼 : first amv/pmv you ever watched? - i cannot remember. i watched sooo many amvs as a kid. not my FIRST amv, probably, but one of the earliest i recall is ashfur's revenge, which is delighting me so much to rewatch. this one was formative for me, i miss the style of flash-animated warriors amvs that (obviously:() aren't around anymore. i also have such a soft spot for tigerclaw is not one of thunderclan, one i was thinking about the Entire Time i was writing the exile scene in spottedfur's pride lol. i still love it so much, this is my first time rewatching it in like... a decade, im sure. its so good. im kind of blown away as i rewatch these that they ARE as good as they are, cuz i feel like it's common in the warriors fandom to treat old amvs as some cringeworthy lost art (in general i have strong opinions on how (unintentionally)cruel the internet starts being to things as soon as they enter "nostalgia" territory) - but there's still, like, genuine talent in these. there's a reason these amvs were as popular as they were, and not because we were all cringe 10 year olds who didn't know better, lol. also reminds me of tigerstar and the dog pack(be prepared) - which is one i have the most vivid memory of watching on my family computer, hehe. in general i love corvus katana's stuff, past and current oh my god i will never get this ask posted because i keep remembering ones that helped, like, form a lobe of my brain growing up. HOW TO SAVE BLUESTAR'S LIFE YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS!!!! I AM TOTALLY NOT CRYING REWATCHING IT. YOU ARE. YOU ARE. cant believe i had a phase where i hated bluestar - i think everyone did because they spontaneously realized she was imperfect, immoral even at times, and made mistakes but hadn't developed the media comprehension to realize she was... actually meant to be complex and troubled and not just a perfect leader. god. bluestar. god. god. g (im also gonna use this question as a chance to gush about old amvs that i remember that are unfortunately lost to time: a hollyleaf one to hurricane by thirty seconds to mars (!!!! THIS ONE WAS SO FORMATIVE BUT IM LIKE 80% SURE ITS LOST MEDIA), bluestar heart heart head (PLEASE tell me im not the only one who remembers this one!!! i was devastated to learn it wasn't iconic or reuploaded anywhere (as much as i also think, again, in the nostalgia-sense, people act entitled to things like old amvs or people's art or whatever else)), NIGHTCLOUD GIRL WITH ONE EYE CHANGED MY LIFE?and... probably more of course that aren't coming to me now xP

i. didnt expect to ramble as much as i did with this? i just can't put into enough words how formative warriors amvs and the like were for me growing up :'DD they were my major start for digital art and animation (something i did a lot when i was younger but fell out of over time, but god i'd love to animate again, maybe do a classic wc amv to spottedfur's pride or something lol)

thank you for the question! I am so incredibly normal about warrior cats.

[flowery-manipulations]

My self-pitying post

I do not know how to better name this post, but this seems most accurate. Because I understand that I made a wrong turn somewhere, and it led me here. My life isn't in shambles, but I feel like it is. So here's my sob story: I am not the victim, but someone who could've done better and can do better and just needs to let this out into the world somewhere. It may make someone feel better about themselves. Someone may relate. Someone may make fun of me. It is what it is. To summarise, I'm giving myself an ultimatum before I give up living: only go through with it if I cannot improve my life until my 21st birthday in August.

Just a heads up, thia is rambly and some parts dont relate to the main issue. I just let the words flow.

I was a bright child. I loved math and computers. I still do, in theory. My family immigrated to the UK when I was 9/10. I didn't speak any of the language. So, as it was expected, I didn't learn anything in my first year of school. The tutor the school gave me to learn English didn't help me at all and would get angry and yell at me when I didn't understand a word she was telling me- she showed no pictures and did not speak my native language, so I had no idea what word she wanted me to understand. The kids were no better. I did not understand it then, but they only spoke to me to bully or make fun of me. I don't know whether it was a blessing or a curse that I did not realise then. But I did understand when, on separate occasions, different boys tried to assault me when I went to the classroom to get something during breaks or at the park outside of school. And how the girls who bullied me would block my exit.

I had to fight past them to leave. Only one or two students at the school were genuinely kind- ironic for a Christian school. As such, in my perpetual loneliness, I spent the lessons drawing and my breaks reading in my native tongue. The only lessons that brought me joy were maths. I was ahead of the class due to my interest and my mother's tutoring at home. By the time they reached fractions, I had been memorising the Pythagoras theorem. Since math was going well, no one cared that I was failing Spanish (and in secondary, I was made to learn French, so that was a slight loss).

In secondary, I was in the top set for maths and the bottom set for everything else- but only for a short time. I had begun consuming English books, and my mum made me read them aloud to memorise the words. I remember one instance clearly when I had two copies of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone in front of me- one in Polish and one in English- and I was going through them page by page to grasp the context. It's not the best learning method, but it's a core memory for me. In year eight, I moved up to second set; by year 9, I was top set in everything. I also made some real friends. I had 4 I could call my closest and many others that weren't as close, but I still enjoyed their company. Little did I know that only one would stick by my side all these years. Two dropped me in year 9 with no explanation, and one just stopped texting back after sixth form. I joined clubs, became a prefect, and had two job experiences by year 11. It was going great. For my GCSEs, I convinced my head of year to let me take computer science instead of French since the school wanted everyone to take a language. I also wanted to do Drama, but the choice was between Art and Drama, and my mum decided art would be more beneficial. Considering that the subject made me hate drawing for years, while my love for the performing arts persisted, I would disagree, and my mum eventually conceded that she should've let me study it after I kept buying tickets out of my allowance to watch plays on the West End.

I passed my GCSEs with flying colours. And my first A-level that year- Polish, having done the GCSE for it a year prior.

At A-levels, it all went downhill. I barely passed maths. I would blame COVID, but I would game through the online classes, so I am more to blame than a virus. I did alright in Physics and well in computer science and psychology. But that's when my tearful phone calls started after my exams. My mum would stress out after each call as I began going frantic and anxious over every exam answer. My best friend stuck with me through countless nervous breakdowns and anxiety attacks. I love her more than anything and hope I can pay her back for all she did and endured because of my frail emotional state. She was the only one who knew I was having thoughts of ending it all, the first to know I was bisexual and that I wanted to leave the church. I think she was the only thing keeping me alive, my closest confidant, my sister from another womb.

University started on a high note. We were still in quarantine, so there were only a few opportunities to make friends. I paid little attention to all the content of the lectures as I had covered it in A-Level. I did really well in the first year. It's too bad that it doesn't contribute to my grade. In my personal life, I was working out and building soft skills to help me develop myself.

Year two rolled in with languish or undiagnosed depression. I do not know; I can't afford a diagnosis and would have to wait years to get one through the NHS. I did some volunteering but stopped after an older man stalked me and kept harassing me while I was helping out at a science fair for children. Another volunteer noticed and helped me out, but after reporting the man to the venue, we found out he had done this before to other women and to forgive him because he is autistic. Which was no excuse, but I was too shaken to fight. That year, I failed one module and only passed another by a percentage, still calling my mum in tears after each exam. I stopped showering regularly. And barely brushed my teeth.

Now, here we are. Semester 1 of my third year came and went. I attended a few meetings for the societies I'm in. One module failed utterly, and waiting for the results of the other two (but I'm not hopeful). I am behind on my dissertation work (which is meant to include a technical aspect), barely taking care of myself, six hours away from my only friend, with no romance in sight and wanting to just disappear from the world. I still love computer science and math in theory but can't bring myself to study them. I can't drop out as I won't be able to afford to return to my studies. I hoping to scrape a 2:1 for my final grade, but that will require near-perfect grades this semester.

I do not know how to proceed. I won't drop out, but it all seems impossible. I don't know if I will end it all. I might, I might not. I will wait 6 months, though, until my 21st birthday. Maybe I'll figure something out. Perhaps I will be able to do the integrated masters my course includes. Maybe I will barely pass and have to get experience to do the master's and the PhD I so desire. I will let you know what will happen when the 19th of August rolls around. I will try to exist to the best of my ability.

After all, the last time I gave myself six months was when I was 15. And I'm still here.

[ultranos]

Hi! Would you say ao3 writers shouldn't worry about the mining of the website? I saw your tags and I'm curious :)

So, broadly-speaking, what it sounds like the people handling this AI are trying to do is use AO3 as a data source to feed into the AI to "train" it. I understand the alarm from writers, because it's one thing to use a script to generally scrape the web to generate a database for machine learning, and it's another to specifically target fanworks, especially coming from a person with as...colorful a track record.

And using a script to just scrape the web for training is a fairly standard method, as I understand, although one thing you quickly learn is the adage "garbage in = garbage out" holds very, very true. You have to curate the data somehow. (See also: the number of times someone has let an AI bot interact with people on forums freely and then been shocked to discover the AI has turned into a Nazi.)

So think about how you navigate AO3. Think about how you try to find fics you want, how the tags sometimes do and don't work for you, how exasperated you can get as you sift through stuff you don't want to read until you get really good at understanding the tags and filters.

Now realize the AI probably isn't doing that. The AI has no idea how tags work at all. It's probably reading everything.

Based solely on the dead-simple Markov chain nonsensical language processing it can do from that dataset? Oh man, that's hilarious.

But okay, I'm going to give the engineers here a lot more credit. They're not just Markov-chaining and actually trying to do legit natural language processing (NLP). The problem: for NLP, document generation where the AI is writing documents that make sense? That's considered an AI-complete problem and any natural language understanding application/problem falls under one of the great unsolved problems in computer science. Our current technology today cannot do it, since it basically requires creating an AI that is actually capable of passing the Turing Test.

So the creators of this AI are clearly trying to solve this problem, which in and of itself is noble and I honestly don't think nearly as many people would be alarmed if it were an academic institution doing it. And it's not like other corporations are not doing it (there's a joke for over a decade that Google's been attempting to train an AI on search results which is probably less of a joke in reality). But the fact is that it's tied to Musk, which is alarming because of his recent actions with Twitter.

But also hilarious because this man has a track record of having absolutely no concept of how difficult actual technical problems are. Twitter is just the most recent one to blow up in his face. But he's also promising brain implants in 6 months, and I would put money down on guessing that he hasn't solved the seemingly-simple-but-actually-complex problem of actually implanting them into the brain. (I looked into this 10 years ago in a job. You basically have to slide hundreds of tiny knives into a bowl of jello without damaging the jello. On a time limit, so you can't just go very very slow. Theoretically doing it on a mouse model was terrifying enough.) This is also a man who thought he was going to create and manufacture a miniature rescue submarine for cave diving and ship it halfway around the world in under two weeks.

This man is going to get an AI that will write terrible nonsense that makes My Immortal look like Shakespeare and Tolstoy. And it will be incredibly bad porn to boot.

[drstonetrivia]

Chapter 203 Trivia

Happy 4th of July from Dr. Xeno*!

(*Indirectly.)

Fluorite mines still exist in Japan, however they're far inland so the KoS can't make use of their boat routes for transport.

Fluorite is one of the first materials shown to fluoresce (=glow when light/EM radiation hits it), which is what the phenomenon was named after!

One of the major problems in improving telescope quality is getting rid of chromatic aberration, which can be improved by using lenses with a lower refractive index (such as those made of fluorite rather than glass). This bends the light less, leading to clearer magnification.

The rocket design is similar to cruise missiles, in that it uses a jet engine rather than a rocket engine. Cruise missiles will follow an almost direct path to their target, and have the ability to adjust direction at any point. Ballistic missiles cannot.

The blocky thing shown here could be a stylized vacuum column tape drive, a device for storing data on magnetic tape (the black ribbon in cassettes) to be used in computations.

One of these devices is the IBM 7090, which was used by NASA to control space flights in the 60s.

The map shows that the KoS may be aiming to land around Goa in India.

Assuming they don't stop, the journey via the Suez is >10 days, and >23 days via the Cape of Good Hope.

The Banana Canal seems to be how the villagers remember the name of the Panama Canal, which is odd because bananas only grow in the very south of Japan (if at all) so they're unlikely to have been familiar with them before reaching South America.

The Suez is a man-made canal that gets drained and cleared every 10 years so the boats can pass through unobstructed. The area has also been mostly desert for thousands of years. Sandstorms would soon fill it in, making it impassable.

What Ryusui is worried about here is probably similar to the Ever Given back in March, when winds ran it aground, blocking the whole canal. It had to be dug out to be freed, which the KoS can't do here. Turning around or backing up is also impossible if the canal is too narrow.

Kohaku is the only power/fighter team member here, and she's definitely making sure to represent the hot-heads! Getting revenge on a canal, trying to destroy things…

Chelsea's old banners made a comeback, which isn't surprising since fabric is tedious to make. Reuse is the basis of Senku's science after all!

But more importantly, how the H-E-L-L did it survive those 7 years when everyone was petrified?!

The dam shown looks more like a beaver dam or a deliberate structure than something that naturally got packed like that. The way it follows onto the land is a little odd to me as well… Something could be hiding underneath?

Senku always makes sure to number his rockets.

(I spent too long wondering if this was a pun, but the i-shi/stone pun is for 1-4, and "Dr. One" doesn't quite fit how "Dr. Stone" is pronounced…)

The rocket has two sets of controllers, one used by Senku on the ship and the other by Ryusui about half way to the dam. It's unlikely that this choice is due to range issues, as the cell phones worked 80 km apart and this is only 20 km.

It's probably so that Ryusui can pinpoint the landing while Senku takes care of the launch.

The coordination between them is impressive!

India has likely been chosen as Math City because of its long history of mathematics dating back over 3000 years, before Europe had made similar advances. They invented many important concepts, such as negative numbers, the idea of zero, and decimal points.

The other option for India being Math City is that it has many natural resources useful for making computers and other electronics, however I think we'll have to wait until future chapters to see why they chose it!

[emotionalhxc]

PART 2: Strawberry Hospital Instagram Q&A Q: Also do you like Sky Eats Airplane? Some of your songs give me the same vibe

N: "lowkey in shock that this band was brought up to me because they were (partially) the reason I found out what a DAW was in the first place because I read some interview of theirs back then describing their method of creation or something formative memories of listening to this one on a school computer in 5th grade" Q: When making an EP, do you usually have a "concept" or "vibe" before making the songs? N: "mostly! it is typically reflective of whatever sonic fixations I had in the years preceding the release itself + a culmination of whatever emotions are stirred up by life circumstances once I have that intersection pinned down, it begins to take a form of its own"

Q: Is there a story behind the Phantasmaphilia album art? It's so mesmerizing *0* N: "indeed ! the dead insects themselves were found outside of where I was living during the completion of the album, around this time of year. myself and some old friends collected them and brought them inside to scan in for the sake of the cover artwork. as for the bathtub image source, I am actually not holding my own legs but another person (out of frame) but we were wearing swimming trunks haha I wanted to create a feeling of ghostly vulnerability and I appreciate said old friends for helping me realize my vision at the time" Q: your music heals me and makes life bearable, thank you from the bottom of my heart. ❤️‍🩹 N: "I am so so grateful... thank you for sharing with me, it keeps me pushing forward knowing that my music reached you in the same way that other music heals me too (hug)"

Q: Squall. I love that song so much. I would love to hear your reasons for that song. N: "oh yes Squall! I wrote that for an internet friend who lived somewhere that was basically a perpetual snowstorm, I would stay up late talking with them and it meant very much to me during that period of time to me, the flurry of splittercore kicks and icy trance lead melodies reminded me of a blizzard" Q: How did you get your name? N: "strawberry hospital? or neptune? I'll answer both! strawberry hospital was intended to follow the naming trend of many bands and artists I grew up with, but also represent the otherwise polarizing thematic elements (bittwersweetness) and stylings present within the music and lyrics my name Neptune is chosen but I have kept it for over a decade now, it reminds me of the ocean and a cold planet very far away from here"

Q: Ilysm I sry if this is a dumb q but are the songs on halfawake all vocaloid or ur voice N: "awe no questions are dumb! the original release is exclusively vocaloid as I was too anxious to include my own singing in my songs in 2016. but the live version of the song is special, because I sing the chorus with my own voice instead. other albums feature a combination of my own voice and vocaloid (with exceptions)" Q: what is your bowling ball size? N: "this question is so unrelated I love it... so I cannot bowl to save my life and maybe I'm missing a double meaning here but they say a bowling ball should be 10% of your own weight right? in that case, like 12? I am unfortunate epitome of gay people failing at sports stereotype"

Q: what's your personal favorite song you've ever release?? 🖤 N: "Halfawake, Memento, Phantoma, Azure, Rhythm 0" Q: so like whats next for uu? N: "I'd love to play a few more shows before the year ends... maybe an international one? we shall see... otherwise trying to explore new forms for the project to take, I never want to reiterate what has already been established to the point of monotony heh" Q: I really love Tacit ❤️ and would love to know what it's about N: "Tacit is an apology for not being able to fulfill the role of what somebody would like you to be for them. not exactly a hard rejection but an assuring one (if such a thing exists) ... sometimes you need to use your head over your heart? I struggled with this at times p.s. it was heavily influenced by the haibane renmei OST!"

Q: Would you ever go on a tour! Californian fan here and I love you and your music :D N: "it will happen someday I am certain, playing a show in California feels obligatory (in a good way) plus I have had a few invitations from fellow musician friends that I need to take them up on" CONTINUED INTO PART 3 ON MY NEXT POST