#Ok its like part ONE so not like it was 15 chapters in or anything

[pey-up]

CRIES SOMEONE LIKED A FIC I WROTE LIKE. A YEAR AGO.

[vaugarde]

hmmm i think im with eve on this one. angie’s chapter 7 revamp is a little hmmmm.

[bat-stuff]

Give him liberty or Give me death

A Starwars Story

Story follows Y/n, a nearly 15 year old girl who recently ran away from Jedi training to start a new life. But what happens when the Force catches up to her in the form of a recovering Sith Lord?

Disclaimer: I don't own the Starwars Franchise

ok now that's out of the way, the real disclaimers:

This is set in the far future, after a lot of the canon storyline.

If ANYTHING seem canonically incorrect please don't try to correct me, I'll eventually find out and feel shitty about it anyway. I wrote it how i felt it would fit the story best. again, bear with me

Please enjoy to the best of your ability, Thanks!

Chapter One: Tatooine

Sand engulfed Y/n’s feet as she pushed through the storm. Tatooine was a nasty planet covered in dust, sand, and an abundance of the strangest people Y/n had ever seen. 

Tatooine had history though. Bad history. To be completely honest, Y/n never cared too much for the past. She knew very little of the Skywalker dynasty and frankly didn’t feel the need to know any more. She was done with the god-awful Jedi Historical training, opting to take a hike rather than stay five more years and watch Palo take the spot she worked tirelessly for with little effort. 

He always was the golden boy. Picking up information faster than everyone else, outperforming everyone else, looking better than everyone else, having a higher midichlorian count than everyone else. The only thing he couldn’t beat her in was sparring. The only part she’d ever enjoyed of the training. Lightsabers. 

She was also pretty damn good at piloting but Palo wasn’t interested in that so she would never get to see who was better. 

What a degenerate pansy. 

Her banter with Palo didn’t matter anymore. She had quit, and that was final. No more training, no more pressure, no more pain and suffering. 

The force couldn’t get to her if she didn’t believe in it. Well, she hoped. God forbid the dark side reach out a slimy finger to graze her. The last thing she had ever wanted was for that side of the force to engulf her. Maybe that's why she left. 

Maybe. 

The force had a habit of clawing its way into the souls of even the strongest Jedi. 

Fear leads to hate, hate leads to anger, anger leads to suffering.

The words were practically seared into her mind. From day one of training she was told these words nearly every day. If she showed any sign of doubt, she would be dragged into the darkness. 

In the end, that didn’t stop her from a convective fear of the unknown. 

It was no doubt that she had spent the better part of her almost fifteen years in the galaxy fearful. She had always been afraid of making the wrong choice, the one that would drag her past the point of no return. 

Yeah. That’s why she left. No, fled. As if the Jedi Order would willingly let a newly deemed Padawan walk away. Not with that kind of force training. 

To the order, Y/n was a bomb just waiting for the Sith to spark near her fuse. 

Her mind raced with these thoughts as she pushed forward. Sandstorms were dangerous, she had been told. Yet, there she was in the middle of one, retrieving a cloak of all things, for a young girl down the road from her poorstone bungalow. The poor thing had gone the past month or so without protection from the sandy wind. Didn’t help that the youngling walked every morning to work herself sick washing dishes for The Dockside Cafe. And of course, the Jedi training instilled in Y/n made it practically impossible to resist hunting down this little girl’s cloak. 

God, sometimes she hated being selfless. 

The day I stop being this stupid is the day the Sith gets me, apparently. She scorned herself. 

Upon her arrival in the market the storm died down from deadly to mildly dangerous, or at least it seemed that way. The cluster of buildings most likely blocked a portion of debris and wind from getting into the square. She let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. The assortment of shops provided some protection, but she would still need to find where the cloak had even been left before it decided to get worse.

Ah yes, Tatooine was a beautiful place. It had always been her dream to be killed by a planet’s dandruff. 

There was a task at hand. She couldn’t spend any more time complaining about the weather. 

To be completely honest, she had no clue where to start. The young girl had said she couldn’t have left the robe at the diner, considering she was there every day and hadn’t seen it since the day she lost it.

Of course, children had a habit of not looking very thoroughly for lost items, but the children of Tatooine weren’t normal children. They had near to nothing. Losing something as miniscule as a garment of clothing was a shot at death to them. Especially with the planet’s harsh conditions. 

Even knowing this, Y/n made the choice to start at Dockside.

The Dockside Cafe was a small corner bar in Mos Eisley known for the galaxy’s smallest menu of drinks and the driest food known to creature-kind. The true owner of the cafe had died off who-knows-how-long ago and was currently run by a technological artifact that went by the name of CG-X2R. Or better known as CG by the townsfolk. The droid had a knack for complaining about everything and listening to no one, unless of course, you were there to complain, too. 

Just the type Y/n didn’t care to talk to, but could tolerate long enough to get information.  

As she strolled into the dimly lit space, a few heads turned. Usual customers that didn’t care too much about her presence, seeing as almost immediately upon realizing it was some teenage girl they didn’t know they went back to their business. Seeing as the cafe was wedged into the ground, it was probably one of the coolest places on the planet. That being said, it could always use better airflow. 

Y/n had grown quite fond of this cafe over the last month. It was relaxing. 

She reached for a stool and sat herself in the middle of the bar table. Then she proceeded to whistle at CG and motion for the droid to come over. 

“You again?” He sighed. She gave a slight smile and rolled her shoulders back in a stretch.

“It is. But this time I’m here on business. You haven’t happened to have seen a child’s cloak in the last month?” 

He whirred in thought. His old gears creaked as he tried to recall the last month. 

“Would this cloak happen to be young Alexava’s cloak she claimed she lost?”

Y/n groaned and threw her head on the table. 

“Yes” She mumbled through her arms. The old droid let out a grating snicker. 

He whipped around to fetch a glass of luke-warm water for the girl. She brought her head up and thanked him with a nod. She placed a peggat on the counter, which he gratefully accepted with a whir of mechanics. 

“I know what you’re going to say,” She sighed. “And my answer is no. I can’t resist helping a dumb kid who misplaced their only drapes.” The droid seemed to quiver in humor. 

Once again, that undesired urge to help people snuck its way into her mind. Her intentions were obvious, and that's what scared her. She knew one day, the Force would catch up with her, and show her a “better” way to help people. A way that gave her power beyond belief. The way of the dark side. 

“Well, I hadn’t seen it for quite some time.” 

She narrowed her eyes. “Hadn’t?”

Past tense. He was being difficult. 

He clicked at her immediate recognition of his riddle. 

“Ah, but I guess it was good material. Because I did see it today in the hands of one of those hunters who hang around here. Just before Mos Eisley opened,” The droid spoke. “An ugly creature, he was. No manners whatsoever. As if he was raised by a bantha.” He shook his head in disappointment. Y/n stopped him before he could go on.

“Why would he take a child’s cloak?”

“Hell if I know. He’s a bounty hunter. I would guess he wanted to sell it. They like money, a little too much. Tends to get them into a lot of trouble, as well as cause good salesmen like me a lot of trouble. Because of their mischief, I have to deal with a perturbed ten year-old-” she cut him off.

“I’m fifteen.”

“No you’re not.”

“Nearly fifteen- where did he go?” She insisted

The droid whirred once again in something she could only assume to be the equivalent of a smirk. 

“Where do you think? Where all those rats go to get paid.” Her stomach sank in her gut. 

The Cantina. 

She internally groaned for the millionth time that day.

“Alright, what’s his name?”

Another damn bar. 

That little girl always has to be involved with a place that flourished off of alcohol. Her conscience hissed.

At least Dockside was friendly. Sort of. 

The Mos Eisley Cantina was a whole different alley. Not a good one either. She’d heard plenty of stories about bounty hunter central, and the amount of fights that occurred there by the hour. It was home to hut-hirings and dangerous travelers looking to make a quick buck. Of course, the presence of the Huts was the telltale of the bar. You always had to watch your back or end up as a body on the floor. The bar was downright sinister. No one in their right mind was going to walk into that bar and demand to know who took some little girls' cloak and that they wanted it back.

So of course, that’s what Y/n’s plan was. 

In the end, she had no plan. She was just making stuff up and rolling with whatever happened. 

Sensing the Force was like this. All the best Jedi did it. And all the best Jedi found themselves dead, eventually.

Good thing she wasn’t a Jedi, and good thing the Force didn’t exist. So instead she was just stupid.

Instead of just strolling into the bar, like at the cafe, she played more towards a dramatic entrance. If she was going to die in a bar, at least she was going to make it look interesting. 

Y/n stood in the doorway upon her first step in. This time, nearly everyone turned to look at her. Eyes widened at the sight of a young girl. She straightened her posture in an attempt to look less annoyed than what she really was. She waited a minute, hoping the eyes would turn away. 

They didn’t. 

She blew off her discomfort and strode her way to the front counter, seating herself once again, right in the middle. She waved down the bartender once again, and felt the second wave of nausea hit.

What was she doing?

She figured her only option from here was to get down to the point. Somehow what had seemed like a harmless mission to find a girl’s cloak had turned into one of the most dangerous things she’d ever experienced in her life.

“What do you want?” The man hissed. Y/n cringed. He smelled terrible. His reaction to her expression wasn’t good and he reached over to grab her collar. She quickly dodged and slapped his hand away from her, pinning it to the wooden countertop. She rose in her seat, hooking her feet on the run of the stool to stand taller than him. 

She grinned. “I’m looking for someone by the name of Igo Runn.” 

The room seemed to stop breathing as all eyes turned to her. And suddenly, now that she had control of the room, the nausea dripped away. She often thrived on attention like a drug. 

The bartender quickly pulled himself away from her in disgust. She gave him a toothy smile as she brushed off her hands and sat back down. Intimidation was a game to her, it was the only way to make Palo crumble ninety percent of the time. And she loved to see Palo fail. 

Suddenly a voice spoke from the back corner of the bar. 

“Little girl you must be the dumbest doll to come into this place demanding things.” He snarked. She pulled herself out of her chair and walked towards the man to get a better look at him. He was heavy set, with dark hair and pale skin. His face, barely visible in the dimly lit bar, was morphed into an ugly shape. He looked like he had been around the two suns for a while. 

CG did say he was ugly. 

“You’re Igo Runn?” He let out the loudest laugh she had ever heard. His shaking body caused the table he sat at to aggressively rock. 

“No, Doll. That’s Igo Runn.” he chuckled, gesturing across the room to a sleeping form draped across a booth table. All eyes turned towards the body. She shook her head lightly. From somewhere a bottle was thrown at the poor guy, hitting him square in the back. Instantly, the man woke up, blaster in hand, frantically looking around for who threw the poor bottle. Laughter echoed through the tavern.

It only took a moment for our eyes to meet. 

He was young. Very young. Probably a  teenager. 

“That right there is Runn. I don’t know what you want with that little rodent but you better be quick, Doll. He likes to run.” The fat man chucked.

“Don’t call me Doll.” 

He frowned. 

“I’ll call you whatever I want, Doll.”

She thought for a minute. Grabbing a bottle off a nearby table. She made a quick glance at Igo Runn, motioning for him to sit. 

That's why she swung. 

The glass connected perfectly to the large man’s head with a satisfying crack. He was knocked out of his chair by the sheer force of the blow. And as all bar fights started, chaos broke free. 

Fists flew rapidly through the air as Y/n peered through the crowd just in time to catch a glimpse of Runn, bolting out of the bar. She hoped tables after him. He barely got a block before she had tackled him to the sandy ground.

Wind still whipped around them in the storm. It was almost as if it had gotten worse. She needed to wrap this up and get back to her bungalow. She swung herself off him.

“Where is the cloak you stole?” She yelled over the storm, her voice bare admissible. He seemed annoyed at her question.

“Why do you care?” He screamed back. His voice was light. 

She couldn’t see him too well, but she tried her best to make out his features in the sand. He had tan skin and curly brown hair. He was tall and lanky with barely any meat on his bones. In fact she could feel every one of his ribs as her shin rested against his torso to keep him down. She kind of felt sorry for the guy. 

“I care because there's a little girl who works hard every day, who doesn’t make any money, and who is in pain because you took one of the only things that can protect her from this planet.” She hissed at him. Y/n scoured around him until she eventually found his satchel, which to her relief, held the cloak. 

He seemed to frown. “Last I checked, no one came and got this cloak. It was just sitting there when I saw it.”

“So you just took it?” Igo shrugged.

“What the hell would you need a little girl's cloak for?” She asked. He managed to shove her off him. He brushed himself off, which seemed awfully dramatic considering the dust storm going on around them.

“Why don’t you tell that little girl she’s not the only one hurting for money?” Y/n grabbed his collar and slammed him against the side of Mos Eisley. He was an arrogant boy with no better personality other than greed. He only cared about what helped him live day by day. 

Y/n’s inner thoughts hissed at her to kick the crap out of him to teach him a lesson. But her fear of the Force took over almost instantly. Violence wasn’t a good answer. It was too risky.

Reluctantly, she sighed and let him go. Igo’s face morphed into one of shock. She began to walk in the direction of home. She was officially tired of everything.

“So you’re just letting me go?” He inquired, hopping after her. Without even turning around to acknowledge him she replied. 

“Yep.”

He frowned. “Okay?”

“I’ll see you around I guess.” He said. She sighed.

“No you won’t, get the hell off of Tatooine. Don’t come back. I’m just tired, that doesn’t mean we’re friends.” She hissed at him. She felt his footsteps cease from behind her. He’d stopped following her.

Good riddance. 

The trek back to Alexava Russa’s home took longer than Y/n was expecting, but sandstorms were still dangerous and a pain to deal with. Once she arrived, the girl had squealed in delight, thanking her for finding the thing that took at least five years off of Y/n’s life. 

She didn’t tell the youngling what she went through to get it though. Neither Alexava nor her mother needed to hear about that. Y/n felt better just telling them some bystander had accidentally picked it up and left it at Lup’s. 

Mrs. Russa offered for her to wait out the storm in their home but she politely declined. She had told the Russas that she had a busy day tomorrow and needed to get home. In reality, nightfall was coming soon and she didn’t want the family to deal with her bad dreams. 

Dreams that often woke her in a cold sweat, screaming. Dreams that only recently appeared. 

Another reason she gave up Jedi training. 

Once home, to her tiny, rented bungalow. She threw off her garments and fell into her bed. She was getting close to being done with leaving that bed. Nothing bad ever happened when she stayed in the house. She wasn’t dragged into things that were none of her business. As usual she spent the next hour procrastinating sleep, wondering if there was any way to get rid of the internalized jedi-justice she was suffering from. 

It took a while, but sleep finally won. Or at least the nightmares did. 

[papersteeth]

Hi again! Sorry if this is like really soon but unfortunately I have more questions. Oh and yes thank you for responding it was much appreciated and yes I was referring to your current fic sorry for not clarifying.

How far along is this taking place in s4? To clarify: How close are we to getting to the part where the attack on Liberio happens?

Are Marco and Erwin okay? Are they in a coma?

Will there be more flashback scenes?

When did Eren gain his titan abilities? If he got it at 15 right, then that wouldn’t make sense because his dad would have died a long time ago because they only last 13 years so it would have had to happen when he was like 12. Does that mean that he’s going to die even sooner theoretically because he would be older? I’m really just asking when he would have gotten the ability. Would it have been the same time as the original? Sorry if this is like an obvious answer I’m just confused.

Hello there again! No worries for more questions! Thank you for taking an interest in my fic and being so curious. Apologies for how confusing my writing has been so far too!

Just like last time, in case no one else wants to be spoiled on anything, the answers will be placed under the “read more” section!

How close are we to the attack on Liberio?— About over half a year, 6-8 months til then! Now, how narratively quick we’ll get there remains to be seen.

Are Marco and Erwin okay and in a coma?— Yes, they are okay! Well, as okay as they can be after I decided I wanted them to survive their survive their canon designated death events. The last thing that Eren knows of them is that they’re both in a coma.

Will there be more flashback scenes?— Only a few more past expositions! I say past exposition since I wouldn’t consider the way I’ve been bringing up the past in my fic as full on flashback scenes!

When did Eren get his titan abilities and all that it entails?— LMAO, there’s a reason I mentioned in my first chapter's author's notes how things happen at breakneck speeds and to not ask for logistics. But that’s ok! Now that you brought it up, you are actually very correct. My dates and age ranges are both all over the place and incredibly hand waved to suit this fic’s present plot. As you can tell, this is my first fic and I’m a very amateur writer(forgive me). I’m so sorry for all the confusion!

Yes, Eren would be 12 when he inherited Grisha’s titan and everything in the series start with Bert kicking in Wall Maria’s gate. That would also mean the kids had to wait 3 years instead of the canon’s 2 years before joining the training corps at 15. Then the training corps would last the 3 years still and Eren graduates at 18. The curse of Ymir is still working like in canon with its 13 years lifespan.

[cheesybadgers]

Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 18)

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

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 10,316

Summary: As Javier and Horacio make a fresh start in Madrid, they attempt to come to terms with their past, present and future with some unexpected help.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Romantic/emotional sex, edging, PTSD symptoms, grief and parental loss, brief discussions of sexuality/coming out, brief mentions of canon-typical violence, smoking, drinking, swearing.

Notes: Ok, so I know I said I wasn't going to be posting for a while, but after some lovely comments I've had on Tumblr this past week, I thought I would show my appreciation by sharing this a bit earlier than anticipated ❤️

Chapter 19 is ready to go, so hopefully I can post that soon, as it's the second half of their Madrid adventures (I had to split it because it got too big for one chapter, oops).

Thank you once again to anyone still following this fic - old or new - I can't believe it's been over two years since I first started it. Never in a million years did I expect it to become, well, this lol. But we are very nearly there now!

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

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

Chapter 18: One Day at a Time

It was the stillest part of the day, the city suspended somewhere between the dying embers of night and the cusp of dawn. The streets below saw parallel worlds collide as overindulgent revellers staggered alongside coffee-carrying workers who had drawn the short straw.

Neither Javier nor Horacio was a stranger to witnessing sunrise from both sides. But there was comfort in waking up to it rather than being caught unawares when sleep never came.

A raucous catfight had woken them, although the sparring partners had since gone their separate ways and restored calm to the neighbourhood.

Javier surveyed the aftermath from the French doors of the balcony, a pair of arms smoothly securing themselves around his waist, their fingers entwining over his stomach.

“Did I miss anything?” Horacio croaked, grogginess still heavy in his throat, his bare chest radiating welcomed warmth against Javier’s chilled back.

“Just the usual suspects. I know the ginger one lives opposite, but I think the black one must be a stray.”

“The same one that was out here the other day?” Horacio nodded towards their balcony, equipped with a table, two chairs, and a few hanging baskets and potted plants.

“Looked like it.”

“Maybe we should put some food out if it stops by again.” Memories of the stray he and Alejandra played their part in looking after sprung to Horacio's mind. Strangely enough, that had been a black cat too.

“Should I tell Luna she’s been replaced already?”

“Don’t you dare.” At least the teasing took Horacio’s mind off the fact he missed all two-legged and four-legged residents of the ranch tremendously, and according to reports from Chucho, the feeling was mutual.

It had only been weeks since they left Laredo, but the days stretched out longer now. It wasn’t that time dragged, but their pace of life had slowed again. The ranch was a vacation compared to Colombia, but jobs still needed to be done. Here though, they had no commitments.

The first week involved sorting out their apartment. It came fully furnished, but they needed basics like bedding, groceries and warmer clothes. Arriving in Madrid during the winter months was a shock to the system after their balmy Texan Christmas, a fact Horacio probably should have warned Javier about before they stepped off the plane in their short-sleeved shirts.

Not that Javier minded whenever the temperature dropped in the evening, and they would huddle on the couch in front of the electric fire, limbs draped over one another. There was no scent of mesquite wood this time, but that didn’t matter when shared body heat and tactility were more than enough to satisfy as they christened the furniture in their shared home.

The décor was all neutral colours but vibrant paintings of local landmarks and rural Spain hung on the bright white walls. A long corridor stretched from the entrance, with a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen and separate living area branching off it. Despite the modest square footage, the high ceilings and large windows along the external wall made the space light and airy.

The apartment was still dark enough to protect them at this time of day, and semi-closed blinds covered the balcony doors from top to bottom. They could see out the hangings, especially if they were prised apart. But Javier had ensured on the first day they arrived that there was no chance of anyone from outside nosing in. He wasn’t taking any chances, even though that threat was left back in Colombia.

Now the commotion outside had died down, they basked in the peace of their embrace.

“It was the cats that woke you, wasn’t it?” Horacio asked after a contented silence. He had to check, even though there had been a marked improvement in their sleeping patterns lately.

“Yeah, it was. I slept well last night, actually.”

“Me too. Better now I’m getting used to the traffic again.”

“The ranch really makes you forget how fucking loud the city is.” Or maybe, now Javier thought about it, it was the ranch that was so fucking quiet. “I’m still waking up through the night sometimes, cats or no cats. But I guess that might just be getting used to this place.”

“You like it here, though?”

“Yeah, I do. I can see why you wanted to come back.”

“I only wanted to come back with you.” Horacio’s fingers traced idle patterns across the soft curve of Javier’s stomach.

A light shiver ran through Javier as he lolled his head back into the pillow of Horacio’s shoulder. “So you could do this, huh?”

Horacio hummed in agreement against Javier’s neck, his mouth working methodically back and forth as a hand wandered south in search of a trail of dark hair, skirting through the wiry strands.

“Well, it wasn’t for the sangria,” he scathed, his teeth scraping over Javier as though he would rather devour the man in his arms than a glass of that stuff. Maybe it was because they hadn’t drunk much alcohol since Javier returned from Colombia, but neither had taken to it. “And you don’t seem to be complaining.”

“There are worse ways to start the day.” Javier relaxed into Horacio’s hold, allowing himself to be manhandled because there was no rush. There never was anymore.

Plenty of early mornings had begun similarly. Sometimes one man would wake up to the calid pressure of a mouth around his cock, gradually allowing the slow burn of arousal to build whilst they were half-asleep. Other times they would spoon with one held inside the other, barely moving, vaguely dreaming but always on the brink of release.

Then there were times when slow and gentle weren't enough. They had mastered the art of keeping each other quiet, for their apartment walls weren’t the thickest. Not too much, though, because the rhythmic slapping of skin-on-skin or the crisp echo of a palm across the ass was part of the appeal.

But teasing strokes and languorous rolls of the hips were in order now. One hand pumped at an unhurried pace, Javier’s length fitting in Horacio’s grip as though they were made for each other. As though Horacio had every nerve ending and sweet spot memorised as he expertly massaged Javier’s frenulum, extracting a guttural moan that reverberated through their chests in tandem.

Horacio’s free hand mapped Javier’s skin, chasing goosebumps with the calloused pads of his fingers as he found friction at the cleft of Javier’s ass. Each touch and motion a tangible reminder he wasn’t here alone this time, that the solid form in his hold and the stubbled cheek grazing against his were real. That they belonged to each other, not as possessions but as mutual choices made again and again.

Javier luxuriated in a delirious limbo, teetering on the verge but never quite there, the need for release visceral in the pit of his stomach. Yet as he trembled and writhed, alternating between pouting his bottom lip and biting it, a part of him was willing to beg to be kept hanging. Because this was what he had wanted when they were separated by oceans and a misplaced sense of duty, and now he had it, he didn’t want to let it go.

Each twitch or convulsion only made Horacio pull Javier closer, gaining extra purchase with the firm grasp at his hip bone, grinding harder but not faster, lost in dragging the head of his cock in agonising circles, from side to side, then up and down, pausing to let it throb in time with their panting. Knowing he could probe further and give them what they needed, but then it would be game over.

So, they resisted, turning shallow breaths into deeper ones, Horacio ceasing movement whenever they neared the point of no return, reeling them back in like a wound-up coil, forcing them to admire the view below as they fought against every instinct in their bodies.

Javier allowed the balcony door to bear some of their weight with one hand splayed across the clinking blinds, pushing back a fraction just to make Horacio groan in his ear and seize the cross dangling from his neck. His other hand clutched Horacio’s arm, neck, shoulder, whichever part of him he could reach, grounding and anchoring them together.

Whenever they almost succumbed, memories of their time apart would re-focus them in the present; where their legs shook, and their toes curled at every new sensation rippling through their joined form, the anticipation of relief battling with remaining in equilibrium, daring each other to prolong the exquisite agony for as long as possible.

But resistance was inevitably futile. With several final jerks of the wrist and hips, they surrendered control, painting Javier with their release from both sides as they gave themselves over to the white-hot bliss cascading through their synapses, each spasm igniting and stoking flame after flame, consuming and burning until they almost blacked out.

Neither moved as the pink haze of the skyline broached the gaps in the blinds and blushed their fevered skin; the dawn air a perfect tonic to the blazing heat between them. A greeting from the light rather than a reluctant acknowledgement after outstaying their welcome in the dark.

Strong arms encased Javier at his front while a rhythmic beat drummed against his back, catching and soothing him in surroundings that were still relatively new. Steady, grounding, home.

“Good morning, by the way,” Horacio said between tender kisses along Javier’s shoulder.

“Hmm, certainly is a good morning.” Javier shifted to face Horacio, sweeping him up with an open-mouthed kiss as addictive as the first one they ever shared, and oh, how far they had come since then. “Is it too early for breakfast?”

“Not when we’ve built up an appetite.” Horacio nibbled at Javier’s lip to emphasise his hunger. “Although, maybe a shower before I make us some coffee?”

Javier nipped back before instigating another searing kiss, barely breaking it to speak again. “Sounds good to me.”

Nothing was particularly extraordinary about the idyllic scene they had started the morning off with. And yet that in itself was extraordinary. Not so long ago, all of this felt out of reach, something to aspire to or hope for, but not something feasible. But here they were, in their shared apartment, embarking on a new chapter together, taking another leap of faith. Not running away from the past but trying to break free from its shackles, one day at a time. 

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

Once they had got their bearings in the first few weeks, they began to venture out bit by bit. First, it was walking around the city’s vast green parks, starting with the nearest and working further away from their apartment each time. Then cooking or takeaway turned into dining in a secluded bistro. And watching TV in the apartment became a leisurely stroll around a museum.

Horacio hadn’t felt much like sightseeing when he was here by himself. But things were different now. Everything was different now, even the city itself, from how the early morning light fell on the buildings to the hustle and bustle of Gran Vía. The crowds were still there in their droves. The shoppers and tourists, who would stop in the middle of the pavement with a street map sprawling across their arms, still needed to be sidestepped at the last second. But it was easier to ignore when Javier was by his side.

It was at this point that Horacio knew there was something he was going to have to do. Something he had been putting off, despite it being something he wanted to do. But that didn’t calm the nerves bubbling in his stomach as he took the familiar walk around the corner from their apartment building and down a cobbled side street. Javier had offered to come with him for moral support, but playing it safe seemed the best option, at least this time, just in case.

As he approached the glass door with its seasonal flower arrangements hanging below the red and gold calligraphic Café Romero lettering, it hit him how much his life had changed since he last visited, how much he and Javier had been through. So how reasonable was it to expect everything to be the same here? He swallowed hard as he turned the handle, the bell above the door jangling as it opened.

The interior looked the same as always. Caramel and beige walls complemented the variety of coffees on the menu and the lush green of potted plants decorating the shelves, in between photos of past and present generations of the Romero family. A large window ran along the front, providing extra lighting and an opportunity to people-watch on busier days.

Horacio could see no staff and only customers, but it was early, so the place hadn't filled up yet. In fact, his usual window seat in the corner was still free. Waves of nostalgia layered with relief rolled over him as he sat down facing the counter.

But it didn’t take long for the face he was looking for to appear from the kitchen carrying a fresh batch of napolitanas de chocolate.

A shriek of delight quickly followed once Señora Romero put down her baking tray and raised her head. She brought her hands to her face in surprise, gathering up her apron at the same time as it caught on her fingers. “Horacio?!”

The intonation of her voice suggested it was a question. But she was already crossing the floor of the café with her arms outstretched.

Horacio rose from his table, making it easier for her to scoop him into a hug reminiscent of the ones his Abuela Margarita gave him as a child.

“It’s good to see you, Señora Romero. I hope you’re well.”

She looked well, her silver hair still tied in a messy bun and her rounded figure and freshly stained apron a sign her passion for food hadn’t waned.

“All the better for seeing you.” She lightly squeezed his cheek as she took in his appearance. “Although you might have warned me, I’d have baked more of those milhojas you liked so much last time.”

“Sorry. I’ve not been back long. I’m still sorting out the apartment and trying to remember my way around.”

“Of course, of course. Rest your feet, and I’ll bring you something over. Your usual coffee?”

Horacio smiled at the fact she had remembered his order. “That’d be lovely, thank you.”

The coffee was as delicious as ever, much like the freshly made churros and accompanying hot chocolate, which Señora Romero gave him on the house despite his protests.

She updated Horacio on her family and how Luisa and her husband, Julián, had become parents since their wedding. Their new arrival, Tomás, meant Señora Romero still ran the café, with Luisa helping out occasionally until Tomás was at school.

Señora Romero rushed to grab some photos from behind the counter, showing off her latest grandson. She was in her element and every bit the doting Abuelita.

“Congratulations, I can see the family resemblance,” Horacio said, passing the photos back.

“I said the same to Luisa! He’s definitely got the Romero nose.” She gazed at the picture before shifting her attention back to Horacio. “So, what did I do to deserve the pleasure of your company?”

Horacio scoffed into his cup, creating ripples across the surface of his coffee as he took a sip. “I don’t know where to start.”

“How about from where we left off?”

Horacio hadn't been looking for sympathy, but naturally, Señora Romero supplied plenty of it, gasping, tutting, and consoling in all the appropriate places when he gave an abridged and redacted version of events since their last meeting.

He spoke more than was ideal about his injury and retirement from the CNP because, by comparison, it was safer ground than the inverted commas silently hugging every use of "friend" a mention of Javier brought.

“Oh, Horacio, my dear. You have been through the wars. How’s your shoulder doing now?”

“Okay, mostly. I still get twinges, but I know I’m lucky.”

“Lucky to have someone like Javier around as well, by the sounds of it.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Even if he had wanted to stop it, the reflexive smile spreading across Horacio’s face was irrepressible.

Señora Romero studied his features intently, beaming in return once she had finished. “And how was life on a ranch?”

“It was…good, actually. I know it’s not the CNP, but I liked the peace and quiet. And the routine. Something always needed doing or fixing.”

“It might not be the CNP, but that sounds much safer and simpler to me.”

“It was. It was good to feel useful again. Like I was making a difference, even if it wasn’t life or death.” Especially if it wasn’t, more like.

“I know you never talked much about it, but I could see how restless you were trapped behind a desk. You’re a man of action, Horacio. I don’t see that changing no matter which path you take.”

The café was busier now, meaning Horacio was left to finish his churros whilst Señora Romero dealt with the start of the breakfast rush.

As he dipped his last churro in the remnants of hot chocolate, it occurred to him that, once upon a time, his father would have been the central focus of this conversation. And, of course, he had wondered what his Papá would have made of his son living and working on a ranch in Texas, of all places. But it was also a moot point. It was an answer he would never get, regardless of how much he wrung his hands about the hypothetical possibility of disappointing his father.

This was about what was best for him and Javier now. The ranch had been their escape from the madness that was slowly killing them. Although Horacio never knew with absolute certainty what caused his Papá’s heart to fail, it was a plausible theory he overworked himself. And that irony sat more comfortably with Horacio these days. Because as much as his Papá had been a role model since Horacio was old enough to understand the word police, he was also a cautionary tale.

When the rush died down, Horacio helped clear some tables. It was the least he could do in exchange for words of wisdom and a complimentary breakfast.

But Señora Romero didn’t stop there and scuttled off behind the counter. She filled a box with an assortment of pastries and cakes, sealed the lid and handed it to Horacio as he moved towards the door.

“Here, my dear. Some more to keep you going. Enough for two, in fact.”

Horacio fumbled for a response beyond thank you as he accepted the box, wishing he could hide inside it as he sensed her eyes still on him.

Señora Romero’s hand lingered on his for a fraction longer than was customary for a simple goodbye.

He looked up to find the same head tilt and gentle smile he was met with in the apartment upstairs almost two years ago. When he was indirectly talking about Javier.

“I meant it when I said don’t be a stranger. You and Javier will always be welcome here.”

The sincerity in her eyes grew sharper, and she gripped his hand. In sympathy? Solidarity? Horacio wasn't sure.

But it put him at ease enough to reciprocate and ask a question now lodged in his throat with no option to swallow it back down. “How did you know?”

“Because there’s a glow about you, Horacio. A glow I remember from a long, long time ago. I might’ve forgotten a lot in my old age, but never that. Not even now it’s just me rattling around upstairs. It doesn’t have to fade, you know. Not if you don’t let it.”

It was a running theme for Horacio’s elders to leave him speechless like this. And it was all he could do to bob his head in acknowledgement, hoping he might be capable of such sage insights one day.

The bell above the door chimed again, signalling the end of their reunion as Señora Romero greeted her new customers, inviting them to sit wherever they liked.

“I think that’s my cue. But thank you, Señora Romero. For everything.”

“Any time. Take care, Horacio. And remember, my door’s always open.”

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Horacio dropped the box of delights on the kitchen counter, the fresh breeze and murmur of traffic revealing that Javier had moved from the bedroom to the balcony since he left.

Javier put the book he was reading down in favour of craning his neck over his shoulder to watch Horacio potter about the kitchen before biting the bullet. “So, how did it go?”

Horacio didn’t speak whilst he concentrated on transferring a couple of ensaimadas onto plates. He then joined Javier, sitting in the empty seat next to him as he offered a plate. “Better than I thought it would. She guessed about us. I didn’t tell her. Somehow she just…knew.”

“How did she take it?”

“I think we’ve got a free supply of these for life.”

They couldn’t help but laugh in unison, more from relief than anything else.

“See, I told you it’d be fine.”

“Yeah. It’s never gonna stop, though, is it?”

“How d’you mean?”

“Every time we meet someone.”

“I say it's nobody’s fucking business unless we decide it is.”

“I spoke to Alejandra yesterday. While you were in the shower.” Horacio paused at his announcement that might have appeared unconnected to their conversation, but Javier knew better. “I let her know I’m back here for now. I couldn’t tell her the rest, though.”

He focused on his plate, poking a fork at the crumbly layers of pastry, hoping to find his courage buried somewhere between them. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no, stop that.” Javier forfeited his plate for leaning closer to Horacio, palm caressing his thigh. “Before Laredo, you said I should only tell Pops if I’m ready. So, there’s no rush, Horacio. Take all the time you need.”

Horacio entwined their fingers on his leg because if anyone understood his apprehension, it was Javier. “I know. I just hate keeping it from her after everything we’ve been through. She would always make me soup if I was sick. And she looked out for me after Papá was gone. She taught me Mamá’s sudado de pollo recipe because it was one of Papá’s favourites. I liked to think I was the man of the house, but she loved reminding me she was my older sister.”

“I bet she did. I saw that a lot with my parents and my Tías and Tíos. Never could decide if I’d have preferred brothers and sisters after they all got together.”

“That’s siblings for you. I didn’t want to shut her – or Mamá – out. But when things got crazy back home, I had no choice.”

“Same with Pops. The worse it got, the more I shut down. But he understood. And…I know I haven’t met them.” Yet, Javier wanted to add but thought better of it. “But they might too.”

“I know.”

“We’ll be okay whatever happens, you know that, right?”

“Yeah. I do.” Horacio finally let go of Javier’s hand, knowing if he held on any longer, he’d have given their neighbours something to gossip about.

Instead, he took another bite of his pastry and a swig of the half-drunk coffee from the table where Javier’s abandoned book lay. “What are you reading, anyway?”

“Oh, just this.” Javier reached for his Mamá’s poetry book, the pages fluttering in the breeze, the superstitious remnants from his upbringing wanting to believe it was a sign of something other than the weather. “Before we left, I told Pops I wished she’d met you. I don’t know if she ever suspected anything about me, but…I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

“Maybe not. But for what it’s worth, I wish I’d met her too.”

It had always been a relief for Horacio that his father and Javier never crossed paths, but that was mostly a projection of his own fears. The truth was, he would never know if his Papá suspected anything about him, either.

Once they had finished their ensaimadas, Horacio washed up the plates and a few items waiting by the sink, a routine he performed countless times with Alejandra when they were just about tall enough to reach the taps; before any expectations of who or what he was supposed to be were placed on his shoulders. Memories flooded back of how they would squabble over who got to wash and dry. Although, of course, more often than not, his big sister would pull rank, and in hindsight, he smiled at the possibility that, all those years later, she, rather than their Papá, was what had made his job so appealing.

As he left the clean plates, cups, and cutlery to dry on the draining board, it dawned on him that Alejandra and his Mamá didn’t have to be the same story as his Papá. They didn’t need to be another unfinished, half-written story in which the ending would always elude him, haunt him, or hold him back. Not if Horacio didn’t leave it too late this time.

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Whilst Horacio resumed his early morning runs, they were more like gentle jogs these days. It wasn’t that he had lost his stamina after being put through his paces back on the ranch, but he didn’t feel the need to charge ahead at full pelt anymore. He was more likely to go through a routine of strengthening exercises, to keep his right shoulder from seizing up, and for whenever they decided to head back to Laredo. If that was to become his full-time job, he couldn’t afford to be out of shape.

He left Javier in bed, with plans to meet him at Café Romero for breakfast. It was to be Javier’s first time meeting Señora Romero, which they were confident they had nothing to worry about, but that didn’t quell the butterflies dancing in their stomachs the night before.

It was why Horacio had gone for a run instead of lying awake restless, counting down the hours until he could get up. His muscle memory, rather than his wristwatch, estimated that by the time he jogged one of his usual routes that took him to the outskirts of Casa de Campo park and walked a few blocks to cool down, he would be ready for breakfast.

About three-quarters of the way through his run, having just exited the park, he heard the call of his name. He willed there to be another Horacio jogging passed at the same time, but when his eyes fell upon the source of the voice, he knew he was out of luck.

“Álvaro?” He didn’t know why he asked; he’d spent enough time with Álvaro Molina to recognise his voice anywhere.

Álvaro was a chief inspector in the Spanish CNP. Not a direct parallel to Horacio’s role in Colombia, but close enough. Although Álvaro was never based at the Consulate when Horacio was, they spent plenty of time in the same cross-departmental meetings.

He was a couple of inches taller than Horacio with hazel eyes and unruly dark brown curls that were more mottled with grey than their last meeting. At one time, Álvaro carried almost as much muscle as Horacio, but he had visibly lost weight, his face now gaunt and rough with days’ old stubble.

“How the hell are you?” A hand shook Horacio’s with vigour. “Better than last time, I bet, now that motherfucker’s in the ground.”

“You could say that.”

“What brings you back? They didn’t exile you again, did they?” Álvaro winked, knowing he was on friendly enough terms with Horacio to get away with it.

A scoff and roll of the eyes was Horacio’s response. “No. Actually, it was the other way round this time.”

“Oh? You are a dark horse. Always thought they’d have to force you into retirement when you’re old and grey.”

“Yeah, me too. But I guess things change.”

“Hmm, some more than others.”

“I take it there’s been no let-up in seizures after Medellín folded?”

“Not with Cali waiting in the wings, no.” There was a brittle laugh followed by a shift in Álvaro’s facial expression, the joviality from moments ago now gone and replaced with traces of sleep deprivation.

“That’s the trouble. You cut off one serpent’s head, and two more of the fuckers grow straight back.” Horacio’s words were loaded with a sting of venom at the mention of Cali, closely followed by thoughts of Los Pepes, Stechner and the CIA’s protection of Cali. How could they possibly win when the whole system was corrupt to the core?

“Tell me about it. Listen, I don’t suppose you’ve got time to grab a quick coffee? Hell knows I need one.”

Horacio calculated he had about 15 minutes maximum spare, so, it was doable if he drank fast and didn’t get too involved in shop talk that was no longer his remit.

“Okay, there’s a place just inside Casa de Campo. But you’re buying.”

“Always the cheapskate.”

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Javier glanced up from his newspaper to the clock on the wall. Horacio was technically late; by his own standards, that was. Javier wouldn’t even have noticed if it was anyone else.

He followed Horacio’s instructions on how to get here, even down to picking the window seat in the far corner of the café. It was empty when Javier arrived – five minutes early, which must be a first – so he sat and waited.

Not long after he took a seat, a lady too young to be Señora Romero came to greet him with a friendly smile, ready to take his order.

Javier went with a café solo for each of them, saving the food order for when Horacio arrived.

Even when speaking in short sentences, Javier was self-conscious of his accent here, sometimes forgetting to adjust his pronunciation or pick a different word than he was used to. Of course, it had been the same when he arrived in Colombia and Horacio in Texas. A cultural exchange that led to many late-night conversations – and the occasional argument – about dialect differences. But that was the versatility of the Spanish language.

The same waitress brought the drinks over, although an older woman had joined her who was now clearing the adjacent table. The family resemblance between the two women was undeniable, so Javier assumed this must be Señora Romero and…Luisa, did Horacio say? He kept quiet for now, just in case he was wrong. Nor did he want to steal Horacio’s thunder with introductions.

As Javier thanked Luisa and explained the second cup was for someone meeting him shortly, Señora Romero ceased wiping a cloth across the emptied table, her ears pricking up at an accent she didn’t hear too often.

Not that Javier noticed as his eyes darted to the door, up to the clock and down to the paper with a heavy sigh.

He got through one and a half news stories when Señora Romero made her move from watching Javier curiously from behind the counter to standing by his table.

“It’s not like him to be late, is it?”

Javier was startled out of his newspaper and looked up, where rich shades of chestnut and cinnamon collided for the first time. “How—?” was about all he managed to stutter out.

Señora Romero sat opposite Javier, where Horacio should have been sitting. “Ever since his first visit, he went straight for this table. It is a nice spot, though. He always read his papers and ordered a café solo every time.” She smiled affectionately at the coffee cups on the table like they were an old friend. “Plus, he told me about Laredo. So, I wasn’t expecting another Colombian accent.”

“I’m impressed. We could’ve done with more people like you in Colombia. And I was under strict instructions to pick this table. But you’re right; it’s not like him to be late.”

There was no doubt a logical explanation for Horacio’s absence. But Javier couldn’t stop his fingers from fidgeting around the handle of his cup or his knee from bouncing under the table and causing an earthquake.

“Oh, I’m sure he’s on his way, dear. Did he go for one of his pre-breakfast runs?”

There was something comforting about Señora Romero’s familiarity with Horacio’s routines, even though Javier had never met her before. It gave them a mutual talking point and a connection beyond the usual dry small talk. “Bingo.”

“Of course! He was one of my most loyal regulars. I did miss seeing him in here after he left.”

“He’s talked about you and this place a lot. So, I’d say the feeling’s mutual.”

“Bless you, my dear. I’m glad our paths crossed. But I’ve no doubt he ended up where he belonged.”

Heat bloomed in Javier’s face and chest as Señora Romero gave him a pointed look followed by a flash of a wink. And he couldn’t help but feel sheepish that he and Horacio had ever worried about her reaction in the first place.

It took his mind off things until his gaze fell back on the clock, and he saw another five minutes had passed. Where the fuck was he? No, Javier couldn’t think like that. It was stupid and unnecessary at this stage. He just needed to focus on the pleasant conversation he was having now. So, he tried again.

This time, he asked questions about Señora Romero’s family and, during a lull in the breakfast rush, was introduced to Luisa as a friend of Horacio’s. If Luisa suspected anything, she took it in the same stride as her mother.

Next came the family photos, including plenty of Tomás, naturally. An album's worth of photos was scattered across the table, allowing Señora Romero to guide Javier through each one as though she was delivering a presentation. But as someone with a large extended family, Javier didn’t mind and even interjected with anecdotes about his own relatives.

After a tilt of his head and a sip of his coffee, Javier brought the cup down to the photo-covered table with a sense of déjà vu. It took him out of the moment and forced him to close his eyes, trying to blink away his sudden change in mood. But then, a wave of cheap perfume filled his senses. And Señora Romero’s finger pointing at the pictures was younger and manicured. The photo she placed in his hand wasn’t the many generations of the Romero family posing in front of the café; it was one of the long-lens photos of Javier and Horacio.

He blinked hard enough to see spots, allowing his vision to gradually re-focus on the safety of the photo in his hand rather than the violating one burnt into his memory. He tried not to think about those images, and for the most part, he succeeded these days. But occasionally, his brain would taunt him, reminding him how paralysed he was by the possible consequences. By the fact he put Horacio in so much danger and couldn’t even tell him about it or be with him. By the fact he and Steve were glorified puppets to the likes of Stechner whilst the CIA was up to its neck in corruption.

“These, er, these are all beautiful,” he managed to get out, hoping that the last few seconds had gone unnoticed, as unlikely as that was.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything else while you wait, dear?”

That was the next question Javier heard, but he couldn’t be sure if he had zoned out and missed a whole chunk of conversation.

"Er, no, thanks, I'm good."

Without meaning to, his eyes scanned between the clock and the door again, an irrational hope taking hold that if he stared at either long enough, he could make Horacio appear by sheer willpower alone. However, as the second hand on the clock ticked and ticked, he was back in that damn hospital bed. Waiting, waiting, waiting. That was all he could do, unable to get comfortable as each movement was a red-hot poker jabbing in his ribs. But he would take that any day over the crushing, suffocating, nauseating dread that weighed on his chest like a foreshadowing of death. Not his death, although it would have been in all but name if the pendulum of fate had swung the other way.

“Javier? Are you alright, my dear?”

Javier was back in the café, a light sheen of sweat gathering on his skin as he tried to shove whatever the fuck that was back in its box. “Er, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry.”

“Why don’t I pour us some lemonade upstairs once you’ve finished your coffee? I’ll ask Luisa to send Horacio up when he gets here.”

Javier expected his instincts to push him towards the door and back to the apartment, but they didn’t. Instead, they saw the genuine concern on Señora Romero’s face and the kindness in her gesture. They saw the glimmer of faded memories of his Mamá taking care of him, knowing this wasn’t the same, but also that it didn’t need to be. And so he did the only thing he could.

“That’d be good, thanks.”

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Álvaro brought over two coffees from the kiosk by the park entrance to a nearby seating area of tables and chairs. The previous day’s rain still clung to the stainless steel furniture and explained why there weren’t as many people around them as on a scorching hot day. But that worked in their favour.

They sat opposite each other across a table suffering from a wobbly leg, Horacio in his jogging pants and a somewhat sweaty t-shirt, and Álvaro apparently in yesterday's suit, shirt and skewwhiff tie, if their crumpled appearance and less than fresh aroma were anything to go by. A far cry from the pristine CNP-issued uniforms and tailored suits picked out by Álvaro’s wife their last meeting saw them wearing.

As Horacio took a sip of coffee, he noticed Álvaro reach into the inside pocket of his jacket and pull out a hip flask.

Álvaro lifted the plastic lid from his cup, poured a generous measure from the flask and offered the same to Horacio.

Horacio raised his hand and shook his head. “Bit early for me.”

They made small talk, Horacio managing to be as vague as possible regarding his reasons for living here again. “Taking a break in a beautiful city” and “Catching up with old friends” were about the gist of it. But he wasn’t exactly forthcoming with information the first time, so his stunted replies weren’t out of character.

Álvaro was equally brief about the details of his life, which was out of character now Horacio thought about it. Álvaro used to talk about his family as much as his work. His wife was his rock, his kids were his pride and joy, and his brother was progressing at pace through the military ranks. But this time, he confirmed they were doing well and left it at that before getting down to business.

“An anonymous tip-off recently fell into the DEA’s lap. Lots of juicy details about Cali. The gringos are working their way through the intel, and it flagged up more links to our old friends in Galicia. There were sightings of Pacho Herrera up there, plus some of his associates are based in Madrid. So that’s opened a huge fucking can of worms.”

Horacio had a terrible time trying to stifle a reaction to the mention of a tip-off. There was nothing 'anonymous' about it from the DEA’s point of view, not even when it came to the intel's delivery.

The last time he was here, the Galician traffickers were working with Escobar. And whilst Horacio’s redeployment was conducted from behind a desk for the majority, his colleagues had chewed his ear off about various Colombian names that came up in reports or wiretaps. It didn’t surprise him in the slightest that the Spanish clans had moved on to Cali.

Álvaro lit a cigarette as he talked, offering up a second one from his almost-empty carton.

But Horacio declined, instead taking another sip of his drink. “Sounds promising. But Álvaro, Cali is a different beast to Medellín. They’re more discreet, professional, and they have powerful friends in high places.”

“I know. But we have to try, right? Look at Operación Nécora. Sooner or later, someone gets sloppy, drops the ball, turns on one of their own, or kills the wrong person. And then we win.”

Watching Álvaro chug back his Irish coffee in one hand with a smouldering cigarette perched in his other was like looking in a mirror to the past. And it wasn’t a pretty sight.

When Horacio was in the fray, it had been too easy to focus solely on the case in front of him, convincing himself it would all be over soon if he just shut down one more lab and seized one more kilo or wad of cash. Or tortured one more suspect. But it was never enough and never would be. He had been fighting a losing battle that had no likely ending in sight, even if the individuals and locations were a perpetual revolving door.

“I’m not sure there are winners in any of this,” he said, the resignation heavy in his tone.

“Shit, you really have changed.”

“Maybe.”

“Last time I saw you, you were raining fire and brimstone upon the narcos. What the fuck happened?”

“Do you know how many funerals I’ve been to, Álvaro? Or how many people I’ve killed? Because I don’t. I stopped counting. Then Escobar tried to have me killed – and nearly succeeded.”

“Woah, woah, what?”

“I took a bullet here,” Horacio gestured to his right shoulder, “and nearly bled out. The doctors said I was lucky I was brought in so fast.” Although Horacio knew a lot more than luck was involved.

“Shit, Horacio.”

“Yeah. So, it’s easy for you to keep fighting when you haven’t lost as many times as I have.”

“Because no one else could possibly have lost anything as well, right?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Sounded like it to me. And you’ve got no fucking idea.” Álvaro slammed his cup down on the table, the force of its impact splashing coffee droplets in all directions.

Horacio opted not to make a fuss but he could have sworn he saw the reflection of tears in Álvaro’s eyes as they focused on their drinks in silence. “Did something happen?”

“What gave it away?” Álvaro gestured towards himself, acknowledging his worse-for-wear state. He leaned his elbow on the table, head held in his hands, and ran his fingers through his hair. “There was another bombing. Last June. An army transporter was targeted by 40 kilos of explosives left in a parked car. My brother, Jaime, was...he was there…and didn’t make it.”

“Fuck, Álvaro. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” Except, in a roundabout way, he did have some idea. Because back in Colombia, it was Horacio who delivered such news to countless families like the Molinas.

“No, well, you wouldn’t.” He took out the hip flask again, draining whatever was left into his coffee cup and knocking it back. “Not least of all because I lied about him earlier. Sorry about that, by the way. Still not very good at this sort of thing.”

“No, of course. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“Your dad was a cop too, right? Before he…passed away.”

“Yeah, he was.”

“I remember you telling me. It was about the only thing I got out of you, come to think of it.”

Half a rebellious smile broke through Horacio’s tightly pursed lips. “Yeah, well, I guess I wasn’t very good at this sort of thing either.”

“But you are now?”

“Better than I was. Better now I’m not trying to be him. Now I realise he was as flawed as the rest of us.”

“Yeah, trying to follow in the footsteps of a high-achiever in the family will fuck you up for life. Or so I’ve heard.”

Horacio didn’t know a lot about Jaime but was aware he was 10 years older than Álvaro. From the way Álvaro talked, it was clear how much he hero-worshipped his big brother. And if anyone knew the pitfalls of such high pedestals, it was Horacio.

“Sounds familiar. As much as I’ve always missed him, I was glad he never saw me at my worst.”

“All I wanted was for Jaime to be proud of me, and I think he was.” Álvaro’s eyes lit up, and for the first time during their conversation, the wrinkles of his smile reached them. “But I’m not sure he’d even recognise me if he saw me now.”

“The paradox of grief.”

“What?”

Another smile crept over Horacio’s face. “Just something someone once said to me. Whatever you do, it’ll never feel enough now he’s gone.”

“Never thought of it like that. But it’s not just a dead man I’m letting down. My wife tried so hard with me; she really did. But…the nightmares started. They were always about trying to save Jaime, but I couldn’t. So I drank ‘til I was comatose. Then work got crazy and things spiralled. She didn’t think it was good for me to be around the kids, and well, I can’t argue with that.”

Álvaro unloaded a jumble of words in one fell swoop, catching Horacio off guard as he tried to take it all in. But it wasn’t as though it was unfamiliar territory for him. It wasn’t as though he had no experiences of his own to share, experiences he had only ever opened up to Javier about until now.

“That was my life, for a long time, without the wife and kids, obviously. But the nightmares and the drinking got bad after I...I accidentally killed someone I was sent to rescue.”

“Shit, Horacio. You never said anything when you were – wait a minute – is that why you were here in the first place?”

“Surprisingly, no.” Horacio let out a hollow laugh at the fact the death of Diana Turbay wasn’t his superiors’ red line. “I’m sure it didn’t help my cause, but the final straw came when I led a raid on a nightclub. We took down some high-level sicarios, but a bystander got caught in the crossfire.”

“Fuck. There were so many rumours about you, no one knew what to believe. I heard you took out Escobar’s cousin, but surely they wouldn’t exile a hero.”

“I’m not a fucking hero, Álvaro.”

“Ha! So, it was true.”

Horacio said nothing, his silence giving Álvaro the answer he was looking for.

“You can’t tell me you’re sorry about that.”

“I’m not. And I don’t regret everything I did.” It was the truth. He wasn’t trying to atone for some of those fuckers getting what they deserved. They weren’t why he walked away. “But you know what they say…old sins cast long shadows. These things stay with you, whether you’re the one killing or it’s the people around you being killed.”

“So, what are you saying? That it’s too late for damaged goods like us?” There was a desperate crack in Álvaro’s voice as though he was looking to Horacio to confirm his fears and put him out of his misery once and for all.

“You probably don’t want to hear it right now, but…it doesn’t always have to be like this. It’s not easy, and it takes time, but it can get better.”

“You’re right. I didn’t want to hear that.” Álvaro kept his features neutral until he caught Horacio’s eye and they both laughed, because what else could they do?

“Neither did I, for years. Because it felt impossible. But no amount of punishing yourself will bring him back or change the past.”

“There’s quite a team set up now,” Álvaro continued after a long silence, as though he hadn’t heard a single word Horacio had said. “From your end, our end, the DEA, Interpol, the SVA. You name it, we’ve got fingers in the pie. And there’s always room for more.”

Álvaro looked at Horacio with great expectation, waiting for an answer to an unspoken question until he could wait no more. “Horacio, you know what it’s like more than most dealing with these people. And you remember how it was last time. Couldn’t so much as talk about the weather without it getting back to someone up there.”

That much was true. The situation in Galicia was eerily reminiscent of Medellín. Homegrown police taking bribes left, right and centre and passing on intel to the trafficking clans. Politicians’ and judges’ integrity in tatters because they, too, turned a blind eye. The Colombian cartels made Galicia their gateway into Europe. And their success was thanks to the layer upon layer of corruption that was allowed to exist.

“No.”

“Come on, at least think about it. There’d be none of that pen-pushing bullshit this time. You could be out in the field again, it’d be just like the old days back in—”

“Álvaro, I said no.” Horacio didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to with how his steely glare and steadfast jaw framed his face. “I’m done with it for good. End of story.”

Álvaro raised his arms in surrender, his second cigarette of their meeting now burning between his fingers. “Alright, alright, I get the message. Can’t blame me for asking now I know you’re back.” He raised the cigarette to his lips, regarding Horacio with increasing intrigue through the wisps of smoke hanging between them. “So, who is it, then?”

“What?”

“Whoever’s convinced you to quit and move here. Must be serious. And don’t lie because I know there’s someone.”

“Your interrogation skills need more work, Molina. And on that note, I better be going. You’re making me late for an appointment.”

“Nice deflection there, Carrillo. I’m just saying; they must be the love of your fucking life to give it all up.”

There was a scrape of metal against the floor as Horacio rose from his chair, not dignifying Álvaro’s prying with a response, even though it was the naked truth.

“Alright, fine, fine! I can take a hint. I’ll keep my mouth shut from now on.” Álvaro brought a hand to his lips, ‘zipping’ them closed with his thumb and forefinger.

Horacio sat back down with a roll of his eyes. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it. Good for you, in fact. It’s hard enough to find someone like that in the first place, but to hold onto them and make it work? Nothing short of a fucking miracle. But you know where I am if you ever change your mind.”

“Thanks, but I won’t.”

“Thought you might say that.”

“If you ever change your mind, please think about what I said. You can’t run away from this. No matter how much you bury your head in your job. It doesn’t work like that.”

“I can’t make any promises, Horacio. You know how it is.”

Of course, he knew; that was precisely why he was saying it in the first place. But he also knew there was no point pushing it any further. “It was good to see you, Álvaro. And I am sorry about Jaime.”

“Me too. And er, thanks. For listening and everything. I really appreciate it. Although, I gotta ask, when did you get so fucking wise?”

Horacio laughed, assured there was no malice in Álvaro’s teasing, and because he had apparently accomplished what he was expecting to wait years, if not decades to do. “I’m afraid I can’t take all the credit.”

“Should’ve known. Good to see you, Horacio. Don’t leave it so long next time. And I hate to say it, but retirement already suits you.”

“Thanks, I think. Take care of yourself.”

They stood up from the table, deposited their empty cups in a nearby bin and walked back to the entrance that took them onto the main road.

After shaking hands, they went their separate ways, Horacio in one direction and Álvaro in the opposite.

It wasn’t long ago that Horacio lamented turning his back on the CNP. But as he broke into a run to mitigate his uncharacteristic lateness, he caught glimpses of familiar church spires towering over every other building. They had been a comforting backdrop to his guilt and shame, and whilst he would always carry them around for certain deeds, it wasn’t a place he ever wanted to revisit. And the next time his lapel pins found themselves between his fingers, or Trujillo still called him Colonel out of habit, he would be reminded it was okay to miss something but never want it back.

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

Javier sat stiffly on Señora Romero’s floral sofa, clenching and unclenching his fists to distract himself from the creeping sense of embarrassment setting in.

Señora Romero joined him in the neighbouring chair, a tray of lemonade and a selection of pastries from downstairs placed between them on the table.

“Have you eaten anything this morning, dear?”

“Not really, no.”

“Well, that won’t do. Here, take some. Don’t be shy.” She practically shoved the plate at Javier, stopping short of placing one of the pastries in his mouth.

“Thanks. And sorry, I don’t know where that came from.”

“From what Horacio told me, I’d say it’s understandable. For both of you.” Señora Romero gave the tall jug of lemonade a final stir, then poured it into two ice-filled tumblers, handing one to Javier and settling back in her chair.

Javier thanked her as he accepted a glass, wasting no time quenching his dry mouth.

“And it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Señora Romero continued. “My country went from the Civil War to Franco for over three decades. Not to mention the violence in the Basque region, and the bombings here, of course. People don’t like to talk about it much, but the scars are still as plain as day.”

Javier wasn’t exactly an expert in Spanish history, but he knew the basics. And hearing them listed together suddenly made his experiences seem tame by comparison. Not that he thought for a second that was Señora Romero’s intention, but it gave him a large dose of perspective.

“I never talked to anyone before Horacio, to be honest. Same for him with me, but it took me longer to get there.”

“My husband rarely told me what he’d seen and done in the war. He thought I wouldn’t understand, and maybe I didn’t. Maybe I couldn’t. But we survived the same storm in the end, even though we were sometimes in different boats.”

“It was a while ‘til we were in the same boat. Even now, sometimes we’re not,” Javier said as his mind drifted with a smile to their conflicting views and priorities over the years.

In theory, it shouldn’t have gone the way it did. They may have shared the same broad goal in Colombia, but they came at it from different angles. They weren’t supposed to trust and understand each other more than anyone else. They weren’t supposed to walk away from their all-consuming careers for each other, and they certainly weren’t supposed to fall in love. But life had a funny way of working out.

As for their current situation, they were dealing with things in their own way and in their own time. It was never going to be something they could coordinate. But even so, it frustrated Javier when he spiralled seemingly out of nowhere. Except, was it really out of nowhere? It was all a blur now.

“In my experience, sometimes you can’t be,” Señora Romero said. “And sometimes, you won’t want to be. Sometimes, you float alongside each other in your own boats. And sometimes, it’s good enough just to sail in the same direction at different paces.”

“He’s never late. And I guess it’s force of habit to assume the worst.” Javier wasn’t expecting to say that, but it was like someone had just removed their foot from his chest. It was an admission to himself as much as Señora Romero, confirmation that it hadn’t been out of nowhere at all.

Señora Romero merely nodded, giving Javier the space to continue if he wanted to.

“On the night of the ambush, Steve – my partner – and I weren’t supposed to be there. I’m not sure we were ever supposed to be in Colombia, to be honest.”

Javier stopped to let out a sceptical sneer as snippets of his encounters with Stechner replayed in his head. For all he knew, Stechner could have orchestrated his entire career, manoeuvring him around like a pawn on a chessboard.

“But we disobeyed orders and followed Horacio anyway. And then we, er…we heard gunfire and screaming over the radio. It was the longest car journey of my life.” He took another sip of his drink and a deep breath, determined to finish now he’d started. “It was the same at the hospital and after the bombing here. Always waiting, but never knowing where he was or if he was okay.”

“Oh, Javier, my dear, it makes complete sense you would think the worst. I would be the same in your shoes. But you have to remember, he’s a civilian now. He’s not a target anymore. The ETA bombings here have been directed at the Spanish authorities.”

Señora Romero leaned forwards until her hand met Javier’s. Shades of chestnut connected with cinnamon again as he squeezed as a gesture of thanks. Neither appeared fazed by this being their first meeting, perhaps finding it easier because they simultaneously didn’t know much about each other but enough to no longer be strangers.

“And for what it’s worth,” she continued, “regardless of the rights or wrongs of your government’s involvement in foreign affairs, it seems you were exactly where you were supposed to be that night.”

Touché. He couldn’t argue with that, the irony apparent of Steve previously framing Javier’s need to follow Horacio as a warning rather than a calling.

“I may have only just met you, Javier, but I know what you did for Horacio that night was a brave act of love. Wanting to help is an honourable trait, don’t ever forget that. But you might find you’re not worrying yourself sick so much once you’re focused on helping others again. And someone out there will always need it, wherever life takes you next.”

Javier scoffed before gulping down the rest of his lemonade. “I think that’s the problem.”

Señora Romero’s hosting instincts kicked in as she re-filled Javier’s glass.

“Thanks. Horacio got out a year before me and settled in working on my Pop’s ranch. Way more than I ever did.” Javier cringed at some of the memories of him in his pre-police days attempting various jobs that Horacio took to like a duck to water, whereas he had floundered.

“Is that what he wants to do?”

“I think so. Which is great; he’s a natural. It suits him.”

“But you don’t know what’s next for you?”

“Not a clue.” Not a fucking clue was more accurate, but he caught himself just in time.

“Do you need to have it figured out yet?”

“Well, no, not yet. We’re okay financially for now. But I know it can’t last forever.”

“There’s plenty of time between now and forever, Javier.” Señora Romero lowered her voice as though she was letting him in on a coveted secret. “At your age, anyway. Less so at mine, but I take each day as it comes.”

“What’s that like?”

“There are good days and bad days. And bad weeks, months and years, come to think of it. Days when my body doesn’t do what my mind tells it to do. Days when my mind is frail, and my heart is sore. But on other days, I’ll spend time with the family. Or my piononos will come out better than they did last time. Or I’ll make new friends in unusual circumstances.” She winked in Javier’s direction. “I think the bad days are just part of life’s rich tapestry. Especially where healing wounds are concerned.”

Occasional reminders of the past – or bad days – scattered amongst the simple pleasures sounded suspiciously like their time in Madrid so far. But maybe that was okay. Maybe, that was part of the process of moving on with their lives. Maybe, progress was supposed to be subtle and non-linear, almost imperceptible unless you knew what you were looking for.

No sooner had Javier got his head around that prospect than there was a knock at the door followed by a heartfelt apology, given and accepted with a look as much as words.

Of course, Señora Romero had been right, and there was no life-or-death emergency to attend to. But any embarrassment on Javier’s part was overridden by the relief his fears were unfounded, and he would gladly take an anxious mind rather than the alternative.

Pulses returned to baseline as the trio talked, albeit Horacio’s for a different reason than Javier's.

Whilst Madrid wasn’t Laredo, they couldn’t take acceptance for granted wherever they were. But as they returned downstairs, where Señora Romero removed the ‘Reserved’ sign from their corner table and offered them yet another breakfast on the house, a weight lifted from Horacio’s shoulders. Because the first real friend he made here had welcomed him and Javier into her home and business with open arms.

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

To the Shadows that Cry Witch /// Chapter 14

OK SO APPARENTLY I MISSED POSTING LAST WEEKS CHAPTER??? I mean I was panicking about going on holiday, BUT STILL?? THE FACT THAT I DIDN'T EVEN REALISE. Guys if I don't post feel free to ask me why because 9/10 times it's my dumb adhd ass forgetting cuz she's stressed. But on the bright side - I GOT INTO UNIVERSITY!!! So I'm in a very good mood rn and managed to write this entire chapter in less than an hour. It hasn't been proofread, but I'm gonna have to do that another time. Enjoy! <3

Summary: Magic was real, but it came at a price. So when two girls end up in the one place they never thought they could reach, strange things began to happen. Good or bad? That's up to them to find out.

Tags: Kili x oc/reader - Fili x oc (POV to be written soon) - Thorin's company × ocs/reader (platonic) - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Bagginshield

Word Count: 1732

Warnings: Mentions of Minor and Major Injuries from last chapter.

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< Chapter 13 // Chapter 14 // Chapter 15 >

Part 2: Chapter 14 -

Thanks, I hate it.

Skreigh (Definition): To utter a harsh abrupt scream (Noun / Origin: Gaelic / Sk·r·ay)

Eventually, Kay lifted her head up. Her grey eyes were rimmed by a crimson red as they blinked up as the two of us, and if you looked closely, you could see a tremble in her hands as they came up to wipe at her face.

Bilbo immediately sped into action, marching over to the bed and swiping the second blanket that laid at the end. Shaking it out of its folds, he draped it over Kay’s shoulders, and I handed over her tea, making sure that the shaking in her limbs didn’t spill the hot liquid down her front. Taking a small sip, she let out a shaky sigh.

“Are you okay?”

Bilbo was the first to break the silence with his question, kneeling down in front of my friend, looking at her with both concern and slight fear.

Kay nodded. Bilbo got up, murmuring something about food helping before he left for what was probably the kitchen. I waited a second before speaking.

“That was so scary.” I whispered, too shocked about the ordeal to take note of my volume.

“I’m fine, really.” Kay croaked, taking another sip of tea.

“Kay, I thought you were dying.” I protested, “What happened?”

She opened her mouth, taking a few seconds to get the words out.

“I wanted to tell Bilbo about where we came from, where our home is and–” She welled up, taking deep breaths to calm herself down as I waited patiently in silence. “My head just started to hurt. Like, worse than the concussion, as if someone stuck knives in both sides of my brain and shimmied them around. And then… I tried again to say something out loud and my throat just closed up.”

I shuffled over next to her, and she leant on me, resting her head on my shoulder as she cradled the tea in her hand.

“I guess I also thought I was dying.”

I tensed up at her words, now scared about what would happen to me if I tried to do anything similar, whilst simultaneously being scared for Kay. Though I was brought back out of my thoughts at the sound of her voice again.

“–It was as if something didn’t want me saying anything.”

I felt the hairs on my neck stand up at those words, and I suddenly got the god-awful feeling – you know – the one where you feel like you’re being watched. But I knew that surely, we couldn’t be, since the only door was closed and the curtains drawn. But that attempted reassurance did nothing to stifle the uneasy sensation that grazed itself along the back of my neck and down the sides of my arms.

“Maybe that something doesn’t want people finding out about us?” I suggested to try and reassure Kay, and also distract myself from that weird feeling. “It could be to protect us.”

“Protect us from what?” She whispered nervously.

“Perhaps from those who… want to use our knowledge to cause harm?”

I felt Kay’s head shift on my shoulder slightly, and I could see the way her brows furrowed in confusion.

“What knowledge? Half the stuff we know is too advanced for them. Like, not to brag, but A-Level Sciences are something they’re a long while away from understanding.”

I nodded in agreement, feeling a small smile appear on my face at the thought of being the smarter one for once. Though all those thoughts were washed away as an answer to Kay’s question came to mind.

“Maybe… knowledge of what is to come?”

Kay froze.

“Shit. You’re right.” She hissed.

A beat passed as more thoughts invaded my mind. One stood out, and I quickly shuffled to sit opposite Kay, facing her.

“We need to find out what day it is.” I blurted.

“Day? I heard Bilbo say what day it was earlier, but it was a weird word…” She mentioned, scratching at her head in thought.

“Can you remember what it was?” I asked, the desperation in my voice crawling through.

“I’m pretty sure it began with an M?” She replied.

I immediately racked my brain, sifting through all the obscure Middle Earth facts I had read over the years. I knew that the Shire had its own calendar, including days of the week. They were the same as our days of the week, but some days had a different name. From what I could recall, Sunday and Monday remained the same, and I could easily remember that Tuesday was Trewsday, due to them both sounding so similar, but the rest were still tucked away, hidden in the confines of my mind that only resurfaced once in a blue moon, and believe me, it is as frustrating as it sounds.

“Mer-something?” She added.

“Mersday!” I half yelled. “I think that means Thursday?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” She said confused.

I fiddled with the corner of the blanket that was draped over Kay, then twisted towards the door.

“BILBO?!”

A crash was heard, then the rapid slapping of feet on wood, before Bilbo rounded the corner with frantic eyes.

“Yes?!” he gasped.

“What’s the date?” I asked with a smile.

He paused, a deadpan look on his face as he realised no one was dying again, and he straightened up with a heave, in an attempt to retrieve his breath.

“Date?”

We both nodded with a grin, and with an unamused sigh, he answered.

“It’s Mersday, the twenty-ninth of September, if you must know.” He huffed with a shrug, slapping his hands on his legs. “Any other obscure things you wish to know, after almost dying for no reason?”

The two of us looked at each other, and he rolled his eyes with a groan.

“Yes, what?” He asked sarcastically.

“The year?” I said.

He gave us a strange look, as he has done every time we did something out of the ordinary over the last couple days.

“Twentyyy… nine, thirty nine.” He answered slowly.

“Thirty-nine?” I repeated.

“Y-yes.” He said exasperated.

“Ok,” I said as I did the math in my head, before looking back up at Bilbo. “Thank you.”

He nodded slowly, a little unsure about what just went on in the last few minutes, and began turning back towards the door.

“That’s no problem. I’m gonna… make myself a cup of…” He pointed awkwardly at the doorway, “Chamomile. Yep. Chamo – Goodnight.”

He disappeared promptly, and I twisted back towards Kay.

“So it seems that we’re a little early.” I whispered.

“For the…” She made a walking motion with her fingers.

“Journey, yes.” I nodded. “A whole 20 months before Gandalf shows up, if I’m correct.”

Kay grunted in frustration, most likely at the thought of waiting for an entire year and eight months for Gandalf to commence O.D.R – Operation Dwarf Rave, in other words. Or Bag End’s demise, if you will.

Stifling a yawn, I lifted Kay’s arm up to squint at the time on her Hello Kitty watch she had retrieved from her suitcase earlier, to see it was almost midnight. I got to my feet and shuffled over to the door.

“Right, I’m gonna head to bed and attempt to rid my brain of the image of you dying. And you’re gonna sleep until you’re fully energised after all –” I gestured at her, “–that.”

She nodded in agreement, and flopped onto her bed, wrapping her arms around her teddy.

“And no talking about our world.” I said in a mocking strict voice.

Kay rolled her eyes at me, and I ducked through the doorway as a pillow flew in my direction. I yelled goodnight as I made my way back through the house to my room, extinguishing the low burning candles on my way, allowing the darkness to follow me until I reached the glow of Bilbo’s room, who was already watching the doorway as my footsteps neared.

“Is she alright now?” he asked, a slight undertone of worry in his voice.

I nodded. “Yea she’s gone to bed. Still a little shaky, but she’s managed to calm down.”

“Ok.” He said, reassuring himself with a nod, before looking back up at me. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

I smiled as we both bid each other goodnight, and I carried on down the hallway. Ducking under the last archway, I finally made it to my room and closed the door behind me. Taking the last lit candle, I placed it on my bedside as I changed out of my clothes into one of Bilbo’s nightgowns, which acted as more of a shirt for me. Shuffling under the covers, I turned around towards the headboard. Manoeuvring the pillows around, I took some and scrunched them in an out in an attempt to fluff them up. Placing the final one down with a pat, I kept my body facing the head of the bed as a leant over to the candle. Opening my mouth slightly, I prepared to blow out the flame, only to halt in my tracks.

I felt myself freeze in place at the sound of a rustle within the room. Moving only my eyes to the left, I stared in the direction of the noise, which sounded like something heavy being knocked around. It was soon silent again, only the sound of the wind and the faint hoot of a distant owl from outside, along with the roaring of blood from my rapidly beating heart, could be heard.

Slowly but surely, I turned my head, until I was finally able to see the entirety of the dimly lit room. Staring with wide eyes, my sight fell upon the wardrobe in the corner.

Whilst being half the size of my one at home, it was still large enough to hide someone, which was exactly what I was panicking about. As silently as I could, I slipped off the bed, candlestick in hand, along with the small stool from another corner, and I crept towards the tall piece of furniture.

Now, I understand that in horror films, this is exactly how someone gets killed, but I needed my sleep, and I wasn’t going to let some hobbit burglar that wasn’t Bilbo take that away from me.

Pointing the stool legs towards the doors, I placed the candle on the chest of drawers next to the wardrobe, and slowly stretched out my hand.

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

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Piofiore Fated Memories Orlok Review

Includes Spoilers

This route pure sickened me honestly. First of all Orlok is this overly righteous person who is supposedly protecting Liliana by protecting her until he is told what to do with her next. He acts like he doesn't even have the right to touch her because she is so holy yet takes her back to live in Yang's house around all the Le Shu and their grubby hands. Half the first part of the story I swear felt like Yang's story again since I saw more Yang than I really should have being Orlok's route. The fight that went on for the Falzone family wanting to take Liliana and protect her from the Lao-Shu ended in Orlok killing Nicola in cold blood. Worst part is I feel like Liliana found a way to justify it was ok when Dante first confronted Orlok is because he remembered he was the one to kill his father.

Like plot twist a little kid assassin kills mafia boss Dante's father. Then on top of it all when he confronts Orlok about it he acts like he has to kill Dante to keep Liliana safe when Dante was never going to hurt her he even said that. Watching Nicola give his life to jump in front of Dante was moving, but also so sad. Like I knew he loved Dante more than anything and this proved it. Then watching the light go out in Dante's eyes broke me. This was the only family he had left, it was him and Nicola against the world. The moment when Nicola took his last breath you could see the revenge take over in Dante and honestly I don't blame him. The day of the funeral hearing Dante hurt and Leo cry broke me for the 2nd time I was in tears feeling the pain of the Falzone's.

Then you see Orlok who now finally decides to take Liliana away from the Lao-Shu mafia and takes her to a shitty empty hide away house. He don't even have a bed or pillows and expects her to make life there with him. He talks about like he has had a sad life and hurt because of everything he had been through but honestly I feel like most of the bad things that came his way because he believed in bloodshed over anything else. Then when he finds out he has to kill Liliana he almost does it until he admits he likes her not loves her but likes her yet she tells him she loves him. Then he wants her to run away with him to be safe and never see any of her family or friends from the church again he doesn't even give her the option to either because the bishop will be pissed for him not killing her for the prophecy.

To tell you how much I dislike Orlok he hides behind faith bullshit and then yet comes across a kid that knows their hideout and Liliana has to remind him not to kill him. Like seriously a freakin kid.. Orlok is too fuckin dangerous yet acts like its normal. Least you piss Yang off he kills you but Orlok his go to is always kill first. That same kid Luca who came to see them often giving them intel on the town and the mafias he got sick and I swear the way he pleaded not to die when his fever was so high crushed my heart. Seriously Orloks good route is sad as fuck. After Luca died the cries of Orlok even got to me cause he didn't understand why god didn't save the boy. For the first time in the whole route I finally felt bad for Orlok and felt his pain and that was at the end of chapter 6. I even included the video and you will see why your heart will break for him but I promise anyone who loves the Falzone's it will break you hearing Leo and Dante.

The small little cute blushing scene between Liliana and Orlok was sweet however neither admitted anything more than they were blushing and not sure why. I felt like I was watching kids for the first time feel like they might have a crush on another. The love story between them was definitely not that of a 18 and 21 year old felt more closer to a 12 year old and 15 feel than anything. So Gilbert kinda annoyed me cause he wanted to kill Orlok but not even for a good reason but because the mess that was going on fucked up a transaction he was doing its like OMG Gil grow the fuck up that was so childish for him which annoyed me. The ending broke me watching Dante die yet again. Like his last breath broke me to tears. I felt all his pain from the losing his father and Nicola I just wanted him to be happy.

I guess thats my issue Dante has my heart when it comes to this game so anyone who hurts him hurts me. For Orlok lovers they will probably love how it ends. Even though after I got over losing Dante I will admit for a story that was drawn out longer and all over the place with a slow burn it ended sweet. That being said they talk about being together forever yet he still has to ask her for kisses which you never see in one CGI in the good route and he never says I love you once yet she does several times. I just find the route out of like 5 star rating probably 2 1/2 stars possibly 3 but that pushing it. Worst part is that I played every route including the bad endings and I have somethings to talk about there.

First why is the tragic end the only end you ever see Orlok tell Liliana that he loves her as well as the only one you get a CGI picture of them kissing for the first and only time in the whole game. Next the ending where you see Dante go so cold where he cuts his tendons so Orlok can't escape and walk and where he insinuates Liliana is his and will be to get back at Orlok for taking the people he loves. I think its pressing on that he rapes her but the screen goes black and it ends the scene so never goes into detail. I mean its not like he forces her its just kinda like he is telling her that she has to be his or he will kill Orlok kinda thing. Its dark even for Dante but I can't blame him he lost all the people in his life that meant something to him by this one man and so he wants to take the person he cares the most for as well which is why Liliana gets brought into all that. However not like she makes it any better because she saw Orlok ruin Dante and still sided with Orlok.

I literally saw the light in Dante's eyes go out and so much hatred for Orlok take over once Nicola died. I can't even say I don't understand it because people are more likely to do things they wouldn't if they lose everyone that matters. Like they say a person who has nothing to lose is the most dangerous unpredictable person. I was in tears as I watched Dante hurt and that was real this whole story was so fucked from the start I just never want to deal with this story again. I went through it once seen all the endings and how you can die and I'm just hoping Orlok in 1926 is better than this one.

[koravelliumavast]

yeah! drop the stormlight 5 theory

just a fair warning. its messy and not at ALL cohesive but some of it makes sense (because i stole info from the coppermind)

Ok so there’s an in universe 15 year break between stormlight 5&6 right? Well I think dalinars gonna LOSE the contest of champions and go to like braize or something (idk if that’s what will happen but I don’t feel like coppermind searching right now) anyway like 15ish years later he finds a way out like Taln did maybe with the help of one of the dead heralds (because Chana is shallans mom theory is such a good theory. Why haven’t we seen her when we’ve seen all the other heralds) but we have to emphasize that neither broke. and the prologue for the next 5 books are dalinars return in different characters perspectives because it’s a big moment.

If he got imprisoned on braize it would be bad. The Stormfather would possibly become a deadeyes? If he became deadeyes would it stop highstorms so than the everstorm is the storm? I don’t know. Im kinda spitballing all of this.

Anyways they need to release Ba-Ado-Mishram according to Kalak (the herald who wrote it in his journal that its something that needs to happen for not only Ba-Ado-Mishram but also Roshar as a whole) who was one of the unmade and was involved with the false desolation somehow and turned singers into fused but then she got imprisoned and her imprisonment like got rid of the singers connection and identity and they were the parshmen and it’s also the reason that there is deadeyed spren (thank you coppermind because this is something I didn’t know really).

Also the ghostbloods are looking for her gemstone to set her free maybe as a way to get the investure off roshar as that is kind of their main motive (or at least of their rosharian actions)

So basically maybe Ba-Ado-Mishram is somewhere on Braize and Dalinar finds a way to set her free and with that he comes back to Roshar. (i just looked at the coppermind and it said something about that if dalinar won odium would return alekthar and herdaz to them and if odium won dalinar would serve his interests in the cosmere as a fused whatever tf that means i dont know.)

things that if they happened in stormlight 5 id cry: dalinar is his champion, adolin goes no i cant let you do that and he takes over, its a fight to the death after all but adolin is the best non-magically enhanced swordsman in roshar. During the events of the fight adolin loses and dies. OR OR OR he seems to be losing and then he goes like maya i could really use some help here and then he gets the part of the radiant bond thats like fighting enhancement and also quick shardblade summoning but not the edgedancer slipperyness or healing of others. He wins the fight (yay!) but something happens, dalinar gets sent to braize or something im not sure.

All i know is this book is not going to solidly take place in the 10 days that the contest of champions allots for its statisitically impossible as there is so much stuff that has to happen that we're certain about will happen. Plus shallan and adolin are still in shadesmar.

Additional things: we don’t know who the interlude chapters person is. What if it’s Moash and his journey to become a dustbringer because dustbringer Moash is such a freaking beautiful thing and it would also make the Reddit fans so mad lmao

Another additional thing: where does kelsier fit into this? He was in the prologue blah blah blah. He finds a way to get off scadriels cognitive realm (something something in tlm) and he’s now in Shadesmar and idk maybe he’s fighting against odium in some way. Harmony may be aware of his actions. He may not idk but Marsh is and Marsh also relays stuff to Harmony so yeah. Kelsier knows that Odium is bad and he wants to punch a god. So he punches odium at some point. That’s kind of it there I don’t have anything to go with that. It just feels right.

Now with the road trip: Szeth realizes how fucked up shinovar is, its destroyed from the everstorm, theres chaos everywhere blah blah blah, he finds the honorblades, he does what he wanted to do. i dont know WHAT exactly he did want to do but it was something. him and kaladin trauma bond. its not a great time. Szeth cries. His sister is dead i dont care what anyone says his sister gave off im gonna die by szeths hands with the honorblade and thats one of the reasons he gets kicked out of shinovar. she gives me dead vibes in that chapter. We also learn why hes truthless, maybe he had a honorspren who was kind of following him idk. The death rattle of "a man stood on a cliffside and watched his homeland fall into dust. the waters surged beneath, so far beneath. and he heard a child crying. they were his own tears." is true somehow.

Brandon said more lgbt characters are canonized in this book: aroace kal canonization or bi adolin BOOK canonization perhaps maybe? i know renarin will which means he will also have more povs. and more povs=more visions=more people out of odiums sight?

[sunalearnschinese]

Part 3 Reading erha 二哈和他的白猫师尊 + Learning Chinese

🎵🍇Good morning!🍇🎶

I would like to thank everyone who liked my previous post and who gave tips on how to improve! It's really motivating =w=

Also thanks to my friend who taught me how to use Tumblr, it's my first time here lol

For anyone new, or those who are unfamiliar with the book I am going through, I have to warn you some scenes are very dark and have NSFW themes. I didn't just choose a bit of angst or a bit of kissing, no this book goes straight to 100 and beyond 🚀 if you don't like that please keep scrolling. The MC is a tyrannical ass wipe who has 311 chapters of redemption ok. This was one of the few books to make me cry where the story and characters are so beautifully written that I am happy to translate everything. We must get through the tough times to enjoy the real romance 🥰

(art 大米小粥炒白菜 @porridge2_ on Twitter)

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The following sentences don't have anything graphic but do include a few innuendos, so watch out!

TAGS: Xianxia, Rebirth, Action, Conspiracy, Angst, 1?v1 HE, NSFW 

WARNINGS: Dubcon, Underage Sex

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

(part 1) 当然，总也有过一些与狗相关的形容，不算太差。比如他那些露水情缘，总是带着几分佯怒，(part 2) 嗔他在榻上腰力如公狗，嘴上甜言勾了人的魂魄，身下凶器夺了卿卿性命，(part 3) 但转眼又去与旁人炫耀，搞得瓦肆间人人皆知他墨微雨人俊器猛，试过的饕足意满，没试过的心弛神摇。

…that the strength of his back was like that of a male dog; honey dripped from his lips luring away the soul, but the weapon down below was robbing the sweetness of her life.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

VOCABULARY + grammar:

1. 嗔 - to be/get angry - chēn 

It sounds similar to the English word "churn". 嗔 is commonly used to express mild or moderate anger. It's not an extremely strong or aggressive term for anger. You might use it in casual conversations to express frustration or annoyance.

2. 榻 - a place where someone rests or sleeps (bed/couch)- tà 

3. 腰 - waist - yāo 

It refers to the lower part of the back and the area around the waist.

4. 力 - strength/power - lì

Often used in compound words related to strength, power or ability.

5. 如 - like/ as - rú 

如 is commonly used to create similes or comparisons. It helps draw parallels between two things or concepts.

如 + 同/像 tóng/xiàng + Subject of Comparison + (Adjective/Verb/Description)

e.g. 如同 + 清晨的鸟鸣… "Like the morning birdsong…"

Note that 如 can also be used without 同/像 to indicate a comparison, but including them helps make the comparison more explicit. 

比如 - for example - bǐ rú (same as 例如 lìrú)

如同 - as - rú tóng

6. 公 - public/ common/ male animal (this case) - gōng

7. 嘴 - mouth (opening) - zuǐ

Why use 嘴 instead of 口?

嘴 emphasise + focus on mouth as a physical feature, more specific shape, movement e.g. 嘴唇 (zuǐ chún): Lips, 嘴角 (zuǐ jiǎo): Corners of the mouth

嘴 commonly used when discussing emotions, expressions e.g. 嘴上甜言 (sweet words spoken by mouth), 嘴硬 (stubborn in speech)

口 is more general, commonly used for speaking, eating, drinking, or breathing + used when counting people (e.g., 三口人, "three people").

8. 甜 - sweet (flavour/ emotions) - tián

9. 言 - words/speech - yán

10. 勾 - hook/ captivate - gōu

11. 魂魄 - soul + spirit - hún pò

灵魂 (líng hún): This is a more commonly used term for "soul" in everyday language.

12. 凶 - fierce/ cruel - xiōng

13 器 - tool/ weapon - qì 🌭

14. 夺 - to snatch/ to seize - duó

15.卿卿 - poetic way to address - qīng qīng

Used to refer to a beloved or a person of affection. It's a way of expressing deep emotional attachment and love. 

16. 性命 - life/ existence - xìng mìng

Used in more serious or dramatic contexts where the concept of life and its fundamental nature is being emphasized. In this sentence, the life is the center of attention.

OVERALL NOTES:

I was told it would be good to invest in a special book with squares so I can write my characters more correctly, so I will try to get that soon (delivery might take a while though so you will have to bear with me for now).

I got so happy because yesterday I was scrolling through Instagram and someone reposted some screenshots of Heaven's Official Blessing manhua and I understood some new words from just reading 2 sentences from this book!? exciting stuff :D

[waltwhitmansbeard]

heyooo I just started writing fan fic and I really have no idea what I'm doing haha, can you explain how you draft and edit and write you long fics? i don't know what to do besides just starting at the beginning and writing to the end. (also sending this to multiple writiers so I can get lots of opinions)

hey! first of all, i wanna say i'm flattered that you ask, although i can claim no sense of credibility in the realm of writing anything, fanfic or otherwise. i'm just some guy, like everyone else on here, and i'm just doing my best with what i've got.

i don't believe that every writer will approach a longfic the same way, and i don't think a writer will approach each of their longfics in the same way, either. i know that the fic i'm hoping to write when gocmh is done is going to have a different process than mfl/gocmh did, because the stories are different and the needs are different. i can tell you how i approached mfl, and maybe you'll find that helpful, but if you don't, that's okay. your fic isn't gonna be mfl, it's gonna be yours, and ultimately you're the only one who is going to be able to figure out how to write it.

i'm gonna skip past all the general writing advice, which is read a lot and spend almost your entire childhood and adolescence meticulously picking apart all the stories you love to figure out how they work like they're clocks make of gears and springs. when it came to mfl, i wrote the first 5-8 chapters on pure vibes. every chapter's contents were just as big a mystery to me at the outset of writing them as they were to the readers when they sat down to read them. i was only ever thinking about the next step, the next sentence, the next tiny jump in the story. i was not thinking about where we'd end up, bc as far as i was concerned, that wasn't my business. my business was what happens next.

and in the process of writing that way, i was basically just improvising. it's a cliché, i know, but the first rule of improv is to yes, and, and i yes anded myself over and over and over. if i typed that the world of mfl was like x, then it was like x, and i had to just fucking deal with that. so much of early mfl (and truly all of that world) is just me making up rules and facts that later me would have to treat as sacred. is this the most efficient way to write? idk, and idc, either. this was the most fun, exciting way for me to write the story, and i don't regret it.

after a while though, my brain naturally started to stretch its legs (ew, terrible metaphor, abort, abort), and i started thinking ahead. not like terribly far ahead, but enough where i could say, "ok, if i'm at point a, and i know what point e i want to reach someday, i just gotta figure out points b through d." and sometimes that involved outlining the chapters that could get me from a to e, and sometimes i'd make it up as i went. it depended on the day and the points and what was going on in my life at the time. as i write this, i have the final ten-ish chapters of gocmh planned out, what's going to happen, who's pov it's gonna be in, etc. i actually planned out the last 15-ish chapters this way, and have written some, but even in the process of writing those chapters, shit has changed! something i thought was a good idea in the planning process didn't work out the way i'd hoped in execution, and i had to pivot. that's writing, baby.

now i know this isn't going to work for the the fic i have planned for after gocmh. i'm going to want that fic properly planned out, each chapter outlined and themes woven in carefully ahead of time, bc that's that story. i fully expect for shit to go haywire in the actual writing, of course, because in all my years of fic writing (and friends, there is so much more fic writing than y'all know about with this username), shit has never not gone haywire in the actual writing. but idk, that's the fun part. subverting your own expectations. cutting yourself off at the knees. kicking your own ass. it's fun!

i'll also talk a bit about how i wrote people and rhythm, the originals fic you can still find on my ao3 account. that fic took about six months to write, and to date i don't think i've ever had so much fun writing anything. imagine, if you will, two whiteboards, each divided vertically in half, covered in sticky notes. on each of those sticky notes is written a brief scene description, an event that Has to Happen. each of the four whiteboard halves represents an episode (that fic was organized by episodes, not chapters, bc i fancied myself an Auteur), and i would place and replace and replace those sticky notes until i had all the scenes i needed to make an episode in the order they needed to happen in. and then i would write! and bc i'd already done the organizational work to figure out the story beats, i could write the individual scenes in the order that struck my fancy, bc if i skipped a piece of the story that was important, it didn't matter. i knew where that sticky note went, and i could fill in the blank later. if this type of planning/writing appeals to you, i recommend the website/app trello, which is basically the digital version of whiteboards and sticky notes.

i wanna talk about something you said in your ask. "i don't know what to do besides just starting at the beginning and writing to the end." so, uhhhh, who says? who says you gotta start at the beginning and write to the end? start in the middle. start at the shit that makes you excited. write the scene that makes your mouth water and your hands turn into claws. write the good shit first, and then when you've got it, ask yourself, "ok, how do i earn this? i want my readers to get to here, bc it's good and juicy and so much fun, but i gotta work to get them here." start where you wanna start and work backwards from there if you must. asking "why" is so useful for this. oh, you're at point f? why did point f happen? that's point e. why did point e happen? that's point d. (then, you know, use the rest of the alphabet.) so much of life is just us reacting to shit, dealing with the onslaught of Life as best we know how, even if it fucks shit up for us in the future, so if you wanna write the reaction first, go for it! just remember that reactions stem from actions, so you gotta give us those, too.

(also, a story need not be told in order! flashbacks and the manipulation of time can be extremely fun and exciting! this is something that takes a lot of skill, though, not to say that you don't have that skill, but just be careful when doing this. you can still use the concepts of time jumps in your writing process, even if you don't present your story in a jumbled order.)

i don't know if i've said anything of value here. i can only talk about writing as i experience it, which is not, of course, how any other writer experiences it. i can't give you tips or actionable advice bc i, too, am making this shit up as i go. i write bc i like telling lil stories for my lil internet friends, and bc sometimes ppl say nice words, and i collect those nice words like a dragon hoarding its shinies in its lair. but don't write for the nice words, bc if they don't come as fast as you like or as much as you like, you'll get discouraged, and ultimately it's more important that the story be told than that it be praised.

(not to belabor the point, but there's a john green quote i love so much i have a poster of it hanging in my bedroom now, as an almost 30yo, that i've had since my college dorm room, and the quote is:

“Don’t make stuff because you want to make money — it will never make you enough money. And don’t make stuff because you want to get famous — because you will never feel famous enough. Make gifts for people — and work hard on making those gifts in the hope that those people will notice and like the gifts. Maybe they will notice how hard you worked, and maybe they won’t — and if they don’t notice, I know it’s frustrating. But, ultimately, that doesn't change anything — because your responsibility is not to the people you’re making the gift for, but to the gift itself.”

just something to keep in mind when writing. write for you, and write for the ppl you love, and write for the thing itself. the thing you create is a gift, and the gift deserves to exist for its own sake.)

so that was long! i hope it helps, and if it doesn't, sorry! i did try my best. i hope you find a method of writing that feels fun and natural and exciting to you, one that keeps you coming back for more. writing is the thing that keeps me going on days when i don't really want to keep going, and if it can become that thing for you (or hey, maybe it already is!) then i think is a gift, too.

[violets-in-her-arms-writes]

WIP Wednesday Tag

Thank you @rubywrite for the tag ! ♥ (even though it took me 3 days to answer XD) It forced me to write on my main WIP, so thank you so much !

RULES:

In a reblog (or new post/w rules attached) post up to five filenames of your WIPs, not titles, file names

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be something you wrote in the last 7 days (we're posting progress here. If you haven't made any, go make some and come back to post!)

After you've posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from, write 3 sentences on it anyway and then 3 more on another to share!

That's it! You can invite others to join in or just post. If you tag me in your post, I will send you an ask request.

I usually name my WIP documents with the (temporary) title, so I'm afraid it won't be very interesting but anyway, here are 5 of my recent-ish WIPs:

🦇 La Fledgling (version complète) → doc where I compile all the things I've written for this WIP, because otherwise they are separated in "chapter 1" to "chapter 11" documents, but I like to have a complete doc to know how many words I have

🧜‍♀️ Mermaid AU → not very original since this is, you guessed it, an AU where the two main characters of the Fledgling are mermaids (well, one is currently drowning but I only have 600 words, I'll get to the mermaid part one day). It's a baby WIP, something I write for fun when I don't feel like writing for the main WIP. I might try my hand at a soulmate AU next, but I need to decide what kind and that's gonna need a lot of thinking (15 minutes to three business weeks, basically).

🌠The Wishing Star → it was my Camp NaNo project, about a woman who wants to become a pilot in a war-torn galaxy but first has to serve in a postal ship. Unfortunately, the ship is attacked but the resistance, she discovers she's adopted and has to fight to liberate her birth planet. Poor girl. It's currently on hold, because I was tired of it by the end of April XD

🐍The Witch's Time (tome 3) → the love of my life and bane of my existence. I'm stuck in the middle of this book, I need to cut half of it and put it in the 4th book and figure out... so many things. I printed the first two and they are soooo pretty. Unfortunately, this third book is kicking my ass. I'll be back Llewella, I swear, but I need time. It's not you, it me (I say, like a liar). It's technically an AU of another project of mine, but it grew a mind of its own and now I'm attached.

👽 Le truc avec les aliens (tome 2) → technically, its name is "Empire Déchu, tome 2 - La malédiction de Suli" but that's way too long so I just call it 'the thing with the aliens' because, really, that's what this is. A novel. With aliens. And a poor girl kidnapped and hailed as the saviour of a dying sect who want to resurrect a dead guy.

Now that I'm face to face with a few of my WIPs, I realized a lot of them have English titles, for some reason. I mean... I know why "La Fledgling" is called that (hint: it's because i couldn't find a good equivalent in French. Come on, jeune ? Débutante ? That's... not good. I'm not writing about a noble woman making her debut in society, be serious). But the others are just... choices. It sounded good and now it's stuck. Ok, maybe not 'the wishing star' because I don't like this title, but for WsT it's too late. I'm three books in, I can't go back.

Excerpt behind the cut, because this post is getting a little too long.

Excerpt:

"What do you want?" I asked her without giving her a chance to say anything.

As much as I hoped she would call me with something positive to say, I had known Anaëlle Charles since kindergarten. If she called me, it was always a bad sign.

"Jo, dear, I could use your help."

"Yes, I know. That's why I asked you what you wanted, moron."

I got up from my warm and cozy bed, still talking, put my phone on speaker the floor, and began to fumble for my clothes in the dark. Where the fuck was my left sock ? I was pretty sure my shirt was inside-out, but I doubted anyone would notice where I was going. Wherever that was.

Please dont let in be the swamps again, I prayed while putting my boots on.

"I'm... in trouble."

I was about to tell her that, yeah, obviously she was in trouble, she wouldn’t be calling at four in the morning if she wasn't, but something in her voice stopped me. It didn’t sound like the «I’m lost in the swamps again» kind of troubles, not even the «I think my magic is trying to eat me (again)» kind of trouble, both of which I could solve with my eyes close (mostly). It sounded… Like the bad kind of trouble. The one I wasn’t awake enough for.

Before I could ask her what the fuck was going on and why she sounded so… off, she went on, her voice almost as low as a sigh. Her breath sizzled in the receiver and I could hear her fingernails clicking against something metallic.

Ana was good at pretending, but she always ended up betraying herself.

"I'm at 23 Boulevard de l'Aube. Come get me. Hurry."

She pulled the phone away from her, shouted something I didn't understand, and hung up.

Tagging : @ladyniniane, @flowerprose and @amewinterswriting if you want to play (even tho it's not wednesday...)

[dreamofbecoming]

ooh, this is a fun one! took me a bit, but i had a good time with this! tagged by the ever lovely @wren-of-the-woods

Rules: post the top 5 works you’re most proud of that you released in 2022 (not necessarily your most popular), your top 4 current WIPs that you’re excited to release in the new year, your top 3 biggest improvements in your writing over the past year, your top 2 resolutions (ways you wish to improve your writing/blog) for the new year, and your number 1 favorite line you’ve written this year!

Top 5 works:

pronounce my name aright definitely the shortest of all my posted works, but just as definitely the writing i’m most proud of. linking the tumblr version and not the ao3 because i think the original idea is one of the best things i’ve ever written, i still can’t find a single thing i dislike about it

pale shadows of forgotten names the piece that started it all! this one rotated angrily in my brain for weeks, buzzing like a hive full of hornets, until i caved and typed the whole thing out in the notes app of my phone in the middle of the night. it fell out of me nearly in one go, and the edits i’ve made to it since then are all pretty minor. it just sort of...sprung into being. considering i hadn’t written anything for this fandom, nor anything at all but a very short supernatural vent piece in over 15 years, it felt a little like being clubbed upside the head. but i was (and remain) deeply proud of it, and entirely flabbergasted by the reception. i probably wouldn’t be active in this fandom if i hadn’t written this one

sleep now, she pleads my first ever chaptered work, and one i am determined to finish if it’s the last thing i do, augh T_T it started off as a songfic, which i hadn’t done before, and it’s evolved well past its borders, and there’s a lot of character work and world-building involved that i’m pretty proud of. my brain is made of soup most days so it will continue to take time for me to finish it, but i have so much planned that i’m excited to share for this one!

this isn’t a breakup, dearheart, it’s a season finale this was the first non-canon au i ever wrote, and i had so much fucking fun with it. it’s so silly and i love it so much

our shadows that are bold sing this is not the best writing i’ve ever produced, but it was the first thing i wrote that had me giggling in delight the entire time. this is the dumbest, silliest, most absurd fun i’ve had writing anything in ages. this fic is my beloved idiot child and i would die for it

(listen i only have 6 posted witcher works, it seems cruel to leave bitten lips and broken hands off the list when i love it so much. i wrote this one all in one go overnight instead of sleeping, and i had to type the end on a screen blurry with tears because i made myself cry at 6am over these idiots, and i’m damn proud of it, ok???)

Top 4 current wips:

sleep now, for sure. i’m gonna finish this damn thing if it kills me

my potions 5+1, which involves competent!jaskier and everyone knowing they’re in love before they do

my banshee/siren hybrid au! this is the closest i’ve ever gotten to writing actual plot, and i have no idea if i’m going to be able to follow through, but i’m damn excited to try!

i’ve got a whole warren’s worth of plot bunnies, but a couple of dreamling fics i’m especially looking forward to, including one that involves dream’s biggest ptsd trigger being silence and hob getting to babble him to sleep

Top 3 biggest improvements:

learning to outline, rather than just flinging myself headlong off a cliff and hoping i land on some words that go mostly in order

brevity! i’m a wordy son of a bitch, part of the reason i’m so proud of pronounce my name aright is because i managed to cut it off without beating it to death. i have to keep relearning this one though lol

writing action- the banshee story is the first time i’ve really tried, but i know i wouldn’t have been able to write something like that a year ago, and i hope to keep improving

Top 2 resolutions:

fucking finish my wips dammit

i want to post at least 5 finished works this year. it might not sound like a lot but hopefully i’m going back to school, so i’ll be happy if i can manage 5.

Top 1 favourite line:

Geralt sighs again, but stops pulling away. “But there’s still so much shit in the world. There are so many humans who hate me, or fear me, or try to cheat me, or who end up being monsters worse than the ones they want me to kill, and the problem with having it smacked over my head that I  do  actually have feelings, is that it makes it so much harder to ignore them. And there’s so much anger in me, Jaskier, and grief, and loneliness. And I can’t ever show it to anyone, or it will confirm everything they think they know about me. It will make me a monster. It will make me the Butcher all over again.” He looks up again, his expression anguished. “You’re the only one who’s safe. You’re the only one I can be angry around, or sad, or scared, or just annoyed, without thinking the worst of me. You’re the only one who ever comes back.”

listen i know it’s more than a line, ok? but honestly this whole section is the thing i’m proudest of out of all my writing. it was one of those moments where you come up with a headcanon kind of on the fly and don’t realize until after you’ve worked the whole thing out that like, fuck. that seems like it could be like. objectively correct? anyway i am very rarely convinced of my own brilliance but this was one of those times.

allllllright tagging the usual suspects, i think, @dancingwiththefae @islenthatur @spilledbutter @podcastenthusiast @fangirleaconmigo and anyone who feels like jumping in!

[ackerfics]

hello! It’s beeen a long time since I tuned here but here I am ❤️

ok where do I even start with the last few chapters because they were absolutely beautiful. Driftmark was by far my favorite episode in the series and seeing it come to life was so fun. Daemon’s constant inner thoughts being so obsessed and crazed wirh seeing Aesira again (normally I wouldn’t freak out but this is hotd…) and Alicent’s little conversation with Aesira before she sees her father again ❤️ I love Alicent with all my heart and seeing her as this mother figuire to Aesira is so touching to me, that’s the daughter she always wanted.

Poor Damy! He did not deserve anything, he just wanted to defend his cousin/best friend and got hurt in the proccess, praying he wakes up. Also! Go my Queen ✨✨ Aesira standing up and taking the blame because she thinks that she has to do everything and puts everyone above her, she is literally the walking definition of eldest daughter syndrome. The whole chapter was so refreshing. And of course, Aegon and Aesira’s little walk was so sweet (well until we came across Daemon and Rhaenyra…) I feel like you capture Daemon really well. He is a character who is so slimy but also so interesting to watch and read about. DAEMON AND SIRA TALKING FOR THE FIRST TIME!? AESIRA TALKING SO BOLDLY YO RHAENYRA! MY LITERAL WIFE IS NOW AESIRA! (Villian arc whennn! Also I’m so excited for her to see Daemon again, when do you think that will happen? My guess is Ep8 in the Dinner scene. Which was again one of my fav episodes because everyone is toghter and I’m so excited to see the twins during that since along with Damy) my favorite chapter as of now.

I am aware of how distant Viserys and Aegon are and I loathe Viserys but seeing Viserys tell him everythung and be with him does warm my heart. With Aegon knowing the prophecy, the story is slowly changing and favoring the greens more because Aegon seems more prepare and with how much he is studying, he is slowly moving along with Kingly duties and will definitely be a better king. I am literally so excited to enter the Dance part. With s2 almost ending, I am quite disappointed with how it ended but I am really eager to see your twist on it and see Aesira become a major player and be more cunning and politically motivated.

ALSO A NEW ADRIAN STORY!? my inner child was so happy when I read the chapter. Celina already stole my heart and I already relate fo her as a person to such a deep level. i hope you don’t mind if I ask two questions 😭 I was thking how old Aesira, Aether and Aegon are currently and since they were 13 when the TargArryns came back and two years have passed, they are 15? I’m kinda confused because Aesira has recently jusr bled and girl’s usually bleed When they are like 12-13? Unless she is a late bloomer ofc. And my second question (feel free to ignore this one) but when I usually read or watch something and I like it, I usually search up the character’s personality to grasp a better sense of them. I would love to read a proper description of the TargArryn’s personalities.

⭐️ Anon

STAR ANON !!! YOU HAVE MY HEART

i devoured this ask >:)) i love reading your thoughts so much. driftmark has always been my favorite in the entire series (to this day! s2 really had its moments but they don't compare to the intensity and tension laid out by the driftmark one). thank you so much !! daemon is by far both the easiest and hardest character to write bc trying to capture him in words means that i would think like him. aaaaaah, i'm so happy you love aesira <33

yes!! aesira will meet daemon again when lucerys's position as heir is questioned by vaemond velaryon. the dinner scene will be another chapter i'm so excited to fully write, the outline is still all over the place.

ngl, s2 truly disappointed me and it pushes me to put aesira in this civil war more than ever. aegon hearing the prophecy from his father is the catalyst for him to be better, not just for his position in the realm but also for his family. the only downside in viserys telling the dream to aegon is him being not clear enough why the prophecy is so important--he only says that to make sure their legacy remains.

chat noir may have been one of my crushes when i was in middle school dhjfeh i have that idea for so long already, ever since s3-5 have been released bc what the hell did they do to my boy?!?! he deserves some healthy relationship fr and i want to give that to him at the start of the story. celine is also my baby; she will be inspired by so many experiences i've had while going through middle and high school. stay tuned for more chapters on that fic !!!

the older kids in family line are all 15 going 16. aesira is a late bloomer. and i admit i gave her that luxury bc it was stated in the previous chapters that she will be engaged to aegon the moment she bleeds.

oooooh the targ-arryns' personalities. hmm, let's see:

aesira targaryen -- she is a pragmatic person. having lost her mother, abandoned by her father, and made into a mother to a newborn baby--all at the age of 5, she adapted this mentality that she needs to grow up quickly despite having an older twin brother to shoulder an equal weight of responsibility. she is the type of person who really puts others over herself but recognizes a situation where she needs to puts herself first rather than others. she also knows when to protect herself, to hide her emotions from others. ig the nearest personality i can associate her with is the zodiac sign cancer. she has strong intuition and knows how to handle situations by thinking of various outcomes.

aether targaryen -- loves loves loves to rile people up. he is described as a younger version of daemon targaryen by some of the smallfolk who encountered him (something he wouldn't want tbh). buuuut he is selfless when it comes to his immediate family, his twin sister and baby brother. with years of growing up with aesira, he has always known that it will be his sister who holds the titles, being a future princess. so, he never expects to be given a similar heavy position (heir of the vale). despite parading himself as a confident individual, he is insecure, stemming from his trauma with his father. even tho he is twins with aesira, he is more of a leo tbh--passionate, loyal, and incredibly dramatic. he embraces the roles he is given like he is born to do it.

daemian targaryen -- the baby of the family. he is still young so his personality hasn't fully been grasped. for now, he is the sunshine of his brood of siblings. when he's with others, he's usually quiet, especially the time when rhaenyra's children is still training with them in king's landing. he prefers aemond's company when he's with others, seeing as his real best friend is in oldtown. he is also apprehensive more than anyone, one example is his view on aegon stealing his sister away from their side of the family. he treasures his attachment to his siblings more than anything. his role in the dance will be equal to that of daeron's.

[crime-bot]

okay so i definitely recommend you search what ken looks like because he looks like goro (& shido) a lot (i've always thought shido had browner-yellowy eyes and ken has brown eyes, shido's goatee? is spiky and so is ken's hair (& we can assume shido had spiky hair), its just a lot of that. ken looking more like their father and goro looking like their mom is also so real.. theyre identical twins regardless cause the differences seem tiny when theyre next to eachother (theres actually a fic called the sword & the scale and it goes into them being half-siblings its whatnstarted my ideas and its so good. the latest chapter has them talking to the PTs and everyone unable to tell them apart because they keep doing everything the same) ANYWAY. ken lore time.

ok, basically in p3 .. do you remember that dude with the rogue persona i told you about whos NOT a villain? that's shinjiro aragaki. hes really important to ken lore. ok so basically his persona's rogue: 2 years before p3 takes place (takes place 2009-2010,) on october 4th, 2007, shinjiro's persona went rogue and killed ken's mom (& made their whole building collapse.) shinjiro felt bad and quit the SEES and went back to living on the streets (he was previously at an orphanage before the SEES but that was burnt down) and shinjiro keeps taking the persona suppressors (which are killing him. he starts wearing a beanie and heavy jacket bc hes cold all the time bc he cant regulate his temp anymore.) fast forward to 2009, where ken gets a persona called nemesis (greek goddess of revenge) and learns how to use .. i forgot what its called but its kinda like a pole? ykwim. anyway. he plans to kill shinjiro (bc he doesnt know it was an accident) for killing his mom and almost does it on october 4th 2009 when takaya (also rogue persona haver. villain. extremely gay for shinjiro & his fellow villain jin tbh. takaya makes me sad anyways) shows up and goes to kill ken, but shinjiro blocks it and gets shot and dies instead. sound familiar to one persona 5 boy? ken never kills again ( hes literally 11 in 2009 btw. goro turned 16 in 2014 when he killed wakaba. these kids were YOUNG. goro started working with shido when he was 15, since in nov he says its been almost 2 & a half years of working w eachother) and instead basically gets adopted by the kirijo group? idk its never explained but in p3 the kirijo group stages ken's mom death as a car accident (bc it originally happened in the dark hour) and the main makoto-ish girl is mitsuru kirijo (who is an icon and hates the group so we love her) but anyway we never really get an explanation with who ken is staying with, he just stays with the SEES? so im saying the kirijo adopted him.

anyway.. them as kids together would be ... very odd. hectic if they were deaged to after their mom died (& in the au goro sees she killed herself but then a few mins after the house gets fucking destroyed by castor/shinjiro's persona so ken never knows she killed herself. boy who doesnt know any jp/doesnt speak having to help his little brother who knows jp/speaks drag their mom & themselves out of the rubble of the house immediately after seeing his mom hang. doesnt say anything to his brother abt it 💔💔)

Ayy I survive! Thanks for the patience man

The wildest part is that I've Seen Ken before, multiple times, and I never really made these connections. I could definitely see them as twins, and oh man I wanna check out that fic later!

God that's wild, to be fair I've known of bits and pieces about Ken and his backstory, but nothing in great detail, so it's wild to see the bigger picture (and some more about Shinjoro! This poor guy!). A hot temper and steady will really seems to run in the family.

Dude that would be so wild!!!! I'd love to see the shit they'd get up to, as well as witness the kind of emotional processing they should've been allowed to have, with the support of the PTs and Akria's confidants. When it comes to traumatic experiences, it is crucial that there are multiple people of different kinds that the person is able to turn to after the fact to talk to and have support from

[amphibifish]

okk im answering a maloki 30 questions thing cause…. i need to talk abt it n why not?

1. How did you get into the fandom? I forgot how i initially found maloki, but i remember wanting to get into more norse mythology media after researching the myths for a few months. then i found it and it was the first thing my brain latched onto so now... we're here !!!

2. Favourite character? Oh i dont know.... maybe Heimdall..... just maybe...... and anime!Hel, i don't care for her manga counterpart since they're so diff lol

3. Least favourite character? idk none of them really stick out to me as being awful so much i hate them, theyve all got their charm.. baldr, ig ? i dont care abt him..

4. Favourite series? (Out of the original, Ragnarok or Shin Sekai no Kamigami.) ragnarok or shin sekai. ragnarok i think is fun and shin sekai i like just because it gets really heim centric lol the og series gets on my nerves....... its just sooo bad. its just awful.

5. Favourite case? (Since Matantei Loki doesn't give names to the cases, you can describe the case instead of trying to pinpoint it. However, if you can remember which chapter/episode it came from, that would also be good.) I keep forgetting that this is a detective series, and also i try not to reread the original because it really sucks more than usual imo, so idk

6. Least favourite case? see above

7. Most heartwarming moment? episode 24 of the anime,,, hel's plotline is honestly the most well written out of the entire series..

8. What didn't you like about the series? i have an entire post where i just complain to mutual rosquinn, but basically the many plotholes, the misogyny, the weird relationships that keep getting pushed, the amount of weird comments made abt mayura, the character development for heim in the manga which is basically him getting worse and not acknowledging anything at all in the plot for the sake of being evil... the anime is so much better abt this, but freya had so much potential there that was just lost :/

9. Favourite comic relief character? Freyr & Freya

10. Favourite song from the series? idk i don't pay that much attention to the sound traack

11. Would you like the English translation to cover everything in the Matantei Loki manga canon? The people responsible won't know what you said, but you can still voice your opinion. yes?

12. If they made a movie out of the series what would you like the movie to be about? ragnarok's plotline could work nicely in movie format i think.

13. Who would you most like to meet out of the cast? probably Mayura or Koutaro. being in the presence of some sort of god would have me stressed ok. i think frey and freyja might be chill tho

14. What kind of crossover would you like to happen with Matantei Loki? the tv show supernatural because that would be funny and my friends like spn

15. Do you think the manga will ever cover what happened to Heimdall's right eye? (If you saw only the anime, you can't answer this.) This is explained? I guess showing the actual event, it's very vague on how it really went down.

16. What song do you think suits Matantei Loki best? fighter - jack stauber matches a lot of the chars i think. doesnt necessarily fit though.

17. Manga or anime? If anime, fansub or fandub? Sub or dub? anime, i prefer the eng dub just because i think its funnier lol

18. Do you think Sakura Kinoshita could have added something to make the series (as a whole) better? If so, what could she have added? there's so many things to be fixed this list would go on forever.. as one thing though, i really don't think there should be as many romantic subplots as there is, esp if they're all going to be loki centered. it just gets annoying

19. Favourite quote? Freyr's "Nice one, Heimdall! It might be copyright infringement but it's working!" is very funny to me.

20. Favourite moment in the series? (It can't be the same as no. 7 though.) hard to choose, but maybe the part where its revealed heim got revived to help hel in the anime? or the part where heim almost gets murdered in his sleep i just like seeing heim be evil.

21. Least favourite moment in the series? The part where Narugami tells loki to look at mayura's boobs and generally loki being a freak abt this. This chapter is majority the reason i despise the og series. it is so awful. it makes me throw up. also the part where heim and loki each kiss mayura. literally what. what. what. im going to throw ten million hammers (mjolnirs) at you.

22. Do you think Tactics is better or worse than Matantei Loki? If you don't know about Tactics, which series would you say is similar to Matantei Loki? don't know tactics but in supernatural they;re also hunting creatures and killing them.

23. Despite Matantei Loki being shonen, do you think it would benefit if it were a shojo series? i dont know enough manga/anime terms to answer this ^^''   

24. Do you think Kantarou of Tactics (if you don't know who I'm talking about, Google him) was deliberately made to look like Loki? i don't really see it all that much.

25. If you could add one character to the series, what kind of character would it be? Do you have a name decided for the character - if so, what's their name? i think skathi from the myths would work great as another antagonist, esp. as she is the only other aesir that has the kenning of "loki's foe". (Heim is the other one)

26. Did you even want to learn about Norse mythology after seeing/reading the series? the reverse, I only got into maloki because I like norse mythology.

27. How well do you think Matantei Loki teaches people about Norse mythology? Not at all, but better than other popular media based off of norse mythology (cough cough marvel). I think a lot of its base is pretty accurate though, save a few things here and there (such as heimdall being god of tactics and dawn? straight up wrong and incorrect and false and not true.)

28. Do you think the portrayals of Loki in Marvel Comics/the movie Thor/Norse mythology etc. are incorrect now that you've seen/read Matantei Loki? They're both just diff interpretations and portrayals. I'd say they're equally incorrect but maloki gets extra points for keeping Loki's family tree accurate because that is such a pet peeve of mine.

29. What do you first think of when the name Loki or Thor is mentioned? the guys from the mythology.

30. What do you think the ending will be like? Or do you not want it to end at all? Uhh heim gets his shit rocked and his ass kicked again. iirc odin comes back? don't really know much else but i know loki gets the eye staff at some point, he's the protagonist after all. I reckon baldr gets stopped and the valkeryies are freed. Odin gets placed as king again.

[061801]

My life is so excitingly scary right now. I know I'm going through a new chapter in life. I've tried to explain to my friends how I'm feeling and I just don't understand my feelings enough to explain it. It's like, I'm very proud of myself for the changes I've been making. I'm very thankful for the shit I've went through the past 6-7 months because it has taught me to appreciate my life so much more. As I'm progressing I'm realizing I'm not okay with certain things anymore. One thing I do understand and can clearly think about is how much I hate living with my sister. I love her, and I want to keep loving her. Living with her is much different and don't get me wrong I knew it wasn't going to be great. I actually expected worse. But things that bug me are like how I walk into my entrance of the house and there's tons of shit stacked or thrown right in front of the door so I have to like step by step by everything and I can barely get myself through the entrance to the stairs because they just piled everything right in front of the door. Like I don't get why you would fucking do that. Secondly they throw shit like puke rags and I've even seen doggy poop bags thrown by my door like yes I get you don't want those things in your part of the house so sure just throw it in front of ashleys part so its out of our way but she can deal with it. if I did that shed be screaming at me for not thinking of everybody's feelings and being LOGICAL. I am completely understanding of them having to get up early to get the kids ready but tell me why I hear someone pick something up, drop it, pick it up, drop it, pick it up, drop it, pick it up, drop it, pick it up, drop it and they just let it happen. like I actually do not understand what is going on when that happens. Countless pieces of my clothes go missing and the famous line is "idk you were drunk last night" like dawg ive been wasted doing my laundry and never in my life have I ever lost more than like 2 things in a span of a year even. I've lost over 15 pieces of clothing in less than a year. AND IVE FOUND SOME OF IT UPSTAIRS WITH HER STUFF. I ask her why its up there and she goes "oh I thought It was s/s' (my niece, I just don't want to put her name online) so im like ok when u figured out it wasn't yours, you didn't think to give it back to me? The laundry room is a complete fucking shit show. They keep stacking boxes outside my room too when the laundry room IS RIGHT NEXT TO IT. OR like they did today, they stacked some pretty much in the fucking way to get to the washer and dryer, and then they have their bike on the other side so its like a death trap trying to get to and from it. Meanwhile they have a gigantic room to put their fucking shit in instead of literally right next to the washer and dryer. I bought oxy powder and I never used it and tell me why the container was completely empty. I don't know what it is but I never say anything because she is the type of person to lie to her grave before she admits she did something and it never gets anywhere and then makes things worse. If I confront her I know its going to be a very chaotic and eventful day. And on top of that if I do need anything from her it'll be awkward. I choose to keep the peace and know in the back of my head I'll change my situation soon because tbfh idk why I need to tell someone they shouldn't steal my fucking things :')