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cheesybadgers · 1 year

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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

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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.

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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.”

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

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.

#Narcos fic #Narcos #Javier Peña #Horacio Carrillo #Carrillo #Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo #Pedro Pascal #Maurice Compte #Narcos fanfic #Narcos fanfiction #Narcos fan fic #My Fan Fic #My Narcos Fic

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dramione-literary-analysis · 2 years

Text

Draco Malfoy and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being in Love

Genre: Rom-com, Action Comedy

Author: @isthisselfcare

Word Count: 199K

OVERVIEW: Draco Malfoy and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being in Love, (hereafter, referred to as BATMOBIL), is a whimsical, amusing delight of a rom-com set against the backdrop of an Auror protection job. Right off the bat, it is worth mentioning that this is a highly indulgent fic, border-lining on crack, I daresay. It’s chock-full of tropes and clichés that rom-com lovers will be familiar with. If a reader swapped out the magical references with their muggle counterparts, the Dramione vibes generally disappear. But if you’re looking for a low-stakes, feel-good summer read—well then, grab your ice cream, coziest blanket, fuzzy socks and dive right in to have your heart tickled and soaring with glee!

TECHNICAL WRITING: Isthisselfcare’s writing voice is one of her greatest strengths, full-stop. It is immaculate, masterful, sharp, idiosyncratic, and clever. I would wager to say that this is a top reason why so many people love this fic, even those who typically don’t prefer rom-coms! If you scroll through the top comments in each chapter, reviewers literally dissect favorite lines that stood out to them—there are a lot). The author expertly plays with puns and double-meanings. The level of banter, quips, and comedic timing is reminiscent of olivieblake’s work, one of the most respected banter-writers in the fandom. I oftentimes found myself re-reading certain lines to fully appreciate the layered jokes that flew over my head the first time. And there are hidden gems in nearly every line.

For the more quiet moments when comedic levity isn’t needed, the author’s use of prose is absolutely beautiful. I would include some lines as examples, but really, the only way to appreciate the power of the writing is by reading it yourself.

SETTING: Tonally, I thought the sets were absolutely gorgeous, immersive, and visceral. Without giving too much away, a large part of the story is set in various places around the world that Draco and Hermione travel to. And those places (which exist in real life) are described beautifully—I felt right like I was there with them; every location felt like a postcard moment. The places that D and H traveled to by far felt the most “alive” to me, and overall, added to the mood of the rom-com. Special nod to the Hogwarts trip, in which the author’s description of the castle through the eyes of two adults was very pragmatic, relatable, and actually made me nostalgic for my very own childhood.

DRACO CHARACTERIZATION: Yes, out-of-character to canon Draco, very much so. However, since everyone’s preferences and tolerances of Draco characterization vastly differ, I won’t interject with my opinion as not to sway others. Here are general observations: In times of levity, Draco is debonair, clever, casual, vain, flippant, and a bit of a scoundrel. In times of gravity, he becomes highly competent, protective, and reliable. Because this is a light-hearted rom-com, we don’t get to see any of the angsty “tortured soul in love; we can’t be together because I’m me and you’re you” characterization that we see in so many fics. Take with that what you will.

HERMIONE CHARACTERIZATION: Not quite in-character, not quite out. There’s truly nothing wrong with her at all. She is, however, rather one-dimensional throughout the whole story—she’s there mainly as Draco’s love interest. I’m personally okay with this, because this fic was obviously written with Draco’s POV transformation so the reader can experience his transformation from a suave bachelor in the prime of his life to being whipped for a dazzling woman far beyond his league. Personality-wise, Hermione is brilliant, clever, pure, innocent, diligent— bit of a Mary Sue, and nothing quite fresh or new. However, it’s worth mentioning that her character is enhanced by her many accomplishments, accolades, and goals, and I loved that about her. This alone is why many readers consider her to be a BAMF.

SIDE CHARACTERS: Loved them. They definitely were not part of an ensemble cast (mainly there for comedy and to make Draco very uncomfortable), but they were lovely, nevertheless. My absolute favorite was Theo. Honorable mention to Tonks. Hermione didn’t interact with them much at all, if I recall correctly, which indicates that they really weren’t critical to the overall external plot.

EXTERNAL PLOT:

For a rom-com, I thought the external plot blended quite nicely. The first half was a bit slow for me, as it was setting the foundation for Draco’s feelings, and the action didn’t really exist. But about halfway through, the plot and action really picked up, and continued on at a satisfying pace until the end. As I mentioned earlier, angst is really quite non-existent in this fic, even throughout the action scenes. It reminded me of a fun, summer blockbuster MCU movie (in which despite the highly competent superhero action, there is still levity). I didn’t feel like I was sitting on the edge of my seat with bated breath. Nevertheless, there was a lovely external plot that kept my interest because there were *real stakes to the wizarding world.*

ROMANCE ARC:

I don’t want to spend too much time on this because I don’t want to spoil when the sexual and emotional payoffs occur, but all I can say is: OUTSTANDING. Though really, that should come across as no surprise to anyone, given that the title of the fic literally indicates the entire romantic arc of the story. As mentioned in my earlier post of “what makes a GOAT Dramione”, a well-paced romantic payoff is highly important to me. And in BATMOBIL, this was very well done.

FINAL THOUGHTS: I put this fic down with a big, silly grin on my face, grateful to have experienced a truly euphoric and fun tale. However, it didn’t leave me with the “empty satisfaction” feel that I love in heavier fics, in which it ended perfectly but I’m desperate for more because I’m not ready to part with this world. I’d love to read one-shots or drabbles about these two idiots in this universe, although I wouldn’t want them to focus on the romantic development (as that is a closed chapter for them). But perhaps ones about future wacky shenanigans they get themselves in. And Theo. More Theo!

If you enjoyed this fic, you may also enjoy:

Love and Other Historical Accidents, How to Win Friends and Influence People, Universal Truths

#draco x hermione #dramione fanfic #dramione fanfiction #draco malfoy and the mortifying ordeal of being in love #review

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backtothestart02 · 2 years

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14 Days of Westallen Fanfiction: Day 13 - Take Me to Paris [1/3]

A/N: I haven't watched the ep yet, but I saw the scene where they all leave for Paris and so accepted the request fic that it's just WA that goes. Hope you all enjoy this opening chap.

...

Synopsis: 8x06 - Canon Divergent - Barry and Iris go to Paris for New Year's.

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Chapter 1 -

Barry waited in the living room against the top of the couch for his wife to join him, so they could leave for their romantic overnight trip to Paris. Thinking back, he remembered how he’d first asked her to join, while they were taking a bath together Christmas Eve night. Candles all around them and the scent of lilac and vanilla in the air, he’d murmured into her ear his proposition, and she’d gasped then moaned appreciatively as she relaxed against his chest.

“Bear, that sounds perfect,” she’d sighed happily, pulling his arms around her waist and losing them in the water and bubbles.

A few days later, they both simultaneously wondered if they should invite anyone else to go with them. After all, they went on romantic trips around the world whenever the mood struck, which was often, but no one else they knew really went anywhere but maybe a drive up to Coast City for the weekend. Wouldn’t it be nice to offer it to them too? Make it a big friends and family event?

The more the merrier, right?

In the end they decided that they’d spent well and enough time with everyone having a delightful Christmas, and that they deserved to have it be just the two of them for New Year’s. They’d slink away without telling a soul, and the trip would be so fantastic – as they always were – that they wouldn’t feel even the tiniest bit guilty when Cecile, in particular, wouldn’t be able to hide her jealousy and not being able to experience the same things.

They were young and in love and still trying to bring baby Nora into existence. The least they could do was take advantage of Barry’s super speed to whisk them off to a romantic location for New Year’s.

“I’m ready!” Iris declared, pulling Barry from his thoughts, as she floated down the stairs in a particularly stunning gray number.

Barry’s jaw dropped, and his eyes went wide as saucers. He hadn’t seen the dress in their closet, so it must have been a recent purchase, one just for their Paris excursion. It was gorgeous on her. Well, everythingwas gorgeous on her, but this one was really gorgeous.

The gray dress hugged all her curves in just the right places ending mid-thigh with a frilly design that spelled flirtatious and innocent seduction at the same time. The neckline was cut somewhat low between her breasts, and the whole ensemble made her look light and fresh and the perfect romantic heroine. Her long red hair and dangly silver earrings made her all the more enticing.

Barry had to fight with himself not to try to seduce her before they made it to the door.

“Damn, Iris,” he let out, his eyes roving over her body as soon as she was fully into view.

She beamed and looked him up and down, though his attire hardly had the same effect, as far as he was concerned.

“Thank you, Mr. Allen.” Her eyes sparkled. “Coat?”

It was in his hands before she got the word out. It was just such a damn shame it had to cover up her exquisite physique, and he knew she could read those exact thoughts from her next commentary directed at him.

“It’s cold in Paris, remember?”

He blushed and cleared his throat.

“Right. Yes.”

She smiled smugly as she let him slip her arms into the coat, then swayed deliberately as she made her way near the door to slip on matching heels.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” he complained.

She laughed, the sound a drug on his senses, then looked over her shoulder.

“Now, why on earth would you think that?”

He shook his head at her, then lifted their overnight bag up and extended his arm for her hand.

“Ready when you are, Mrs. West-Allen.”

She smiled smugly and returned to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek that he leaned down slightly for.

“I love when you call me that,” she whispered, and he wondered if he was going to last the over-oceans two-second trip to the street outside their hotel.

He wrapped his arm around the inside of her coat, so she could feel the warmth of his hand.

“One…two…”

“Paris!” she cheered.

And they were gone, the only evidence of their presence being the brush on the couch Iris had been running through her hair on the way down the stairs.

Until, quite suddenly, in a sprinkle of green dust, that was gone too.

#14 days of westallen fanfiction #westallen #westallen fanfiction #backtothestart02 fanfiction #take me to paris #chapter 1

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anonthenullifier · 3 years

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Alright, my headcanon/prompt that's been living in my mind rent free is the idea that Vision doesn't buy Wanda flowers, he buys her vases with sprouts on them, new life ready to grow. When he first heard of people gifting each other flowers he didn't fully understand why you would kill something, and make your loved one watch it slowly wilt away, when you could get them something they'd help survive. After watching so many loved ones die, I just think Wanda would be really touched to help something live and grow (just like her love for him blossoming)

I love this head canon so much. So damn much! I’ve written a story before (It’s About Thyme) that has them planting a garden and nurturing it as a way to mirror their relationship so to say I like to think about them with plants is an understatement. And then your gorgeous head canon looks at it in a way I never thought about and it’s perfect. Thank you for sharing it!

Here’s a little fic that came to mind as I was reading your ask. I hope you like it!

—

To say Vision is perplexed would be an understatement. Which is itself surprising because he has come to a tentative theory that to be human is to be irrational, and yet this, this crosses a line of reasoning he cannot begin to fathom. Typically he would have Wanda here to volley his concerns towards and to then explain in however many examples and phrasings that it takes for him to understand. Except he is here covertly, under the expert opinion of Sam, to procure a token of affection for all that Wanda provides him. Which brings him to a standstill of indecision waltzing along with a niggling horror at all the implications.

Luckily for him, he hopes, there is a sales associate close by. “Pardon me?” The man turns towards him, brown apron emblazoned with stitched on daisies and a name tag that reads Samuel, a fitting name since the other Samuel in Vision’s life suggested this course of questionable action. “I was advised that purchasing and gifting flowers is a socially appropriate way to convey affection.”

Samuel’s eyes squint for half a second, a common reaction whenever Vision goes out in public. “Uh, yeah. What does your special um,” this scanning over of Vision’s body is also common, uncomfortable, but he does his best to act unperturbed otherwise it might stoke potential fear into ire from his observer, “individual like? We’ve got roses, carnations, lilies, daisies, asters. Anything float your boat?”

If this decision were a boat it would be taking on waves at the moment. “But all of these have been removed from their roots.”

“Yeah, kinda the whole point of making a bouquet.”

The sass is not appreciated but Vision believes in remaining polite because the attitude of the man could be compounded with mistreatment from other customers or negative life events and not solely due to Vision’s inquiry. “Does that not mean they will wilt and die?”

Samuel does not share the distaste for this thought, a simple shrug and a rather unhelpful piece of advice given, “They all come with flower food, helps them stay fresh a bit longer.”

“I see.” Vision determines this issue may be best cogitated alone, so he sends a polite, tight lipped smile towards the man, “Thank you, Samuel.”

“Yep.”

The man leaves and Vision continues his stare down with the beautifully variegated display case in front of him. The differing colors and petal shapes form a kaleidoscope of awe, one that feels romantic and wispy and desirable. Except they will all wilt, the petals will curl up and fall to the ground, and within a week it will be in the trash. His love is not so brief, so fragile and he is perplexed as to why he would present Wanda with a token that cannot survive. Would it not imply his love will fade? That he will, even if fed her own love and passion and attention, eventually fall away from her? Even if she were to dry them out, like he has seen Laura do at the Barton farmhouse, it would require her to keep them someplace safe and to never touch them, the lifeless remnants too delicate and brittle for anything other than distant observation—a poor metaphor for his intended message.

Wanda has endured so much already, the memories as vivid as the Tiger Lily in front of him, days of listlessness and tears, evenings brimming over with invasive memories of all the deaths and all the pain, the only salves he could offer were strong arms and gentle reassurances. Why would he gift her something that will also die? Provide a further suggestion that her life must always be dictated by loss? Why would anyone, rational or not, believe temporal brevity a better show of love than something lasting?

Vision turns away from the bouquets, prepared to leave the store and find somewhere quiet to reassess his gift. It is this defeated swivel that brings a small display into his view, one tucked away as if it was an afterthought. On it are simple clay pots of various sizes, bags of potting soil heaped on the ground next to it, and a little table top rotating kiosk of seed packets awaiting to be planted and nurtured into a long and beautiful life. Vision’s lips curl up at the new idea in his head.

————

There is a subtle chime to her left, in the general vicinity of her door. It is the closest he ever gets to a knock. Wanda puts her book down and waits for the unmistakable gleam of vibranium and the glow of Vision’s phasing to come through the wall located mere inches from her fully functioning door. “Hey Vizh.”

He pauses, irises twisting rapidly to the left and lips puckered as if he’s been caught doing something wrong. Which would be not using her door and yet he still persists and still always makes this face, and it’s a welcome joy in her day. “Good afternoon, Wanda.” Unlike usual, his hands remain behind his back, pulling the threads of his synthetic sweater into a tension similar to his body. “I, um, brought you something.”

Hoping to ease his nerves, she shuffles to the side a bit and then pats the mattress, inviting him to come over and haltingly lower himself to the bed, body remaining twisted to hide whatever it is. “What is it?”

Slowly he brings his arms into view and in his right hand is a clay pot with a little seed packet inside, all wrapped up in a red bow, and in his left is clenched a small bag of soil. Wanda shares her gratitude with a smile, scarlet twining around the gifts and bringing them to her hands to inspect them closer. “I had been informed by a trusted associate that flowers are considered the socially acceptable gift for conveying affection.”

Gently, soothingly she offers a minor correction, knowing he doesn't like to be embarrassed by misinterpreting social advice. “Usually they mean a bouquet.”

A grave nod accompanies his, “I am aware.” Vision lifts his hand, waving it around to help usher out the full story, “But it seemed incongruous to provide you a fleeting gift for a sentiment that is not so,” he hesitates, maybe because he realizes the implication himself or because he can see it in the growing smile on her face, either way he’s committed to the admission of how long he sees this new relationship going and she’s hoping he won’t back down now. And he doesn’t, even if he stammers through it. “brief. I would rather my affections be shown in an appropriately long lasting form.”

Experiencing the fascinating way his mind works is always a pleasure and, due to listening to him and learning the way he thinks and feels, she understands it perfectly, feels a deep, warming thankfulness at this chance to play a hand in allowing something to live and grow, a chance she’s been denied so much before. Wanda ropes him closer with her powers and firmly plants a kiss to his nervous smile. “Thank you.” She unwraps the bow and studies the picture of a happy sunflower, a little confused. “I didn’t think these were indoor plants.”

“Oh well,” now that an explanation that is not tied to emotions is needed, he loosens up, “they are meant to be started and nurtured indoors and then, once large enough, can be moved outside or to a greenhouse.”

“Do we have a greenhouse here?”

Vision considers this, lips parted as his thoughts tick away. “Well no, but it could be enjoyable to convert one of the older equipment sheds into such a structure so we could have a year round garden.”

This simple gift blossoms into something bigger, something rooted in a hope for a future together. “I think it would be fun.”

“Yes,” Vision slips back into a slight, carefully paced cadence, “I selected this particular flower because it is often symbolic of adoration, loyalty and um,” he acts as if his actions have not already made it clear, as if his words should be a surprise, one he isn’t certain she’ll like, “longevity.”

Wanda offers a sunny smile, hoping to sear away any question as to her appreciation and reciprocal feelings, “I love it.” An equally exuberant curve forms on his lips. “Want to help me plant it?”

His instantaneous and joyful, “Of course,” is all it takes to settle them into a path towards a life and love they’ll nurture together.

#scarlet vision #wandavision #Wanda maximoff #vision #mine #ask anon #I was supposed to be writing something else today

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brynnmck · 3 years

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J/B Smut Swap recs!

I come bearing @jb-smut-swap recs! Presented mostly in posting order because that’s mostly how I read them, though first, my wonderful gift fic:

Jaime’s Game by @catherineflowers29 - SOFTEST BONDAGE EVER. I have told multiple people that reading this story felt like getting a warm hug, but with ropes. And a crucial part of the softness is the vulnerability between them, the way they’re so clearly building their trust in each other, taking care of each other, and there’s just a little bit of adorable awkwardness too as they negotiate this new thing together. It made my heart so glowy and happy. Cathy, thank you so much for volunteering to pick this up and delivering something so well-suited to my requests; I could feel the care you took with this and I appreciate it so much! <333

More recs below the cut ‘cause this got long (as did Jaime, HEYOOO); if I missed anyone’s Tumblr handle, please let me know!

Binary Explosive by @sdwolfpup - Okay this isn’t in posting order but I DID read this first and also it’s my blog and I make the rules. Am I biased about this fic because it’s SDW and because it was inspired by one of my favorite due South episodes? Yes. Does that make this fic any less amazing? IT DOES NOT. This is battle couple/mutual competence kink/danger kink at its finest, crackling with banter and absolutely dripping with (literally potentially lethal) sexual tension, all wrapped up in an entirely swoonworthy established relationship. The cocktail of soft and horny here is thoroughly intoxicating, and it’s so much FUN, with just the right hint of crack, and the ending makes me kick my feet in glee every time I read it (which has been, of my own volition, SEVERAL TIMES). LOVE.

Thrust Exercises by @nire-the-mithridatist - STRIP SPARRING. We’ve all said it but also oh my god STRIP SPARRING. WHAT A GENIUS THOUGHT. This is a fabulous combination of fun and sexy, and they’re so FOND in it, too--nire hits such a beautiful note of playful competitiveness and also a little shyness/awkwardness and a LOT of heat and, has been very correctly noted, a VERY wonderfully slutty Jaime. (Jaime’s premeditation regarding their wedding night is both very horny and very sweet/thoughtful, and thus very Jaime, and also his line about how he quite likes her loud face is right up there with my favorite love confessions, as well as being a thing that Jaime and I very much have in common. AGH SO GOOD.)

Second Chances by @firesign23 - I love me some JAB and the setup of this is so delicious, that Brienne is given a second chance at an opportunity she once turned down. This is another one where all three of them just LIKE each other so much--the J/B is so solid and lived-in and warm, and the history between Jaime and Addam is delicious, and the Brienne/Addam has that little thrill of newness and “oh my god we actually get to do this” (there is a kitchen kiss that is GOOD TIMES for me). So much trust and love here, it’s lovely.

crosslines, the scratches and stains by QuixoticChloe - One of two sex bruises fics in the swap, and SCORCHING hot. This whole thing has such a teasing vibe to it, and a sense of dirty discovery within an established relationship, and the whole “we’ve got a sexy secret and we’re gonna torture each other with it as much as possible” aspect was A LOT. Damn.

Diplomatic Relations by @eryiscrye - In which Jaime and Brienne get married and proceed to scandalize/delight/horrify the entire continent with their loud married sex. IT’S GREAT. It’s Eryi’s so you know it’s gonna be super hot, and she really touched on so many of the greatest hits here: cave sex, armory sex, water sex, quiet sex, alcove sex, SO MANY GOOD CHOICES and so much sweetness to go with them, too. And the other characters’ pained/pleased observations were hysterical. SO much fun.

Apart, Together, Together Apart by greenmtwoman - Oof, this one made my chest ache in the best way. It’s so soft and romantic and LONGING and full of equal parts Brienne and Jaime’s devotion to each other and devotion to their respective duties, which feels incredibly true to them. The way this story builds and releases and then slowly builds tension again is lovely, and it’s bittersweet, but very full of hope for their future.

left your fingerprints all over me by @writergirl2011 - Friends-with-benefits-to-dating, yessssss. The banter in this was adorable, and the connection between them was so palpable, and it was delightful to watch them finally acknowledge their feelings.

Good Long Line of Praises by @aliveanddrunkonsunlight - In which Brienne discovers that Jaime has a praise kink and we ALL get to benefit. Actually the praise goes both ways here, and the result is lovely--they take each other apart at the same time they’re holding each other very closely, and it’s a wonderful mix of sweet and sexy. Another established relationship fic that included so much joy of discovery built over a strong foundation.

Nights Avoiding Things Unholy by @forbiddenfantasies1 - I was lucky enough to get a sneak preview of this one and when I tell you that it has been living rent-free in my mind ever since... this is LUDICROUSLY, brain-cell-incineratingly hot, with so many delicious horny details, but also with FF’s trademark gigantic heart behind it (I feel like heart + hornt is basically FF’s brand and I love this for all of us). Again, you get such a strong sense that these two LIKE each other so much, even when they’re a little resentful and a lot scared about it, and the filth is so full of genuine affection that it makes it all the more devastating. I literally read this and was like “shit, I gotta up my game” regarding my own draft, lol. SO GOOD.

Light My Fire by @wildlingoftarth - While I fully respect and celebrate the union suit kink, I don’t have strong feelings about it, myself, but this fic made me a convert. The painstakingly sexy descriptions here were SO MUCH, and I’m also such a huge sucker for the slightly chaotic camp counselors vibe of this, that sort of euphoria and recklessness that overtakes you when something time-bound is about to end. The banter was adorable, there were so many moments that made me giggle, and of course it was hot as hell too and I’m very glad that these two dorks FINALLY figured it out.

Clothes (un)Make the Man by @aviss - CLOTHES-SWAPPING YESSSSS. I am such a sucker for that and Aviss delivered on it beautifully; seeing the progression of their relationship was so delightful and the feelings built so well throughout, and there were a couple of lines that made me laugh out loud, and, again, both the tension and the smut were super hot. LOVELY.

I’ll never let you go (if you promise not to fade away) by LadyRhiyana - This fic is going to HAUNT ME in the BEST POSSIBLE WAY. For one thing, I have checked the word count MULTIPLE times to make sure it’s not ten times as long because the world here is so vivid and so affecting that it’s like some sort of magic. I adore the setting here, and Cersei’s POV is spectacular--she’s all sharp edges and frustrated longing for the things she thinks she can’t have and I felt for her SO MUCH. Both she and Jaime are just incredibly, helplessly horny for (HOT MECHANIC) Brienne, and I loved the way that LadyRhiyana made it so clear that having Brienne there shifts the balance for Jaime and Cersei just enough that all their spikes can slide together a little better instead of just eviscerating each other all the time--and yet this happens without ever making it feel like Brienne is just a conduit or a means to an end for them; all three sides of the triad feel thoroughly distinct and important (including a very deft hand with the Jaime/Cersei aspect). It’s also EXTREMELY hot, and the Jaime/Brienne aspect has so much softness to it, and Brienne is so forthright and so kind and so curious, and AGH. I loved this.

a grip so tight I couldn’t tear it apart by @janiedean - The other sex bruises fic, and this one ended up (coincidentally, I assume) being a perfect bookend to the other one--if the modern AU is all about sexy secrets, this canon-based one is all about Jaime and Brienne’s pride in each other and joy in not having to hide their relationship, gleefully declaring their love and desire for each other for everyone to see. I was so happy for them!

with those who know secret things by @sdwolfpup - This has been recced widely and DESERVEDLY SO. The amount of CARE in this fic is overwhelming, and it’s full of all of these subtle details that suddenly come into sharp focus at just the right moment to really devastate you, and by you, I mean me. The prose itself is also gorgeous--the description of Brienne in her ad came directly for my throat (as well as some other places)--and it’s beautiful to watch these two surprise and delight and take care of each other. They’re both so GOOD and Jaime is so soft and vulnerable and Brienne is so kind and incisive and THEY LIKE EACH OTHER AND WANT EACH OTHER SO MUCH I CAN’T. The whole thing is lustrous and wonderful and I adored it.

Today Will Die Tomorrow by HNJ - This fic also DESTROYED me. The way the time shifts are handled so that we slowly put the pieces of the night together and feel the full impact of each moment, the understated delicacy and very obvious love with which both Jaime and Brienne are handled, the multiple lines that made me catch my breath with how TRUE they were, the way their love for each other uncurls and opens up to the light over the course of the story... it’s really gorgeous and just burrowed right into my heart. I also loved that this was a canon-based first time that focused more on Brienne not knowing what to do emotionally than not knowing what to do physically; I’ve read and enjoyed the latter a bunch of times but the former felt really fresh and fascinating; it was an excellent take.

Hush by @kiraziwrites - I have a thing for quiet sex anyway, and like everyone else, I will be suing kirazi for the fact that this fic left my brain a smoldering wreckage with nary a coherent thought left for the comment box. The sex in this is so deliciously varied and dirty and every bit of it feels somehow decadent and completely necessary at the same time, and watching their relationship build as they try each new thing is wonderful, and there are so many images in this that have burned themselves into the empty space where my brain used to be and taken up permanent residence. I could list MANY, but a sampling: the glacier comparison, and Brienne’s teeth-marks in Jaime’s jacket, and also Brienne DROPPING A CONDOM IN JAIME’S POCKET AND PROPOSITIONING HIM ARE YOU ACTUALLY TRYING TO END MY LIFE, KIRAZI. It’s also so funny and so fond and the fact that it’s literally exactly 5K is such a flex, I can’t even. Gah. TOO MUCH.

we used to wait by @it-may-be-dull-but-im-determined - I was reading things in update order and I kept thinking that I hadn’t read one yet that I could clock as jencat’s, and then kirazi was flailing about this fic and how beautiful the prose was and how strong a sense of place it had and I was like aha without even having read it yet. And this fic is indeed those things, as well as being sexy as fuck; Jen just drags the tension out and out in this very deliberate-yet-spare-yet-somehow-also-lush way until you want to claw your face off (and then she makes it totally worth the wait, too). Their relationship had some wonderful details, too, to show how well-matched they are--Jaime increasing the speed on his treadmill to match Brienne’s, rather than to exceed it, wasn’t what I was expecting and worked fabulously in this context--and the image of Jaime leaning against the wall at a crucial moment was SO MUCH. Whew. Just lovely.

The Waters and the Wild by LadyRhiyana - The last entry in the swap but by no means the least! This was another one where I couldn’t believe how much happened in such a short space; the descriptions were so vivid and cinematic, I could see the whole landscape unfold in my head, and it included some high-quality competence kink, too. We get just enough backstory to be fully invested in this version of Jaime and Brienne, including their delightful hidden-identity initial meeting, and the tension and affection and trust and frustration between them just simmers and simmers until it inevitably boils over and it’s incredibly satisfying. I also thoroughly adored the ending--including Brienne being as indignant as Jaime at [redacted]--and I would buy this movie so fast if it actually existed.

#jaime x brienne #jaime x brienne fic rec #braime #jb smut swap #hopefully i didn't forget anything #congratulations to everyone on a wonderful job!

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parf-fan · 3 years

Link

One year ago, Rob Condas posted in celebration of Shakespeare’s birthday. A year later, I finally finished writing the fic that post (and comments thereupon) inspired. This is the first Faire fic I’ve ever finished, and would reeeealllly like some feedback on it, please. In addition to the ao3 link, the text of the fic is below the read-more.

Title: The More, the Marrier Words: 6,705 Chapters: 1/1 Pairings: Horace Tanningrove & William Shakespeare, Horace Tanningrove / John Hopfield Warnings: drunkenness, drunken shenanigans, canon-typical implied/referenced dubious consent (very mild though, if you were okay with the bender subsubsubplot of Myths and Legends 2019, you should be okay here)

Summary: "Happy Birthday Shakespeare ❤️ I hope you and Horace are painting the town tonight" –Rob "Oh, if you thought Horace and Shakespeare went hard in the summer and fall of 1558, just WAIT till you see what they'll do for Will's birthday" –Michael Having relocated the previous autumn when the R and J play was picked up by a producer in London, Will now celebrates his natal day by returning to visit his hometown of Mount Hope. Much of the first day of this visit is, of course, spent in the company of Horace Tanningrove. As the two become progressively drunker, they engage in shenanigans of sundry disaster variations. In the morning, both are hellaciously hungover, and the night is a blur, at best.

Opening notes: This fic is dedicated in equal measure to Rob Condas and Michael Stahler, with thanks to the same for inspiring it through a Facebook post and comments on said post, respectively. And, obviously, for partially creating and fully rendering such lovable and memorable characters, with such an exquisite dynamic and rapport. The admiration I hold for you defies description.

Thanks to kaythehawk for the title, for proofreading and feedback, and for lowkey holding my hand through the posting process; and to my mom for assistance in devising phrases and combating lethologica.

To anybody unfamiliar with the 2019 season of the Pennsylvania Renaissance Faire: First, what series of events in you life led you to this fic? Second, you are quite welcome to read it, but you will undoubtedly be quite confused on many points.

This is a fanwork created out of love and admiration for the source material and those who brought it about. Characters and setting belong to Zeno Creative Group PRF Productions.

The More, the Marrier

April 24th , mid-morning:

Will cracked an eyelid and his skull promptly split. Though he hastily undid the first, the second diminished but slightly. He cast about for words to describe it. “Uuhhhurrgh,” he eventually settled upon.

His eloquent critique was answered in kind from nearby, and Will decided that his desire for information would lend him the fortitude to bear the suffering. He opened his eyes – both this time, and all the way – albeit slowly. Only one of them appeared to work, but he filed that away as a problem for later. Instead, he took in his surroundings. Locks and bars and but the tiniest of windows. Wooden benches, pallets of straw. On some of the straw —

“Horace?” Will's voice rasped like a file, and it occurred to him that he was very thirsty.

Horace opened his eyes, promptly shut them, and said. “Prithee, extinguish the sun. Temporarily.”

“Would that I could, friend.”

Horace gave eyesight another try, amid much blurring and face-rubbing. At length, he got enough of a handle on it to look over to Will. “That garland is most becoming on thee,” he said. “Quite a jaunty angle.”

Will put a hand to his head and, feeling rapidly-wilting blossoms, found the cause of his partial blindness in the form of a flower-crown that had slipped over one eye. He gingerly adjusted it. “Thou lookst not o'er shabby in thine,” he observed.

Horace reached up and likewise discovered a ring of flowers encircling his brow, though his had not slipped. He considered it, then left it as it was.

Having solved the mystery of the halved eyesight, Will turned his intellect toward discerning their surroundings. In a moment, he'd concocted an ingenious scheme to that end. “Where thinkst thou we are?” he asked.

Horace, who'd been looking around despite the excruciating pain in his head and how damn bright the world was, answered, “I should fain think we be in the jailhouse.”

“The jailhouse? Nay!”

“Aye, there's bars and everything.”

A voice blared from out of eyeshot at a volume surely far higher necessary. “Well reasoned, master Tanningrove. I should consider thee for the position of deputy with detective brilliance like that.”

Horace, who'd pressed his hands to his ears and yet could hear every decibel with painful clarity, said, “Oh, well, that's very kind of thee, Sheriff Perry, but I fear I should find such work dreadfully boring.”

“It was a jest. I was makin' fun of thee.”

“Oh.”

By now, Will and Horace had both gotten themselves turned so as to see the sheriff standing near what was, upon slight inspection, the door to their cell.

“Good morrow, Sheriff!” said Will in as perky a voice as he could muster, for surely manners were paramount in such a situation as they found themselves.

“It is a good morrow, indeed,” agreed the sheriff. “It is not so good a morrow as it might have been if thou hadst not managed to lock the deputy in a cell and toss the key down a well, but it is a good morrow nonetheless.”

Will paled. “We erm, we stole the keys?”

“Aye, but Douglas had the spare set, so all was well. Of course, he insisted I release him a day or so early in exchange, but that is no great matter.”

“Oh.”

A silence followed, perhaps awkward for those who kept track of such things. At length, Will asked, “So, erm, are we locked in here for stealing from law enforcement?”

“Nay, nay, nah, thou are in 'ere for public drunkenness, possible debauchery, and general annoyance.”

“Ah.”

“But I be letting thee out now.”

“Oh! 'Tis generous of thee.”

Horace chimed in. “Be there a– a fine, or aught?”

The sheriff mucked about with his keys in an overly-loud manner. “Well,” he said, “if there were a fine, then it could be considered paid had young Will here had several pieces of jewelry upon his person last e'entide which have since vanished for reasons indiscernible.

Both men were interrupted in parsing that statement by the cell door swinging open with a din surely worthy of Typhon stirring beneath Mount Aetna. Horace clamped his eyes shut, his hands over his ears once more, grinding his teeth in spite of himself. At length, he managed to comprehend the words “...and thank thee so much for that glorious surprise thou didst leave stuffed in my seat cushion. There is nothing I like better when sitting down after locking up troublemakers at dawn than to find that I have crushed a mess of grapes of questionable freshness, and that the sour-yet-unfermented juice of said grapes is rapidly soaking my trousers. Truly appreciated that.”

“Ah. Yes. Well.” said Horace, glancing at Will. “That would likely have been, I am sure, mine idea.”

“It was mine.” interjected Will abruptly and vehemently – far too vehement for a muddled and hungover mind to be sure of.

Sheriff Perry gestured them out of the cell. As they struggled to their feet, he said, “I shall perceive it as Horace's idea nonetheless, for if it were, then I would consider it pardoned on account of him later turning himself in.”

Horace stared.

Will, whose headache was exacerbated somewhat less by the light and noise that Horace's, took his friend by the elbow and guided him from the cell. The touch on his arm caused Horace to look down, whereupon he realized he was in his shirtsleeves.

“Sheriff, I shudder to ask, but did I come here thus? or is my doublet somewhere hereabout?”

“Oh, aye!” answered the sheriff, clearly remembering. “I put it in the chimney, at thy request.”

Horace stared, this time with his mouth slightly agape, before finding words. “Where on Earth for would I ask such a thing of thee?”

The sheriff was messing about in the chimney. “You grinned and said 'This will confuse me so much on the morrow'.” He removed his arm from the chimney. “It would seem that drunk Horace doth enjoy playing pranks upon sober Horace.”

Horace caught the rather dusty doublet the sheriff tossed him. “That....explaineth so very much.” He gave the doublet a shake, instantly regretted the jolt to his headache, and shrugged into it regardless.

They had just made it outside the jailhouse and were dealing with the assault of the sunlight upon their very beings when Sheriff Perry stuck his head out the door and called after them. “Oh, Miles stopped by earlier. He asked me to tell thee that he'd done a little research and learned that the thing you hired him for is, in fact, entirely legal, and will thus cost double if thou art still interested.”

* * *

April 23 rd :

Memory was delicate and uncooperative, skittering out of reach like Tantalus's fruit if approached directly. A blur of celebration, an echo of good company, a haze of extensive alcohol. Quite likely they had begun sometime after midday, celebrating Will's visit home from London. Day had turned to evening, and as evening wore on, their revelry had perhaps bordered on debauchery, and they were presumably cast from whichever alehouse they'd been ensconced in. Now past wisdom, they had undoubtedly raided the Tanningrove winecellar. As evening faded into night, they had roamed the streets with no real goal besides pleasant existence and mutual company.

This was the state in which they found themselves investigating little sounds from the secondary structure of the forge.

Will gave a small gasp. “Is this true love? I finally found it after all these years.” A dusty grey kitten rubbed its face into his hand. “I would die for thee!” He picked the cat up and scratched its cheek. It gave a disconcerted squeal as it left the ground, but began purring once Will cradled it. “Horace, look!”

Horace's eyes widened and he reached out to pet the kitten, who seemed quite pleased with the additional attention. “Hath it a name?”

Will thought for a moment before saying, “Honeybee, for 'tis buzzing.”

“Mayhap Honey for short?”

“Aye.”

More meowing rose from near their feet. “There yet are more!” cried Will, as he passed Honey to Horace and knelt back down. This time, he reached toward a vaguely striped brown cat, who regarded him with ambivalence before allowing itself to be petted. “By Christ's calluses, I would bloody die for thee.”

Horace, whose shoulder was being kneaded by Honey, said, “That one doth look like a Priscilla.”

Will nodded, then winced as Priscilla lightly bit him. “Priscilla the Scylla,” he amended.

Horace frowned, thinking. “That, that's the whirlpool? The one Odsendus – Osdysa – the Odd guy went near?”

Will struggled with thought and word. “Mayhap? There were six heads.”

“But Priscilla hath one head only.”

“Aye, but she bites. Scylla did to chomp sailors.” He deposited the indifferent cat in Horace's arms with the first, and knelt again, holding his hand out to the final kitten. The final kitten – curled into a shape reminiscent of a turkey leg, and Will instantly named it accordingly – reacted not at all, so he tentatively placed his hand on the fluff's head. It let out a small squeak. Will's eyes were large and shining, his face aglow. “Thou art my muse,” he proclaimed. “I– I would live for thee.”

Horace repositioned Honey to allow for Priscilla climbing his shoulder. “Thou should write that down,” he muttered. “Such a declaration of love I ne'er have heard.”

Will did not seem to hear him. A look of pain was passing over his face. He looked up suddenly at Horace and said in a choked tone, “We cannot leave them here! This place be dustful and lonesome and– and there be sharplisome things about! What if one were to stab itself?”

Horace nodded gravely. “'Twould make the tragedy of Indigo's Investigations seem as unto a children's pageant by comparison.”

“We must save them!” Will stood swiftly, garnering a startled yowl from Legg. Horace was adjusting Honey and Priscilla. “As soon as I open the door, we run and we do not stop until we reach your home.”

“Aye.” Horace steeled himself. Will unlatched the little gate, or tried to. Either he could not open it one-handed, or it was twisting and writhing so as to sabotage his problem-solving. Or because he was drunk, he was vaguely aware of that as a possibility.

At length, he turned to Horace in defeat. “'Tis no use,” he declared. “We shall have to climb over the counter. Prithee, hold Legg.” He deposited the jet fluff in Horace's arms with the others before setting himself on the counter and swinging his legs over. Horace passed him the kittens, then hopped over in kind.

“Where are we running?” asked Will, as he handed Honey and Priscilla back to Horace.

“My house, I thought thou did say.”

“I said that?” asked Will. “I be quite clever, I suppose.”

“Thou hast thy moments.”

Yet scarce had they gone a dozen steps when they felt themselves joined by an unmistakable Presence. Almost without intending to, they slowed their steps to a standstill, and were at length able to make out the form of a cat darker than the blackened steel of an anvil. This cat that was not a cat looked upon them and spoke in human tongue.

“Inebriated mortals. Seek thou not to abduct these young ones. They yet are but kittens – babes, to thee – and are not yet ready to leave the care of my familiars at the forge.”

Will's voice was tremblesome and broken, yet he spoke. “But.... But there are sharp things there.”

If a cat could facepalm – and indeed, who is to say that a cat sìth cannot? – this one would've. “The humans of the forge make it their business to foster my mundane brethren until they may be taken in by ordinary humans as any other cat. Rest assured that their area is safe for them.”

The Being stepped closer. “Return the younglings to the forge, and I give you assurance that when the time comes, my familiars shall consider thee for their adoption. Otherwise,” and now the Being began to grow, “risk my wrath upon thee. Know that I can restore the dead to life; what thinkst thou, then, I can do to the living?”

Will stood mute in fear and anguish, but Horace had wit or sense slightly more. Holding all three kittens, he bowed respectfully to the cat sìth, then hastily retraced his steps to the forge, where the gate sprang open before him. He deposited the small fluffs as near their initial positions as he could gauge, then hastened back to his friend. The felinesque Presence dissipated as he returned, as did the force of terror holding Will.

* * *

April 24th , mid-morning:

The assault of the sun troubled Horace greatly, and he kept his eyes as closed as possible. The surrounding din was likewise torment. He stumbled somewhat over a chicken he couldn't see.

Will absently steadied him, but his focus was on the chicken. “That chicken hath a five upon its back,” he observed.

“How wondrous for it,” said Horace glumly, his eyes still mostly shut. Will's attention returned to his friend, and he realized that Horace was suffering from the light and noise even more than himself. On sudden inspiration, he reached up and adjusted Horace's flower-crown so it partially obscured his eyes.

Both men took one look at the Hellhill and decided that a longer walk would not be amiss. The streets were shadier and quieter along the Grove and Glen in any case.

After a while, Horace broke the silence. “What, precisely, was all that about, then?”

“Well, it would appear that we both got incredibly drunken last e'entide.”

“Clearly, but I was thinking more of that convoluted speech the sheriff gave about vanishing jewelry.”

A voice rang from somewhat off the street. “I'd be less worried about the sheriff and more worried about Bernadette Albright. She be on the warpath.”

Will and Horace turned to see Eskarina Nutter lounging against a tree. Will frowned slightly. “Wherefore?”

“Oh, something about getting married several times over without consulting her even once.”

“Will and I got married?” Horace asked.

Eskarina stopped propping up the tree and began ambling over to them. “Not to each other, at least by my witness. You may well have done, but I didn't officiate it. Here.”

Horace and Will looked blankly at the small proffered bottles.

“Meadowsweet, woundwort, elfin thyme, and roseroot, boiled in nettle tea. Unless thou would prefer to retain the sensation of thy skulls splitting.”

Will took both bottles with thanks and handed one to Horace.

Eskarina continued. “I also recommend hefty quantities of boiled water. I'd eat something as well, were I thee.” The wise woman started off.

“Hold a mome', who did we wed, then?”

Eskarina called back, “Oh, thou wilt run into them soon enough,” and was gone.

They stood a moment, then Horace spoke. “Will?”

“Aye?”

“Wherefore do we still do this on thy natal day?”

“In truth, friend, I know not.”

* * *

April 23rd , nighttime:

Will sobbed into Horace's shoulder as Horace patted his back.

“I shall never see Honey and Priscilla and Legg again. My only loves, and they are gone.”

Horace cast about for comfort words. What were those? He thought there there was supposed to be good for something, but he passed it by. It's alright to cry? He was fairly sure Will already knew that. I know not what thou art going through, yet I am here for thee? But he did know, though to a lesser extent, it seemed, and it was obvious that he was there for Will.

Giving comfort words up as a bad job, he sought instead for cheering words. “Will,” he said, “I promise to spend the rest of the night, if need be, in finding thee a pet.”

Will sniffed. “Really?”

“Aye, verily!”

Will considered for a moment, then his face crumpled anew. “'Twill be of no use, we cannot replace Honey and Priscilla and Legg.”

“Nay, we shall not be replacing them,” Horace insisted, talking with his hands despite being in the midst of a hug. “We shall be seeking thee an additional companion, one to keep thee company until Honey and Priscilla and Legg might join thee.”

Will gave this some thought, eventually straightening up and looking Horace in the face. “Thou meanst it?”

“Aye, of course!”

Will's face split into a grin. “Oh, Horace, thou art the truest of friends!” he cried out as he hugged him again. After drawing away, he said, “Now, where are we to search for such a companion?”

Horace reflected, then his face lit up. “I believe I've an idea.”

* * *

April 24th , mid-morning:

They had hoped to make it quietly back to the Tanningrove homestead to at least recover, if not piece together what they might of the night before, but they hadn't gone more than a few paces before Douglas Johnson trotted up.

“Morrow to thee,” he called. “Much obliged for springing me a few days early like that. Shan't have to miss the next guild meeting now.”

Horace, still making faces over the less-than-savory taste of Eskarina's hangover antidote, said in a degree off from sarcasm, “Oh, aye, glad we could help.”

Douglas peered at Will for a moment. “You, er, I'm guessing that you don't remember. To be expected, I suppose. Well, you were clearly drunk at the time, so I don't think it would count anyway, I, er, I bid thee good day.” He hurried off.

“What on Earth?” began Will.

“I do believe you may have married Douglas last night,” said Horace.

Will was silent for a moment. “Ah.” he said at last. “Well, that is to say, I mean, I'm sure he's right, it likely counts not. I'm going to.... ” He gestured vaguely to continue walking.

* * *

April 23rd , nighttime:

Within an enclosure lay many small white hillocks. As they climbed the wall, Will took in the sight and murmured, “Who hath been unhooking the clouds without my permission to put them in the pasture in the guise of snow?”

Horace laughed. “Nay, good Will, these be not snow, but the fluffiest earthbound of God's creatures: Sheep!”

Will gazed upon the critters, then strode over to one and tentatively petted it. His face lit up. “'Tis the softest thing I e'er have touched!”

Horace grinned. “Unhooked clouds indeed.”

Will buried his face in the sheep, which gave a small bleat. “'Tis so fluffsome I believe I shall perish!” He tore himself away and darted to another sheep. “But thou art also so fluffsome as to beget my death!” Then another. “And thee! They're all.... How am I to decide?”

“Which one hath the best name?”

Will deliberated, then shook his head, blinked at the unexpected dizziness, and stopped. “I cannot discern their names here. We must take them to better lighting that I may see them more clearly.”

Horace thought for a moment. “The village lantern, perhaps?”

“Aye, that's it! We shall take them to the lantern.”

Horace nudged a sheep experimentally. It gave a bit of a bleat, and eventually began moving. Between the two of them, they managed to direct the three sheep to the gate, which they had completely missed on their way in and were, after some fumbling, able to open. Once all were through and the gate closed, they set about clumsily herding the sheep to the village proper.

After some time, Horace remarked, “Ought we have some means of telling them apart until we get there?”

Will thought a moment, then said, “We shall number them.” He drew from his pouch a bottle of ink. Using his fingers, for quills are hardly suited to write on wool unwoven, he rather unsteadily traced a '1' on the back of the first sheep he'd seen. He stood for a moment, apparently lost in thought. Horace eventually nudged him, and Will started and returned to his task, daubing a '3' and a '4' on the backs of the other sheep. Wiping his hand on the side of sheep number four, he resealed the bottle with some difficulty and replaced it in his pouch.

They successfully guided the sheep some distance more, within the village itself, before the animals spotted a flowerbed laden with green things fit for grazing. There they stopped and there they chomped, and neither Will nor Horace had the heart to move them on.

Will sighed and announced that he clearly was not meant to have so fluffsome a companion.

Horace was not deterred. “We shall take a few moments to collect ourselves,” he said, opening a bottle and passing it to Will, “then we shall set out once more. I've a notion near as fluffy and perhaps more interesting than sheep.”

***************

“Young Will, thou didst tell me there was a fire in the square.”

“Aye, mistress O'Bales, 'tis just there!”

“William, that be a lantern.”

“I– what?”

Emily pinched the bridge of her nose. “A lantern, Will. One of the village lanterns, what be lit all night? that folk might find their way despite the darkness?”

“....Oh. But there's burning.”

“I be goin' back to bed now.” She turned to leave.

A call sounded from across the square. “Will, I got them! It'll be sour grapes for th— good Lord, the square's aflame!”

Emily blinked, then dashed the contents of her bucket upon the miscreants before her. “I bid thee good night, good masters.”

***************

Horace wasn't overly sure that stopping in the stables was wise, not with Will pining after an animal companion as he was. Even in his state of dubious clarity, Horace had the wit to know that stealing a horse was foolish, with dangerous consequences, even for them, even drunk. But Will had insisted, and did not thus far appear in imminent peril of emotional distress. He was petting a dappled grey belonging to goodness knows whom, telling it that it was such a good horse, such a beautiful horsey, so smooth and wonderful, yes you are.

The beast Horace had sought to pet unequivocally wanted nothing to do with him, so he cast about for something with which to occupy himself. A saddle and assorted tack hung on the door to the stall before him, and he began idly examining it. He accidentally unhooked it after a moment, spent several minutes investigating how he'd done such a thing, and sought to hang it back up. But it refused to hang, or perhaps he lacked the necessary dexterity. Needing somewhere else to leave it, he unhooked a different set of tack, and placed the first where the second had been. Then he stared in confusion at this new mess of leather and buckles unexpectedly in his hands. What was to be done but shift a third to make room for this one? Yet even then, he was still left with a rogue saddle.

By the time Will had finished cooing over the grey, every set of tack in the stable had changed position, and Horace still stared at a set stubbornly in his hands. Fortunately, Will was better able to convince it to settle onto the remaining hook, and they left the stable in perfect order, so far as they could tell.

* * *

April 24th , mid-late morning:

Amy Cooper was looking with mild curiosity at a pig with the number '3' on its back rooting around a flowerbed when she caught sight of the bearers of the flower-crowns. Instantly, she marched up to them, and, pausing only for breath, launched into speech.

“In O'Malley's last e'entide, the both of thee did sort of say vaguely marriage-type vows at me. That is, I think they were marriage-ish. They were somewhat difficult to understand. The words were intelligible enough, but they had not much substance in the strung-togetherness of them. Thou,” and here she gestured to Horace, “did proclaim me the most creative practical-thinker, least ineloquent non-wordsmith, and most enthusiastic non-changeling thou e'er did meet; and Will here did declare of me that he could not wish for a better verbal-sparring partner with whom to maintain an unmalicious bitter rivalry, which at any rate I can agree with. I am here to clarify that unsolicited vows do not a wedding make, and that I be willing to pretend none of it happened.”

“Oh. We, erm—”

“Most well, never happened. I shall be on my way, I've some new square prototypes to build.” She turned and sped off steadily, leaving Will and Horace both some lesser version of gobsmacked.

“Well,” said Horace after a time. “At least we paid her sincere compliments.”

* * *

April 23rd , nighttime:

“Where are we bound?”

“Wherefore ought I know? I be following thee?”

“Thou art?”

“Aye, thou did speak of a new idea since the sheep and chickens and rats did not work out.”

“I.... I was following thee. I must have forgot.”

There was a silence as they pondered the implications of this, then—

“Then I believe we are lost.”

Will thought on that, and said, “Then we shall have to use our wits and become unlost. We are both intelligent enough folk, are we not?”

“Decidedly,” replied Horace.

Will began to pace. “There be no buildings, nor firelight; thus we must be outside the village proper a good bit.”

“Indeed.”

“There be trees all about us. Mayhap we strayed into the forest?”

Horace considered this, then shook his head, frowned, and quickly stopped. “Nay, for look, the sky be too visible. The trees be not near enough one another.”

“Ohhhhhh.”

“What, what's the thing where there's trees and they're tame and orderly and they grow things and someone looks after them?” Horace spoke with his hands, waggling his fingers as though he could grasp the truant term from the air.

Will mulled it over for some time, then said, “Orchid.”

“Aye, that's it! We must be in an orchid.”

Will thought some more, then moved toward one of the trees, and promptly slipped and fell.

Horace did not immediately see where he had gone. “Will? Will! Where art thou?”

“Merely fallen, but I have the answer. The ground be covered in apples. We be in an apple orchid.”

Horace considered that, then remarked, “Agnes's land be not far from some of mine own. I could more easily get my bearings there.” He held out a hand, and Will hoisted himself up.

“Let us skirt the fence until we find a path.”

They walked for several minutes, working their way toward what they hoped was a fence. The wind rattled the budding branches above their heads and close by their faces. At length, Horace said, “Will, it be thy natal day, aye?”

“Aye.”

“And thy natal day be in April.”

“Last that I did to make note.”

“Most well. But the last I did to note, apples grow not in these early months. Nor should they remain on the ground unrotted through all the winter.”

“Yet what I slipped upon was certes an apple, and as fresh and finely-formed as any e'er I saw.”

They slowly turned and looked back into the shadows of the orchard. The full moon cast twisted echoes of the branches, warping the ground into an unknowable writhing latticework. Suddenly, a sharp giggling cry pierced the air, and a glint as though of fangs caught their eyes from the foot of the tree under which Will had fallen. Both men started, calling out in alarm, then turned and fled as swift as their staggering steps might take them.

***************

“I hardly realized cows were so morose.”

“Moo.”

“See what I mean? Didst thou hear what she said, Will? She believes life is pointless.”

Will was across the field a way, in a different pasture entirely. “This one over here is despondent, but only because she cannot be with the love of her life. It's so sad, Horace, it's like R and J but worse.”

“Moo.”

“That is what I say, friend, 'tis not fair.”

By this time, Horace had joined Will, which included tripping over a fence. “What be her name?”

Will thought a moment. “This one be Ariadne. Her love, to whom you were just speaking,” he gestured, “is Meredith.”

Horace considered the prospect. “Were we to unite them, Meredith would stop being so morose.”

“We shall! 'Tis what they deserve.”

The two stumbled to the fence, where they puzzled over the ingeniously-constructed beams. It took at least ten minutes to divine how the beams connected and how to remove a few. These they tossed to the side, along the rest of the fence.

“Go, Ariadne!” Will called triumphantly. “Go meet thy love!”

Ariadne considered him, then turned around and continued sleeping.

Will nodded understandingly. “She wants her beauty sleep first, of course.”

“But once she's slept, she will join Meredith?”

“Of course. And A and M shall be united, and 'twill be most beauteous.”

“Moo,” said Meredith.

“Thou hast the right of it.”

* * *

April 24th , mid-late morning:

They did not cross paths with Theresa Ratchet until they'd passed by most of the shops and into the more residential area. She sat outside her little hut, the spic-and-spanness of which juxtaposed almost harshly with her appearance, repairing a trap. When she caught sight of the bedraggled duo, she smiled broadly and waved, calling out, “Good morrow to thee, good masters! And twice o'er to thee, Will!”

Will returned the wave. “God save, Theresa. I don't suppose I married thee last night, by any chance?”

Theresa's smile, if possible, widened. Several more gaps showed. “Aye, that thou did, good sir!”

“Ah,” he said, barely fazed at this point. “Sorry about that.”

Theresa waved it off. “Nay, 'tis most well. 'Tweren't more than vows, for thou wert clearly – what be that modern phrase? – drunk off thine arse.”

Will made to respond, but Horace hustled him along. “Best not hang about long enough for her to notice that we sprang some of her traps,” he muttered.

“Oh! Aye, not that I recall doing such a thing, nor indeed see how thou could recall it; but aye.” In a loud voice, he added, “Well, if there's no harm done, we shall be on our way. Eskarina suggested something called 'hydration'? We be on our way to try it out. Anon!”

The ratcatcher gave another wave and returned her attention to her traps.

* * *

April 23rd , nighttime:

After much struggle, Horace succeeded in undoing the shutters of his storeroom window, and he and Will climbed in. Climbed is a generous term, of course, for it was more akin to stumbling and staggering and even falling; but the point is, they made it through the window.

After some more fumbling, Horace declared, “The lamp hath vanished.”

Will, who was admittedly less familiar with the room, but had spent enough time there to have at least a working knowledge of it, added, “I believe the door hath moved, as well.”

“First my keys and now this.” Horace felt the walls. “Why is there so much dust? And what are these, chisels?”

Will snapped his fingers. “I have it! We be in the wrong building.”

Horace pondered this for a long moment. At last, he replied. “That....would rather explain wherefore none of my keys fit the door.”

Will's eyes had by now adjusted somewhat, and by the light of the moon shining through the casement, he managed to find a lamp. Several attempts with flint and steel later, they had it burning. Its light revealed shelves covered in tools, dust, rock fragments, and half-formed figures. Horace stared long an hard at a mallet before finally declaring, “I fancy we be in Millicent Goodenstone's workshop.”

Will did not seem to hear him. His eyes, wide and shining once more, rested on an unshaped stone somewhat smaller than his fist, which the lamplight had caught. He drew near it almost unconsciously.

“... had best leave a note and withdraw the way we arrived,” Horace was saying. “What're you....”

Will slowly touched the rock, then picked it up. “This.... This is it,” he whispered reverently. “My new companion, to tend mine heart until Honey and Priscilla and Legg may join me.” He gently caressed the stone. “What thinkst thou of Petra? Obvious, I know, yet it suits them.”

Horace had by this time joined him. “Petra the pet rock,” he said experimentally. “Know you, I believe that suits them delightfully.”

Will broke into a delighted grin. “We've done it! You did it! You found me the perfect pet!” And threw his arms once more around Horace, who gasped in pain when Petra whacked him in the side.

***************

“What in God's name dost thou think thou art doing!??!!!” The bellow awoke Horace with a start. In the pale light of barely-dawn, he could make out the form of Rosalind Anne Uxbridge towering over him, clutching a rake and quivering with rage.

“Knowst thou how long I have spent caring for these blossoms? The ones thou seemst to have mistaken for a mattress?”

Horace looked about and began to piece things together. He'd clearly passed out in a flowerbed, one of Rosalind's many prized patches. He cast about for Will but saw him not. “Where, what hast thou done with Will?” he asked.

“Change not the subject!”

The gravity of the situation downed on Horace. He was without ally in the midst of a garden he'd ruined, with naught betwixt him and the gardener's fury save his own wit. And just that moment, he felt he hadn't an ounce of wit to his name.

He struggled to his feet, desperately playing for time. “Now, erm, see here Rosalind, er, this is clearly a– a mistake of some sort, and if thou will but give me a mome', or several, I can explain myself and the context of this whole affair most succinctly. Or somewhat succinctly. I do not feel overly succinct at this particular moment. What must be understood...” He was standing, he'd more or less gotten his bearings, and he'd pieced together a plan. Without warning, he shot off, ducking the blow of the rake, and ran as fast as his shaking legs would carry him to the jailhouse, where he pounded the door, yelling, “Sheriff! I must report an incident of public drunkenness, accidental trespassing, and general bad behavior!”

* * *

April 24th , late morning:

At long last, Horace and Will made it to the Tanningrove homestead. Jack was out front, ostensibly weeding the small vegetable garden, but more probably waiting for them to put in an appearance. Sure enough, when he saw them approaching, he looked at his father and simply said “Why.” before turning and leaving, weeding abandoned.

Well, it was a reasonable enough reaction to their understanding of how the boy's father had spent his night. They made no move to stay his departure, instead continuing into the blessed dimness of the indoors.

At a table in the parlor sat John Hopfield, a cup of something in front of him. Upon hearing their entry, he looked up, and then beamed.

Horace stopped in his tracks. The color drained from his face.

“Oh.” he said.

Will looked from Horace to John several times, his mouth slightly agape, his sodden-but-drying mind working furiously. Finally, it clicked. “Oh my God,” he said quietly.

“Hello, Horace!” Had he not been sitting, John would've been bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Horace swallowed nervously and suddenly wished he had a hat to twist about in his hands. “Did– that is– erm, good morrow John. I.... ” And now his face was flushed as red as any of his wines.

John's face fell almost imperceptibly, but in a manner more resigned than disappointed. “You don't remember.”

“Erm, quite frankly no, I do not; but I can see it plain enough now, for all my fogged mind.” His hands, desperate to fidget, found their way to his flower-crown and began idly shredding a bloom.

John nodded. “Well, I know not that Eskarina's officiation be technically binding, so.... ” He trailed off.

“That's, erm.” Horace fiddled with the petals he'd pulled from his crown, seven in all. “That's probably for the best, I suppose.”

“Aye.”

There was a long silence. Will looked from John to Horace to the door, torn between fascination and social discomfort at the scene unfolding before him.

Horace shifted his weight. “I mean, it isn't that I'm strictly opposed to the notion, per se,” he semi burst out at length. “I'm not. But, I mean, I wasn't planning on it. At least not yet.”

Now even John was fidgeting, tracing the edge of the cup in front of him. “We– there wasn't, erm, that is — it weren't binding in the eyes of anyone, if thou takest my meaning,” he said awkwardly, blushing. “Thou wert clearly drunk, of course there wouldn't be....”

Horace took some time to process that. “I don't think I would have thought there was, had I known of this before now and thus had time to consider the possibility,” he said at length, now idly crumpling the petals in his hands, “yet I thank thee for, er, for clarifying it.”

Another silence, possibly even more awkward than the first, hovered between them. Making up his mind, Will carefully asked, “Horace, doest thou want me here just now?”

Horace started, reminded of his friend's presence. “Quite possibly not.”

“Most well.” Will nodded despite his splitting skull and turned immediately for the door. “I shall meet back up with thee perhaps around suppertime, then? To piece together, erm,” he glanced at John, “what remains to piece together.”

Horace waved vaguely in confirmation as Will hastened out the door, then looked back at John, still crumpling petals.

After a beat, John said, “As far as piecing together thine evening goeth, there be one or two other things thou likely ought to hear. In fact, I think mayhap thou had best sit for this.”

Several expressions crossed Horace's face, most notably steely resignation and dread. He slowly pulled a stool over and lowered himself onto it. “Yes?”

“When we, erm.... When thou didst marry me, thou also did to marry Stella.”

Horace relaxed. “I was honestly expecting far worse.”

“And then Sherry was jealous, so Stella and I married her after you left.”

Horace's face remained unchanged but for the widening of his eyes and his color draining once more. “Oh God.”

John spoke again, this time more hastily. “And, well, thou knowst well what Sherry be like, and while I suppose I technically know not for certain, I think she mayhap be taking it seriously.”

“Oh God.”

“Indeed.”

Horace passed his hands over his eyes and remained thus a long silent moment, cobbling together words that would suffice. At last, a long, deliberate breath. “John, 'tis clear that we must needs discuss some things. I am like to be obliged to put my part through writing so as to hone my meaning.”

John gave a brief tender smile at that.

Horace removed his head from his hands and stood, slowly and carefully. “I swear I am not avoiding thee, and shall face this anon; but now I am going to find something to eat, and I am going to drink some cleaned water, and I am going to bed, for I be in no fit state just now to cope with much of anything, least of all our, erm, situation.”

***************

Will had so often trod the path from the Tanningrove homestead back to his own house – more accurately simply his parents house, now that he'd moved to London – that his feet steered him thus without conscious thought. When he did finally notice, he pressed on, for he truly needed sustenance 'ere he did aught else. Still, he reflected, he had best make his meal quick, for he had another matter to attend to as soon as he might; though he was yet uncertain whether he looked to it in apprehension, or in anticipation.

He glanced down at his wrist and the initials freshly written thereon. He hadn't even known the noble was in the area. He would've expected him to still be in Hunsdon this time of year.

End notes: (.....The More the Marrier geddit like 'marry'?)

Thanks so friggin' much for reading! This, the first PARF fic I ever finished, was incredibly difficult to write. Not only was it a different style and tone to anything I've ever written before, but I began it after not writing anything (beyond journaling and approximately five textposts) for six months. Thus, my first draft was the shittiest shitty first draft I e'er have made, the writing clunky and ill-fitting and excruciatingly slow. There's a reason it took me a year.

Please, please, please leave a comment! A line you really liked, a weak phrase, a character voice I absolutely nailed, typos and other corrections, something you found funny. Reactions, impressions. I cannot become a better writer without feedback. At least leave kudos if you enjoyed it.

I'll be recording a podfic of this work over the next who-knows-how-many days, and will link it here when it's done. Please note that I have zero notion of a timeline for that project.

In the meantime, notes on the content of this fic.

Much of the style and tone of this piece was inspired by the Storytime: Voltron is (Basically) a Disaster series by CaffeinatedFlumadiddle. The scene with the forge kittens was based line-for-line on Basically Under Arrest (Part 1).

I have never been drunk or hungover, nor witnessed the same firsthand for any extended time. This is based on other media representations of drunkenness.

The astute reader will notice that I mingle more modern methods of speech with the more Elizabethan dialogue. This was intended to mimic the manner in which the actors do exactly that, particularly in interactions.

The notion of Sheriff Perry taking valuables from an arrested Will was derived from streetwork in week one, in which a rumor went around that the sheriff was taking money from his prisoners. The wording of the rumor was ambiguous, and could've meant either stealing or accepting bribes.

Will abruptly and ardently claiming credit for pranking the sheriff was inspired by Trial and Dunke closing weekend, when Will flung himself enthusiastically at punishment in Horace's stead. I like the idea of Will recklessly throwing himself in potential harm's way for people he cares about, particularly for things of low consequence that everybody treats as though they are serious.

The idea of someone's drunk self pranking their sober self came from a Text From Last Night I have saved somewhere on my external hard-drive and cannot currently be bothered to find.

Streetwork on closing day indicated that the R and J play had been picked up by a producer in London, and that Will would be relocating there shortly.

To be clear, yes, I know the difference between Scylla (six heads, monch monch) and Charybdis (whoosh whoosh, motherfucker). Horace and Will are drunk.

For folk not present at PARF 2017, the cat sìth is explained in this Myths and Legends Finale.

I am neither herbalist nor doctor. I decided on Eskarina's hangover antidote by googling “herbal hangover remedy” or something like that, and selected some plants that I think would've been available in England at the time. I know not if they can be safely mixed, nor even if they would taste foul if they were. I also cannot vouch for their effectiveness.

You will note that I spelled the fire brigade's name as “Emily O'Bales” although it is spelled as “Emily O. Bales” in the program. I altered the spelling thus because I frequently heard her referred to as “mistress O'Bales”, but cannot recall ever hearing he called “mistress Bales”. If the cast made a mistake, I fear it was made to such an extent as to eclipse the technically-correct version.

Are village lanterns a thing? I've heard the term and it makes sense as a thing, so I went with it.

The notion of our Amy Cooper building square barrels came from an episode of QuaranTeatime in which it was mentioned that Amy was expanding her trade into crate-making. She would totally call them square barrels, though.

Speaking of QuaranTeatime. Numbered animals with one creature less than the highest number were brought up in a QuaranTeatime episode as something that was happening in Mount Hope. However, I had planned it into the story before they brought it up.

To be clear, yes, I know the difference between 'orchard' and 'orchid', as you will gather if you note that I spelled it correctly the one time it was in narration and not speech. Will and Horace are drunk.

If you never heard the tale of the wereapple, I'm sorry, idk how to help you.

Horace and Will are in no danger of being mistaken for burglars or anything when they break into Millicent Goodenstone's studio. Streetwork on closing day revealed that Millie was going to travel to Bath to further train and become a real master stonecarver, so this particular home would have been unoccupied at the time.

I am confident that I captured the voices of almost all the characters herein. The exception is Rosalind Anne Uxbridge, whose voice I had great trouble summoning to my mind. I hope I did her justice, and apologize profusely if I did not.

“...it weren't binding in the eyes of anyone, if thou takest my meaning”. The meaning here, of course, is, “It wasn't binding in the eyes of the law because we didn't go through the proper channels, and it wasn't binding in the eyes of God because we didn't fuck.” (The notion that marriage must involve genital muckery in order to be recognized by the Divine is, of course, rubbish, but the idea was prevalent at the time.)

A note on Tanninghop. I both do and do not ship it. If I may be allowed to quote one of my posts: “Whether deliberately or incidentally, the actors subtly play the dynamic [between Horace and John] just a little bit differently every day. Some days, they are as they appear in the plot’s basic premise: two individuals caught in baseless inherited hatred. But sometimes, it seems they were childhood friends before becoming caught in that inherited hatred. Some days, they are exes, the animosity between them potentially beginning with their breakup. A few times, it has seemed that the feud began with the two of them over some petty squabble in like third grade, and merely expanded from there. Once or twice, they inherited the hatred, but each harbors a repressed attraction to the other. Occasionally, they’ve even been secret lovers in the midst of the feud. Watching their interaction has become my favorite part of Queen’s Court, and I always look forward to divining what their exact relationship is on any given day.” Historically, I have always been trash for a unified canon, a specific continuity (or as much of one as is possible in repeated improvised interactive theatre). But in 2019, I fell deeply in love with the kaleidoscope of subtle differences in day-to-day dynamics. Not just in love with each individual dynamic, but in love with the kaleidoscope as a whole, and with the very notion of that kaleidoscope. I thus have no set headcanon about their relationship through which I interpret their story: I have a dozen. That being said, John and Horace are totally in romantic-love in this fic. However, this fic is not canon to my interpretation.

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nikkzwrites · 4 years

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Yesterday Once More | Dark Fix-It Fic Series | Chapter 5

A/N: This fic is one that I started with my OC because honestly, I personally didn’t like how season 3 ended. So I am rewriting all of Dark with my OC Annalise Dahlheim. I hope you all like it. Some things will be expanded more on just for more depth to Dark that season 3 kinda skipped over so…. yeah.

CW: Canon Typical Triggers: Smoking, Sex, Language, Drugs, Drinking, Death, Violence, Suicide Mentions, Cutting, Violence.

Word Count: 7.4k

[First Chapter] [Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter]

Everything for the adults was just as it was 33 years ago. For them, there was a feeling of hopelessness. Trapped in a cycle they didn’t know how to remove themselves from.

Jonas lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. He really didn’t have the energy to get out of bed at all. He didn’t hear the now normal chipperness of Annalise getting ready for the morning nor did he hear his mother making breakfast or having Ulrich over. Everything felt drab without some semblance of happiness in the house. His phone vibrated on his nightstand causing him to snap out of his thoughts. He reached over to it to reveal a text from Martha saying that they needed to talk. He put the phone down and rubbed the red string in his hand.

Martha, on the other side of town, awaited his answer. She sighed as she waited. The girl just wanted to clear the air and have everything work out. She wanted this tension to go away.

Bartosz dialed his girlfriend’s number hoping she was finally going to pick up. His face dropped as he just got sent straight to voicemail.

Annalise lay outside. She looked dirty and covered in morning dew. Her hair tousled, tangled with leaves, sticks, and matted from not drying properly. She picked up her phone to write a text to Bartosz about Martha and Jonas from last night. She ended up deleting it before her phone died. Better off, Annalise reasoned, there was no reason to worry Bartosz more than he was doing already. Her heart ached. She dropped her phone onto her chest as she looked up at the canopy of branches above her.

Charlotte had a sit down with her youngest daughter trying to question her about what she knew about the boys that had gone missing. Ever since Elisabeth had told her about Noah, she had a bad feeling. She tried to push her daughter for information by telling Elisabeth that it had also happened to Yasin now. All this did though was made her daughter start to cry frustrated and upset. Elisabeth couldn’t believe that this had also happened to her Yasin. She started to slowly open up by telling Charlotte what he looked like prompting Charlotte to start to arrange a sketch artist to head to the house so that Elisabeth could help give an idea of what Noah would look like. As Charlotte tried to leave Peter confronted her only for Charlotte to snap at him telling him that she knew he was hiding something from her. Then she stormed out of the house to get back to her job.

In 1986, Ines tried to give Mikkel a present. It was wrapped in yellow paper that reminded him of Annalise, yet he still refused to take it. Ines sat down next to him and asked, “Don’t you finally want to talk to me?” She sighed and asked, “Is there maybe someone I should tell that you’re okay? Your parents, they...They must be worried. You don’t have to say what happened to you if you don’t want to, but… If you want, no matter what it is, you can tell me.” She tried to comfort him, “It’s safe with me. I promise.”

Back in 2019, The stranger looked at his board of connections. He pulled off another day from the calendar and packed up his suitcase as if he was going to go somewhere.

It started to rain across Winden. Bartosz thought maybe now Martha would finally answer him. He tried one last time before reaching her voicemail again. He tossed his phone to the side and stared at Erik’s burner phone. He also tossed it aside right before it started to ring. Bartosz turned his head then reached to answer the call.

Hannah stood outside the Nielsen’s door. She was greeted by the sight of Martha. She showed the girl a dish she had made as an excuse to see Ulrich and lied, “I wanted Katharina to have…”

Katharina walked over and stared at the woman. She looked her up and down for a second and greeted her, “Hannah.”

Hannah shrugged and tried to laugh it off, “I...I figured you weren’t in the mood to cook right now… With all of this… And I thought…”

Katharina quickly took it from her and thanked her. She offered the other woman to come inside. She really didn’t want Hannah there, but she really couldn’t be rude to the woman.

Hannah looked over to the blonde and asked, “How’s Martha and Magnus?”

Katharina didn’t know how to verbalize anything so she just shrugged and shook her head.

“And Ulrich,” Hannah tried to pry.

Katharina shook her head again and said, “I don’t know.” She felt so defeated. She was trying so hard to be strong. To have the perfect family she never had, but here she was. She felt like the failure her mother always called her.

Hannah looked down the back at the other woman, “Where is he?”

“In the shower,” Katharina answered honestly. They both sat in silence as they heard heavy footsteps walking towards them knowing exactly who it was.

Ulrich popped his head in looking for Katharina. When he saw Hannah, his heart dropped. He greeted her simply by her name, “Hannah.” He, then, asked, “What are you doing here?”

Seeing Hannah struggle for words, Katharina interrupted and said, “Hannah brought us some food.”

Ulrich walked deeper into the room to check the validity of the statement, seeing that she was telling the truth, he looked back at the two women. He stated simply, “I have to go to the station.”

Desperate, Hannah asked, “Can you give me a ride? I came by bike. It’s raining so hard. Only if...”

Katharina nodded, “Of course Ulrich can give you a ride.” She stared at her husband knowingly.

Ulrich walked to his wife and kissed her head gently before starting to lead Hannah out.

“Hannah,” Katharina interrupted. She walked over to the brunette and hugged her. She held her close. Even if she suspected her, Katharina appreciated that Hannah had even pretended to show empathy. Katharina was craving any sort of empathy for her situation despite trying so hard to push people away and keep her walls up for no one to see her crying, “Thanks for the food.”

“And, really,” Hannah said embracing the other woman as well, “if you need anything, call me.” Then she left with Ulrich.

Seeing Jonas’s bike gone, Annalise decided it was safe for her to sneak back inside the house. She climbed the siding, shimmied across the house, then opened her cracked window to let herself in. Sadly, she had no idea how creaky her window actually was. When she opened it, the entire house echoed with the noise.

Surprised and trying to get ready to go to Bartosz’s to play video games and hang out, Jonas walked to Annalise’s room. This was the first noise he had heard all morning so he assumed maybe she was just trying to get some fresh air into her room, like one of those princesses in the movies. When he walked in though, Jonas was greeted with the sight of her sneaking back in. The boy studied her. She seemed ragged. He snapped himself out of it so that way he could help her get in. “Hey,” He greeted her once she was fully inside and looking at him.

“Hey.” She replied abruptly. She really had hoped he wasn’t home. What was she going to do to explain why she was outside. Annalise wasn’t privy to lying. She couldn’t even look the boy in the eye right now. She was almost frozen, yet she couldn’t stop fidgeting.

Jonas smiled gently. He gently took her phone from her pocket and placed it to charge. Jonas knew this reaction well. After what happened to his own father, he often had these moments while in the hospital so he thought he knew exactly what to do. He, then, took her arm and walked her to the bathroom so she could freshen up. “Having issues,” He asked gently.

Annalise started to cry. The dirt on her cheeks falling with the tears. She nodded not knowing how to tell him what she was feeling.

He gently wiped her tears away. He gently cooed, “It’s okay. I know. I miss mine too. I also know you and Mikkel were very close.”

Annalise wanted to scream at him. She wanted so badly to push him away and scream. How was he so dumb, she thought. She couldn’t though. Her voice couldn’t find itself. She just kept crying. Her weeping becoming louder.

Jonas tenderly pet her head, “It’s okay… It’s okay Lise. Why don’t you take a shower? I’m sure you’ll feel a bit better after you clean up.”

Nodding feverishly, Annalise shakily rubbed her face and walked into the bathroom to clean up. She just wanted to put them at a distance from each other. The girl wanted to escape from what she understood was pity. It was very clear to her that Jonas had no idea that he was actually part of the problem.

With the door between them, Jonas called, “I am going to Bartosz’s. Why don’t you head over if you are feeling up for it?”

“Can’t,” Annalise’s trembling voice told him, “I’m meeting up with Martha.”

Jonas smiled with tears forming in his eyes. He quickly wiped them away, “See. You’ll feel better in no time then.”

He, however, did not know that Annalise was actually dreading seeing her friend again. That she was not going to be feeling better soon and that actually going to be at Martha’s side would make Annalise’s life even more miserable.

The bearded stranger walked up to the main front desk. He gently placed a box on the counter and placed his key on top. He politely requested, “Could you deliver this for me? Here, locally.”

“Are you leaving us already,” Regina asked a little relieved.

The man replied, “I have to go away for a few days.” He bowed his head politely, “But I’d like to keep the room if I can.” He looked up at her pleadingly.

Regina answered him, “Certainly, that’s no problem.”

“It needs to be delivered by this evening,” the man explained, “It’s important.”

Terrified, Regina nodded, “Yes, of course.”

Finally arriving at his best friend’s Jonas collapsed on the sofa. He sat and took a hit off his friend’s bong to help himself relax. As he was lighting it, Bartosz turned and asked, “Where were you this morning? I tried to reach you all morning. Don’t tell me you and Anna-”

“Therapy,” Jonas quickly interrupted.

Bartosz turned away from his friend and nodded. He asked, “Have you heard from Martha?” Jonas looked back at his friend panicked. He wondered if he knew. Did Lise talk to him? His mind started to race. “She’s not calling me back and... ” Bartosz trailed off trying to explain why he asked Jonas, “I don’t know what she needs, the whole thing is so fucked up.” Bartosz lamented to his best friend unaware of Jonas’s own stake in the game.

Jonas tried to play it off and comforted the boy, “She’ll get in touch when she’s ready.” He wondered if he should ask about Annalise though. Regardless of all of their arguing, he could tell Bartosz really cared and probably would have better insight into the girl. Bartosz just had a strange way of showing kinship.

Bartosz stared at Jonas for a second and nodded, “Yeah, you’re probably right. Come on, let’s play.” They picked up the controllers and tried to ignore the tension in the room by playing the game. He asked while playing, “Can I trust you?” This made Jonas extra paranoid now. Annalise must have talked to him. Maybe that’s why she was so upset and wasn’t talking to him this morning. Maybe- Bartosz interrupted Jonas’s thoughts and clarified, “If I tell you a secret. Can I trust you not to tell anyone else?”

Jonas’s face showed his confusion for a split second then he turned to his friend, “Yeah, sure.”

“I’m in contact with Erik’s dealer,” He commented not taking his eyes off the game. Jonas let out a laugh thinking his friend was joking, but Bartosz continued, “And I’m meeting him tonight.”

Jonas laughed and asked, “You’re doing what?”

Bartosz still focused on the game, scolded, “Watch it! Shoot! No!” Irritated that he lost, he tossed the controller to the side and looked at Jonas, “I’m going there tonight in any case and I want you to come along.”

Jonas looked at him like the boy was crazy. DIdn’t Bartosz know people were going missing? Did he have a death wish? Maybe this was a death wish and he wanted to take Jonas down with him.

“Can I count on you?” Bartosz interrupted Jonas’s thoughts.

Jonas stared at him, he studied the boy. There was no way he knew. Bartosz wouldn’t have gone through all of this if he had known what was going on. Instead, Bartosz would have stormed into his house and just decked him. Jonas forced a smile and a small shrug, “Yeah, sure. Always.”

Charlotte tried hard to make all of the connections while in 1986, Noah walked up to a small boy named Mikkel in the hospital.

The pastor introduced himself, “I’m Noah. I’m a priest at St. Christopher’s Church. Ines called me.” Mikkel just stared at his Future Man comic book. Noah then asked, “Do you believe in God?” Mikkel shook his head at the man. Noah then asked, “How do you believe the world came to be? Who created all the beautiful things?”

“The world came to be through the Big Bang,” Mikkel explained to the man, “13.8 billion years ago. That’s how space, time, and matter came to be, and Earth as well. The rest is evolution.”

Noah asked trying to retort, “And what was there before the Big Bang? Nothing can arise from nothing. Maybe the Big Bang is nothing more than God’s act of creation.”

“My father says religion is the brainwashing of the masses,” Mikkel told the man matter-of-factly.

Noah nodded. He commented back, “I’m sure your father knows a lot, but he does not know everything. It’s good that he raised you to question things. But every now and then, it’s good to question those who question things. God has a plan for every human being, including you.”

In 2019, Ulrich sat in the car with Hannah annoyed as the rain thrashed his car. He turned to her and said, “I want you to stop calling me. Okay? Just stop. I can’t do this anymore.”

Hannah looked at the man and asked, “Is that what am I to you? Some damn affair? It’s not something you can just switch off. I can’t and neither can you.” Ulrich turned away from her. “Look at me,” she demanded, “Look at me! And now tell me there’s nothing there. That this doesn’t mean shit to you. No matter what you need, I’m here for you.”

Ulrich leaned over towards the woman and asked, “What I need?” He leaned forward to open her door, “Don’t call me. Don’t come by. Just leave us alone. Okay?” He laid it out as if he was talking to a child. Hannah sat there frozen. She had no idea it was going to turn out like this. Ulrich, annoyed, lost his temper, “Get lost!”

Hannah’s devious smile grew across her face as she laughed, “Don’t think that I’m just going to let you go.” She got out the car to see Annalise standing outside looking rather pretty. She laughed and asked, “Going out?”

Annalise nodded, “Martha told me that her dad was coming drop you off so I can grab a ride with him to the school to help her get ready and watch her dress rehearsal.”

Hannah nodded and said, “Ah.” She walked inside and said, “Well you didn’t need to get all dressed up for that, did you? Anyway, don’t be too late. Jonas will worry.”

Annalise nodded, “Yes, ma’am.” She took her small umbrella and walked over to Ulrich’s car getting in. Hannah watched as Ulrich smiled as if looking at his own daughter. He wrapped an arm around her for a quick greeting hug before Annalise put on her seatbelt and drove off with the man.

Hannah then thought back to a memory of 33 years prior.

Ulrich was telling her about an interest he had. He explained, “And then she says, ‘When you grow up, your heart dies.’ That line hits you, bam! Right in your face, you know?” He hopped a bit in the school hall, “And in the end, you think they’ve become friends because that created a bond between them. But in the end, they’re all stuck in their little pigeonholes.”

Hannah asked, “Maybe you want to see it again with me?” Ulrich got lost looking at Katharina across the hall. Hannah hit his shoulder to get him to pay attention to her again, “Hey! Are you even listening to me?”

“Y-yeah,” He stuttered shaking it off. He gently touched Hannah’s shoulder and walked to go see Katharina. Hannah sighed as she watched him go and ask, “Hey, girls, what are you up to? Wanna go out for a smoke?” She watched as he let his hand rest down near Katharina’s to signal her to take his hand and interlace his fingers with hers.

Back in the real world, Hannah turned and walked back into her house.

Katharina sat as she remembered the first time she should have known Hannah would try and rip Ulrich and her apart.

33 years ago, Ulrich and Katharina had decided to have sex in the gym equipment closet. They talked it out so that they agreed to both the act and to use protection because in her words she wanted to, “never have kids.”

At the same time 33 years ago, Mikkel was taken under child protective services. They wanted to put him into a children’s home, but this made Ines feel uncomfortable. The social services representative tried her hardest to calm Ines about the situation, but the nurse didn’t know about it. She had until Wednesday to devise a plan for what she was going to do.

In 2019, Ulrich explained why he decided to become a police officer to Charlotte as they tried to piece together who would do this. He was just s angry after Mads disappearance that he wanted to make sure that those mistakes were to never happen again. He relented about how he actually instead became nearly exactly like the man he was trying to never be.

“Have you ever heard of the 33-year cycle,” Charlotte asked. When Ulrich shook his head, Charlotte explained, “Our calendars are wrong, a year isn’t 365 days long. We’re always a bit ‘out of sync,’ so to speak. But every 33 years everything is just like it was. The stars, the planets, the whole universe returns to the exact same position. The lunar-solar cycle. My grandpa was obsessed with such things, the Big Bang and the Big Crunch. Nietzsche’s eternal recurrence. When I was little, I always felt that something was wrong with Winden. I have that same feeling again. That everything’s repeating. That this has all happened before. Like a massive deja vu.”

Jonas sat on the bench at the graveyard. He stared at his father’s grave in contemplation. He really didn’t know what he should do. He was waiting for a sign to give him the right path. That was when the bearded stranger walked and sat next to him. “You look like him,” the stranger commented, “Your father.” He nodded towards his grave.

Jonas looked at the man confused. “Do we know each other,” he asked angrily.

The man looked at the boy. He shook his head and whispered, “No, but I knew your father. It was a long time ago, but I remember him well.” Jonas looked toward his father’s grave as the man continued, “He saved my life and introduced me to the girl who loved me more than anything back then, but I only understood that much later. Life is a labyrinth. Some people wander around their whole lives looking for a way out, but there’s only one path and it leads you ever deeper. You don’t understand it until you’ve reached the center.” Jonas swallowed hard thinking on his own life. The man looked back at the boy and advised, “Death is incomprehensible, but you can make peace with it. Till then you should ask yourself each day if you’ve made the right decisions.” The man stood up and walked away to start his work once more. Leaving behind a befuddled Jonas staring at his father’s grave for answers.

It was at this time in 1986, that Hannah met Mikkel for the first time at the hospital. Her father had brought her with him while he was working. He warned her that it was going to be a while and he watched as his daughter nodded at him. He asked if she was okay seeing her so upset. Hannah lied to him telling him that she was. Soon after he left, she noticed the boy in the mirrors.

Mikkel sat on the bench finally opening the present. He had decided to try and pretend for a second that it was actually a gift that Annalise had given him. He tried to keep the paper pristine so that he could keep it to remember his friend. When he turned the gift over, he realized it was a book. A book titled, ‘I am not Afraid.’

While the boy looked at his book, Hannah walked and sat next to him. Mikkel ignored her at first until Hannah spoke up and asked, “Do you think I’m pretty?” When the boy only looked at her she sighed, “Well great.” She sulked then told the boy, “Know what I sometimes imagine? That I can do magic. I imagine that I want something. Really badly. And then it happens, because I imagine it. Like moving that bottle cap.” She motioned to it.

Mikkel looked down at the cap then up at her and asked, “Do you know Houdini?”

“Who,” Hannah asked.

“Harry Houdini,” Mikkel explained excitedly, “one of the world’s greatest magicians.” Hannah shook her head. Mikkel shrugged then picked up the bottle cap. He explained, “There is no such thing as magic, just illusion. Things only change when we change them.” He closed his fist around the bottle cap and sleight of hand it to the next while Hannah was looking in his eyes while talking, “But you have to do it skillfully, in secret. Then it seems like magic.” He passed his fists over each other, then hit them together to reveal that the bottle cap had moved.

Hannah impressed with the boy, asked, “Where did you learn that?”

“I’m from the future,” Mikkel explained.

Hannah laughed and said, “You’re cool.”

Mikkel smiled and joked, “No, I’m Mikkel.”

“Hi, Mikkel, boy from the future. I’m Hannah,” she extended her hand to shake his.

Mikkel took it and shook. He looked back down at the book and paper in his lap.

This was when Ulrich and Katharina had snuck into the gym closet to start their activity… only for Hannah to spy them when her father took her to the school to take care of some of the linens there.

Martha, in 2019, stood on stage in her costume reciting, “My mother told me about the old world. Before the flood. She said it had been of a different kind. Foul. She would braid my hair and recount harrowing tales, of my father and of the demons from the underworlds.”

As Martha said her speech, Jonas walked to the school. He stood in front debating if he was making the right choice before barreling through it. At the same time, the stranger walked away with tears in his eyes knowing exactly what he had done and that this was all going to play out the exact same way as it did previously.

“She said all is forgiven, but nothing is forgotten,” Martha’s speech continued, “Then the darkness in her eyes was greater than usual. And her words flowed like waves. She said all was well now the way it was.”

Annalise sat forward in her seat. She was on edge. It was as if she could feel this was important. Something deep inside almost screamed at her to take this message and run.

The play continued, “That all occupied its own space, in the past as in the here and now. When she spoke in this manner, something would overcome her. She would pull my braids tightly as if to punish me for something that dwelled in a place deep within her.”

Jonas stared at the girl from the doorway as Martha continued, “Something that tugged at her from the center, like a hunger that could never be satisfied. She spoke of yesterday as though it were before her every eyes. As if today was but a veil that shrouded in shadow all that was real to her. The old world came to haunter her like a ghost that whispered to her in a dream how to erect the new world stone by stone. From then on, I knew that nothing changes. That all things remain as before. The spinning wheel turns, round and round in a circle. One fate tied to the next. A thread, red like blood, that cleaves together all our deeds.”

Annalise’s heart raced as Martha spoke, “One cannot unravel knots, but they can be severed. He severed ours, with the sharpest blade.”

Martha looked out into the audience and saw Jonas sitting there. She slipped up for a split second before being able to continue one more, “Yet something remains behind cannot be severed. An invisible bond.”

Bartosz started to call his friend wondering where he was. Jonas had said he was going to meet him. Why wasn’t he there yet? When he got sent straight to voicemail, he cursed aloud.

Annalise blinked. There was a long pause there that Martha normally did not do. Her face mapped her confusion as she tried to read her friend, but it was almost as if she wasn’t there to Martha anymore.

“On many nights, he tugs on it,” Martha started the next phase of her monologue, “And then I wake up with a start, knowing that nothing ceases to be. That all remains.”

Bartosz tossed his bike down then jogged into the forest to go and meet up with Noah.

After the rehearsal, Annalise smiled and hugged Martha. She giggled and said, “You did great! I have some critiques for you, but we can go over those when I get back.” Annalise grabbed Martha’s empty water and shook it, “I’m going to go fill this up for you.”

Martha nodded. “I’ll be here,” She called to her friend who went deeper into the backstage area. As she was taking off her lipstick in the mirror, she noticed the boy approach her.

“That was great,” Jonas said awkwardly, “You were great.”

Martha stared at him then asked upset, “What are you doing here?” She knew she had asked to speak with him, but not now. Not when Annalise could come back at any moment to interrupt them.

“I wanted to tell you something,” the boy explained walking closer. Jonas paused. He looked down and admitted, “I wasn’t in France. I was in the nuthouse.” Annalise had come back at this point. She heard Jonas and stayed behind the curtain and listened in peaking through a small crack. Jonas explained, “They call it post-traumatic stress.”

Martha asked, forgetting that Annalise should have been back, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want you to think I was a freak,” Jonas tried to laugh through the pain he was feeling. Martha shook her head trying to process him saying that. Jonas then asked, “What happened between us last summer wasn’t just nothing, was it?” Martha shook her head trying not to cry herself. “I mean if my father hadn’t…” Jonas started to ask, “If this hadn’t happened…”

Annalise’s heart started to ache. It was being tugged in so many directions. She wanted to interrupt. She wanted to run, yet her feet stayed firmly rooted in the ground. It was as if the Earth wanted her to see this. It was her punishment for not just taking Mikkel home that night.

“It’s okay,” Martha tried to comfort him.

Jonas stared at her then asked, “Why did you call me this morning and not Bartosz?”

Martha stood up. She was having trouble finding the words. She walked over to him. Martha stared at him for a moment before grabbing his face and kissing him.

Annalise fumbled back. Her gasp left unheard to the others in the room. When she saw Jonas start kissing back though, the world decided that it was enough punishment. It released her and Annalise bolted out the door dropping the water behind her.

Hearing the clatter of everything and the rush of wind past them, the couple broke away. “Annalise,” Martha cried out. She watched as the last of her friend was out the door and going faster than she could catch up.

Jonas blinked hearing Martha call to Annalise. His head shifted from Martha to the door then back. He slowly realized what had happened and ran after her.

Annalise ran faster than she ever did on German soil. She honed in her track skills from her school in America and just kept running nonstop. She could hear the steps of someone trying to catch up behind her, but all that made her do is run even faster to get away from whoever was chasing her. She thought of everything. She tried to remember her experiences with long-distance running with her own father. How proud he was when she won her first metal. Something he told her rang within her, “Run faster than anything even if you miss a hurdle or two, you will still get there. Just run. Use all your anger and frustration about failure and push on through.”

Jonas panted as he pushed himself trying to catch up. Just when he was getting close, she seemed to just go even faster. He tried to grab onto her, but she was always just out of his reach. Jonas couldn’t even talk or try to call her name at the speed they were running at. He ended up slowing down. He doubled over coughing. Pain filled tears gathered at the edge of his eyes. He watched as the girl ran even farther into the woods leaving him behind.

Annalise didn’t stop until she was out of the woods to the main road. She slowed her running to a light jog. She looked around. Regina’s hotel wasn’t too far, she reasoned. The girl sighed. She walked along the road heading to the closest convenience store to get something to drink.

Bartosz watched as a car drove up to him. He looked into it seeing a man in priest’s clothing. He introduced himself then entered the vehicle to speak with the man.

At this same time 33 years ago, another Kahnwald ended up betraying someone they loved dearly. Only instead of letting the truth slip out, Hannah told a lie and told the police that Ulrich had raped Katharina.

In the present, Katharina lay in Mikkel’s bed. She felt Ulrich come up behind her. While they embraced Katharina asked, “I will only ask this once. Are you cheating on me?”

“I’d never do that,” Ulrich lied to his wife after waiting a few moments.

Bartosz exited Noah’s car. He sighed and looked towards the power plant. As his eyes scanned, he noticed a figure stumbling across the street. Normally he wouldn’t think anything of it, but it looked very familiar. The beating of his heart echoed in his ears when he realized just who it was. He jogged across the street and called, “Anna.”

Annalise took another large drink of her mixed drink a very kind older man had given her. She smiled gently. It reminded her of the drinks she heard about back home. Fruit punch, Red Bull, vodka mixed in the right fashion still only seemed like fruit punch. He had given her a large bottle just with a few bucks and for “looking cute.” She drank as she made her way to the bus stop out of Winden. The burning sensation masking her heart being torn apart at the seams.

Bartosz easily caught up to the girl and grabbed her arm, “Anna! What are you doing, idiot?!” He kept a firm grip on her. Frustration rose into his chest. Where did she even get what she was drinking? Where was she going? Shouldn’t she be with Jonas or Martha or nearly anyone else? She never went anywhere alone.

“I’m going home,” she answered simply, “Now please let me go.” She tried to jerk away.

He shook his head, “What are you drinking? Jonas’s place is that way.” He gestured with his shoulder towards where his best friend lived. He stared at the girl floundering to get away from him. His heart started to ache. More than that. He was angry. Furious even. Filled to the brim with an anger he had never known before.

Annalise started to cry as she tried to tear away from his grip, “Let me go!” She started to yell at him. Tears built up pressure behind her eyes as she remembered back to what had driven her to this point. How she wished for the rain to finally start in this God abandoned town. The wind howled as it shook the trees awake. At least, she reasoned, that was on her side. “Let me go, Bartosz,” she repeated screaming at him with the full force she wanted to let out at everyone.

“No!” He roared back at her. He growled and continued to hold her there despite her struggle. He held onto her shoulders lawlessly despite her telling him that he was hurting her. He didn’t stop until he saw her liquid sadness drip from her eyes. His brain clicked. He pulled her into his arms. She always annoyed him because she always saw straight through him. To Annalise, Bartosz wasn’t even someone to be considered. He, and in some relation even herself, never got any of her attention unless he terrorized the girl. She never gave herself priority unless he forced her to put herself first through exaggeratedly pointing out the hypocrisy or absurdity of her actions or behavior. He wrapped himself around her. Was she always this tiny, he wondered. It was his first time ever fully embracing her. He had to bend down a bit to bury his face into her shoulder and neck. Oh, how it felt nice to finally hold someone, to hold her, in his arms, but he couldn’t dwell on his own happiness. He needed her to be happy. He thirst to see her smiling and laughing again.

Annalise beat her fists into the taller boy as the tears fell from her eyes. She continued to scream at him to let her go. The girl struggled as he just held her in an embrace. Her breathing was off. The thumping his chest made as she hit it reminded her how much she just wanted him to be someone else. She just wanted to go back home but she could never tell him that. Annalise hated every moment of this. She hated every moment of Winden. She just wanted to go back in time to right before she saw that moment and never see Martha grabbing Jonas’s face to...

Bartosz pulled his face away. There was something he had heard Magnus mention before while Mikkel was throwing a tantrum. He needed to distract her from her emotions so that Annalise could actually TELL him what was going on. He sighed knowing he was going to hate himself later for indulging the part of him that just revealed its ugly head, but he had to do it. With one hand, he trapped her wrists from continuing to beat into his chest. The other he used to grab her face. Bartosz pressed his lips against hers.

The girl froze. His lips were so desperate. She could feel his yearning for her to stop and think about what she was doing. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she allowed herself to kiss him back. There was a saltiness to it, yet tender and warm. Soon, she felt her wrists freed from his grip. She just gently rested her hands against the boy’s chest as his now unoccupied hand found a new home at the small of her back. Annalise forgot just who was kissing her. She was drunk, longing for love, and finally acquired a bit of that feeling of being wanted.

Bartosz pulled away gently. Annalise reached up and pressed his forehead against hers. Her eyes closed as the last of her tears drained from her. He calmed himself and asked, “Anna, what’s wrong?” He gently brushed her wild hair from her face, unstuck some strands stuck around her eyes from her tears, and put it in a place not easy to get stuck there again.

Her face contorted in agony. The fountain of sorrow slowly turned back on. Something about this moment felt as if something similar had happened before. It felt as if she, him, the moment, it was all supposed to happen. “I,” she started. She took a breath and then confessed, “I saw Martha kiss Jonas.” She choked on her words and started to cough.

Bartosz cooed at her and held her close once more, “It’s okay.” He swallowed hard and rocked with her. The boy just repeated that it was okay, that he was there with her, he wasn’t going to leave her, that everything was going to be okay until he could feel her body start to go limp. She must have been exhausted, he figured. He scooped her up and walked to his bike. He gently put the spent girl on it and lead them to the bike stop. He, then, tried to call Franziska. Unsurprisingly, she did not answer his call. He rolled his eyes and called Magnus then.

Magnus stared at Bartosz trying to call him. He never did that. His brow furrowed. “Hello,” he answered confused.

“Hey,” Bartosz replied. The boy looked at Annalise’s soft breathing on his bike. He shook his head. He placed his phone on his shoulder so that he could cradle her once more. “I have a giant favor to ask you.”

Magnus rolled his eyes, “Yeah? What’s that? Finally asking if you can screw my sister? Fuck off.”

“No,” Bartosz replied offended. He noticed Annalise start to stir from her slumber. He whispered, “I need to get in touch with Franziska.”

This made Magnus sit up. He growled as he asked, “Why?”

Bartosz huffed, “I have Annalise here. She’s drunk and needs a place to stay. I am very well not having her stay at my place.”

“Why didn’t you call Jonas,” Magnus asked annoyed.

“Why didn’t you call Jonas,” Bartosz mocked. He, then, angrily whispered, “Why do you think she’s drunk, asshole. They got into an argument.”

Magnus growled now more angry at Jonas than Bartosz. He sneered. He got up to start to get ready to go pick her up, “I’ll just grab her and bring her back. I’m sure Martha misses her anyway. She came home crying whimpering about Annalise.”

“No, no no,” Bartosz panicked. He nearly dropped his phone. The boy sighed and confessed, “I think it’s about her. Now can you just link me up with Franziska?”

“Okay.” Magnus simply hung up. He, then, called Franziska. He quickly explained that Bartosz needed to talk to her and that he would really appreciate it if she could do what he asked.

Franziska sighed as she called Bartosz back. “Hey,” she said disgustedly.

“Hey,” Bartosz started. He gently laid Annalise on the bench so that he could handle the phone better again, “Can you please talk your parents into allowing Annalise sta-”

“I already did,” Franziska interrupted, “Just bring her over. You better be glad this isn’t your precious Martha.” She quickly hung up with him and waited outside for the boy.

Bartosz sighed as he looked at his phone. He placed it into his pocket. He took off his outer jacket and wrapped it around the girl. He manipulated her to gently rest on his back. He then grabbed his bike and walked to the redhead’s house.

For the first time since Mikkel disappeared, Annalise didn’t have nightmares. Instead, she just floated in a dark void almost like an ocean that rocked her back and forth slowly. A small splash that resembled a groan would sound, but it only helped keep her suspended in this feeling of warmth, acceptance, and serenity.

Franziska intervened before he got too close to her house. She helped slide the other girl off his back. “So what happened,” she asked.

“She and Jonas got into it about Martha,” Bartosz answered simply. He gently removed his jacket from Annalise and put it back on. He reached into his pockets and asked, “How much do I owe you for taking her in and taking care of her?”

Franziska shook her head, “Magnus asked it as a favor. Why are you helping-”

“How much will it take for you not to mention me when she wakes up then,” He asked. From hearing Annalise mumble in her sleep, he could already tell she was going to forget about their encounter by the morning. He clarified, “I want to make sure she doesn’t remember this unless it’s in her own will and in the cards for her to remember. Tell her whatever she needs to hear to make sure she doesn’t question too hard. This is also for you not to ask me questions.” He started to count out at least 150 Euros in his head.

Franziska stopped him, “That’s enough.” She pocketed the money and slowly brought her inside. She shook her head at the craziness that she just found herself in.

Bartosz watched to make sure they got inside before he started to walk back home himself. His heart staying behind with the drunk girl who would forget about all of this and him once again in the morning.

Jonas ended up back home. He walked into his bedroom to find a package. He quickly opened it to find a round futuristic flashlight. There was also a letter to him, from his father. He grabbed it and quickly started to read it.

Dear Jonas,

By the time you read this everything will have happened, irrevocably. It can no longer be changed. I would have liked to explain things to you sooner, but I hope once you understand how everything is connected, you will understand my decision. The truth is a strange thing. You can try to suppress it, but it will always find its way back to the surface. We make a lie into our truth in order to survive. We try to forget. Until we can’t anymore. We don’t know even half og the mysteries of this world. We are all wanderers in the darkness. This is my truth. On November 4, 2019, I traveled through time to the year 1986. The boy from the future stayed, and in time he became a man. Mikkel became Michael, who never knew where he belonged. By the time you read this, I’ll already be gone. Both as a boy and as a man. I hope you can forgive me. Everything is connected.

Mikkel/Michael.

Jonas stared at confusion at the message. His jaw dropped as he came to the realization.

Tannhaus sat at his desk fixing his clock when a man walked in. He was ratty and dirty. There was a scar across his neck. He looked at the man and said, “I’d like to talk to you about time.”

#dark netflix #yesterday once more fanfic #dark fanfic #dark netflix fanfic #dark (netflix)#dark (netflix) fanfiction

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el-gilliath · 4 years

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Shades of Green

So for the @rnmremix2020 I got @unbreakablejemmasimmons and I chose to do a remix of her fantastic fic Shades of Blue. Firstly, because it’s absolutely amazing and secondly, we all know I love angst and this fic gave me a chance to angst it up with a happy and hopeful ending.

Amy, I love your original story, and I am really glad you liked this remix :)

It’s almost never easy, to see Alex. To see his shades of green. Shades of a man he broke, just a little, almost a lot. Shades of a relationship he let slip out of his fingers because he was too afraid to see. The olive of his skin, the green tint of his eyes in the correct light, the moss of his fatigues.

It reminds him of times he would rather forget. It reminds him of times he will always want to remember.

He thinks for a long time, after the shopping trip with Isobel. Just sits in the Airstream, or outside on a lawn chair, whenever he can and just thinks. Considers, really, considers how much it would hurt to return there. How much it would hurt not to.

It’s not really a choice, in the end.

———

He wakes up the day of the lunch, lurching out of bed in a panic, rooting around for his phone. His mind completely sure he’s missed it, missed his chance. It stops him dead in his tracks.

He can’t help but laugh, a deep, guttural sound that’s more broken than he wants to admit. But it takes away all doubt in his mind, that and looking at the blue shirt lying on his couch area, innocently waiting for him to figure out if he wants to put it on.

Maybe it wasn’t a choice the second he let Isobel buy it, maybe it wasn’t a choice when he placed it there last night just in case. Maybe it was never a choice, even when he ran away to get something easy. He feels like he was always destined to end up here, laughing at his own panic for thinking he missed out on a lunch that’s not even a date, not even a thing. It’s just Isobel sticking her nose into somewhere it doesn’t belong.

The sheer hope that Alex said something for her to suggest it, push for it, takes his breath away. Hope that he can fix it.

Hope that he’ll be allowed to.

A shade of green just like fresh grass just barely risen out of the ground, new, fresh. Hopeful for survival. Just like him.

He does find his phone, telling him he still has a couple of hours until the lunch. Which means his worry was for nothing, his panic for naught. Though he can’t help but be grateful since it helped him decide. He has to go.

He’s not losing Alex again. Not while he has an opportunity to try.

———

He enters his truck, a mere 20 minutes before the lunch. Freshly showered, wearing the ridiculously comfortable blue shirt, but finds that he can’t turn the key. The guilt creeps up then, the doubt. After all, Alex wasn’t the one who told him to come.

Will Alex want to see him, want him to be there, after everything he’s done? Or will him doing this just break them anew, splinter them further apart than they’ve ever been? It’s frustrating, defeating, torture. He doesn’t know what to do.

The crippling doubt makes him tremble, slightly, in the front seat of his car. He should be used to it by now, doubting himself in anything and everything he does, should have a tactic to deal with it. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he does what he always does nowadays; he calls Liz.

“Michael? You okay?” Liz answers, as she always does.

“Isobel invited me to lunch with her and Alex and now I don’t know what to do because what if he doesn’t want me there even if I really want to go?” He blurts out. His breath is heavy, his insecurity apparent. He feels green, the putrid shade of nausea.

Liz is quiet for a long time, but Michael doesn’t mind. He’s come to appreciate Liz’s silence as her finding the right words, instead of becoming impatient. Even just a few weeks ago he wouldn’t have, but he’s trying to be better. Trying to rein in the canon that he’s become so he can actually be there for his friends, for his sister. Be there for the people he loves.

It’s not simple, it’ll never be simple, he’s so used to fighting for everything that he has that the fight or flight response is too deeply ingrained. But he’s trying. For Liz, for Isobel. For Max.

“Mikey,” Liz says. “You know as well as we do that Isobel isn’t one to do things out of the blue. If she told you to come, and you want to go, then you should go.”

“But what if she’s wrong? What if she only thinks Alex wants me there?”

“Would she do that?”

“But you don’t-“

“No,” Liz interrupts. “Alex loves you. You know that. Stop worrying and just. Go.”

He breathes for a minute, deep calming breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth. A calming technique Alex taught him in the few moments he was receptive to anything from Alex after Caulfield, after Max. It always works.

“Okay,” he replies, his lips curling into a smile at her audible sighs of relief. “Okay, I’m gonna go.”

“Good. You deserve some happiness.”

He hears the sadness in her voice, the longing. They’ve been doing everything they can, working so hard on a way to figure things out. They’re just not there yet.

“You do too, Liz. We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah,” she answers. “We’ll figure it out. But until then, go. See Alex. Take a chance.”

“Thanks, Liz.”

“Anytime.”

They say their goodbyes, and Michael hangs up, his breath a tiny bit easier, the beating of his heart a tiny bit slower. His nausea not so green. He wants to go. So he’s gonna go.

It’s easy to start the truck after that, easy to put it in drive. Easy to drive off towards the Crashdown.

———

He shouldn’t be surprised when the doubt sets in again as he parks. Shouldn’t be, but he is. He can’t be this much of a fuck up, doesn’t want to be, but every fiber of him screams that he’s doing the wrong thing. That he’s inflicting his emotions on Alex, that Alex doesn’t want that, that Isobel is lying. It terrifies him, it makes him mad, it makes him sad. It makes him want to cry and yell and tear things apart with his telekinesis all at once.

It’s exhausting, it’s painful, it’s… intolerable.

He looks down on the blue shirt. The shirt he let Isobel buy him. He admits to himself that it makes him feel like a charity case.

He also knows that Isobel isn’t doing it because she pities him, Isobel of all people knows how he feels about pity. He also knows that if he has any inclination of it being pity that made her buy him the shirts, the shirt, everything, he wouldn’t accept it.

But even if she doesn’t pity him, she does feel sorry for him. Or maybe not sorry. Maybe she just feels for him. In ways he doesn’t deserve.

He has a hard time accepting that he deserves someone like Alex, after everything he’s done. After Caulfield, after Deluca, after the way he screamed at him out of his drunken mind the last time he saw him. He loves Alex, he will always love him. Deserving him is something different all together.

His phone pings (another gift from Isobel), a message from Liz on the front of it.

Liz

Stop sitting in your car feeling sorry for yourself. Grab the bull by the horns, Mikey, while you have the chance.

He snorts, his mood lightening minutely. Especially when another message comes in a second later.

Liz

Dios mío, don’t tell Alex I compared him to a bull. I’ll never hear the end of it.

Michael

Relax, I won’t. How do you know I’m sitting in my car?

Liz

Look up.

He does, and catches sight of her standing in the Crashdown window. She has her uniform on, the antennas bobbing lightly. She waves and he watches as she starts typing something on her phone.

Liz

Nice shirt. You know blue is Alex’s favorite color, right?

Michael

Yeah, I know.

Liz

Good. Just so you know, he’s wearing green. That deep, bottle green you’re so fond of.

He looks back up at her and she smiles, winking at him before she pockets her phone and walks away from the window. He can’t see Isobel and Alex, but he knows Isobel prefers sitting by the opposite windows when she’s at the Crashdown.

“Right. Bull by the horn, Guerin,” he murmurs to himself. He takes a deep breath, two, three, before he opens the door and gets out of the car, closing the car door but not locking it behind him. No one would steal his piece of shit beloved Chevy anyway.

The distance to the door to the Crashdown are some of the hardest he has ever walked, his hand trembling slightly as he reaches for the door. It’s now or never.

———

The pride in Isobel’s face, the love, the hope as he walks through the door is one of the best things he’s seen in years.

The surprise on Alex’s face, the cautious happiness, the slight smile as he notices the blue shirt wins, though.

———

It’s not until much later, that he reflects on what he almost missed out on that day if he had listened to his fears. If Isobel hadn’t goaded him into coming, if Liz hadn’t nagged him into not being stupid.

He knows now that Alex was happy to see him, happy to have him there. Cautiously optimistic, the way only Alex Manes can be. His eyes, still the gorgeous brown that fit so well against the green of his shirt that day, a color that Liz was right in Michael loving. It catches him off guard, when he thinks about it.

Because while Isobel might have bought him the blue shirt for Alex, he knows now she subtly persuaded Alex to wear green for Michael. Matchmaking in her own way, through gentle words and direct opinions, never too pushy or forceful, with just the right amount of Isobel. It’s because of her he gets to have this, lying on the couch of a newly decorated cabin, decorated in subtle details of blue, with small hints of green, fully accessible in every way for Alex and his amputated leg.

She’s considerate, his sister, helpful in ways she doesn’t want to show, loving in way she hides from the public eye. She listened to everything Alex wanted for his home, and made it better. The crew she hired used to working with amputees and making their homes as good for them as they could possibly be. Only charging what she absolutely had to to pay the crew, only taking the smallest fee for herself. The only way she knew Alex would accept it.

Michael feels happy here, home in a way that he knows he wants the cabin to eventually be, in the future. When they’re both ready for it.

But for right now, Alex is in his arms and Buffy is snuggled at the end of their feet. They’re talking, their voices low murmurs that mingle together naturally. They can speak of fears now, they can speak of hurts. They’re learning to listen, learning to be patient.

Learning to be together as adults, who try and talk instead of shouting, screaming, hurting each other over and over just for the sake of getting a reaction. They’re learning to be pieces that fit, who want to be together.

Shades of blue and green.

It’s more ‘work’ than Michael expected. It’s also easier than he expected.

“Hey.”

Michael looks down at the man in his arms. The olive of his skin, the green tint of his eyes in the correct light, the moss of the fatigues he hasn’t changed out of yet, since he came from the base. There’s no putrid green of nausea anymore. Just the green of fresh grass, like new hope.

“Let’s grab burgers at the Crashdown, with Isobel. Liz is working too.”

Michael smiles. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

His smile widens as Alex gets up, Buffy grumbling as he unintentionally jostles her. He watches after him as he makes his way to the bathroom, presumably to change his clothes.

He can’t wait for all of this to finally be home.

#michael guerin #alex manes #isobel evans #liz ortecho #roswell new mexico #malex fic #rnmfanficremix2020 #my fic

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kinsbin · 4 years

Text

Still Yours [Xena/Darth Maul]

Title: Still Yours Pairing: Xena/Darth Maul [SI/Canon] Word Count: 3358 Rating: T [violence, cursing, angst, mentions of blood]

Summary: [SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4 OF THE CLONE WARS] Years after Obi-Wan Kenobi had killed Darth Maul, Xena has been a part of the Jedi’s forces for a long while, and has only finally been able to accept the death of her loved one and previous master... Until a run in with another Zabrak proves her wrong, and she is able to reunite with Maul, however broken he may be.

A/N: I AM EMOTIONAL OVER DARTH MAUL AND THIS FIC WAS WRITTEN BECAUSE I WANT TO BE THERE TO COMFORT HIM EVEN IN HIS MADNESS. I might write a sequel to it later but I am sleepy now so you get this for now! )b

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He was dead. He had been for a while now.

It was a fact that Xena, eventually, had to find herself accepting.

Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker had been gracious in their received of her, of course, but she knew they were weary. She could sense it in the lingering threads of their force when she poked and prodded at it as carefully as she could manage, like a researcher examining a wild beast up close. Sedated as it was, she knew it was still volatile. Still shaky at best as the two claimed her Force Sensitivity in favor of the Jedi who hoped that, one day, she might be ready for the training it took to fully embrace the sight of the light.

It made her laugh. Light... Dark... Neither of those things mattered in the end, did they? Her neutrality could not be removed from her sense of emotion that was for certain, but, Obi-Wan certainly took it upon himself to try at a near constant rate. It bordered on near annoyance each time the two of them found one another alone in their company.

He could, without a doubt, sense the vaguest harboring of hatred deep in Xena’s heart for what he had done to the man that she loved so many years ago, but, there was only in the present a sense of... acceptance. Of moving on as he might want her to and a particularly deep talk with Kenobi after having a few too many glasses of alcohol at a local bar they had stopped at for information ended with her confessing just that to him. Granted there were a lot more tears and throwing up in the morning, but the point was gotten across as the Jedi Master brought her pain killers the next day alongside a glass of water and a nod of appreciation for their heart to heart.

How annoying, Xena thought, but she had accepted the water anyways.

Just as she had accepted that there was no more Maul.

It still hurt. Just because she had accepted it didn’t mean that it hurt any less to think of it for too long, just as she was doing as Anakin finally brought the edges of their ship to a safe landing along the edge of a diner she couldn’t recognize the name of. Ahsoka complained somewhere in her peripheral as Anakin declared himself tired of army rations and hurried to get out of the cramped machine, only to find them surrounded with sirens going off in soft, hurried motions as they meandered accordingly to protocol. Xena sat up, suddenly aware of the situation, and her mouth dried for a brief moment in a combination of annoyance and fear.

“Xena,” Anakin’s voice was in that dark tone he always used when he ordered her around, “Stay out here with the ship. See what information you can gather form those passing by, maybe they saw someone leaving.’

She didn’t answer with words, only a nod as he and Ahsoka entered the diner without her. As the door closed she gazed around, the sweeping of her stare intense through the frames of her glasses as she observed the world around her as she was good at doing. She had been good at doing it before she was involved in all of this ‘Jedi’ and ‘Sith’ business. Before she had met Maul and before she had flown off of the planet of Tatooine. She was still good at it now. When the Clone Wars Ended and the galaxy fell apart, she would STILL be good at it.

Which was why, when her sharp eyes and ears picked up the sound of footsteps all too fast to be a casual movement, her head snapped to the side and her eyes narrowed into slivers at the sight of an alleyway.

The cargo within it was still being moved as it shifted and pushed against itself in heavy metal crates. When she found herself sliding between each squared off pile, her gaze held fast to the dust that coated each one. She took note of the way it was blown, windswept, across the fronts and how some of them (only some) had small markings. Divots of where fingers had dipped and rubbed before passing by with extreme haste. She was no tracker, certainly, but you didn’t need a lot of experience to tell that whoever was moving was doing so with a desperately needed speed.

She followed, more and more, until she came upon it. A massive cargo ship, pulling its fresh haul as the doors had begun to close on its loading dock. A sudden sharpness tugged in her heart, making her gasp as it squeezed around the organ with a desperate, snake-like movement before tugging and tugging and TUGGING as hard as it possibly could against her skin and her body moved without her permission, running fast and calling upon the force she did possess to jump just quick enough to squeeze tightly into one of the edges of the closing platform on the cargo bay, cementing her fate inside the hold for... well... whatever it may offer her.

The inside was quiet save for the cursed mutterings of something in the cockpit. The pilot, likely, and her heart skipped a beat as she realized just where she was.

Just what she was doing.

Without Ahsoka and Anakin.

Oh she was going to be in so much trouble.

The thought had to wait, however, as she ducked herself as quietly as she could through the sliding door and closed it with equal speed, keeping herself low to the ground behind a small out cove in the wall as she listened with careful patience in her hiding spot, stopping her breathing in the fear that it might alert the massive being before her as he stood, hulking and serious, alongside the annoyed pilot.

He was big. Golden even in the light of the cockpit and the markings upon his body were so distinctly Darthomirian in nature that she barely even needed to look up at the horns crowning his head to know that that was exactly what he was. A Zabrak. A Night Brother.

She frowned as her brow furrowed with confusion. What was a Night Brother doing so far out in the galaxy and alone at that? Maul had talked little of his origins with her, but, he had said enough for her to understand the basic matriarchal society that the brothers lived in. Biting her lip, the tug on her heart echoed again. This time, however, it was stronger. Angrier. Something more fierce than she had experienced in a very long time and, oh, the burn was something so nostalgic that it almost made her want to cry as she covered her mouth with a hand to stop the echoing sob.

“Soon, Brother, I will find you.” The Zabrak finally spoke, his voice deep and his words causing a spur in her heart. A hope that pushed her up as her eyes widened.

“Brother? Who is your brother?”

The Zabrak turned, anger in his eyes, and Xena paled as he pushed towards her without hesitation. In return she ducked, her smaller stature helpful against his larger one as she rolled off to the side, causing the pilot to jostle himself slightly with a curse that fell from his lips. She sidestepped the next touch too and tried her best to gaze at the strange medallion that hung from her attacker’s neck. So soft it was... and yet her heart continued to pull at it with a frantic sort of desperation...

The hand closing on her neck, crushing her windpipe with an angry grip, was enough to draw her from her stupor and she gasped for breath. She gazed down at the Zabrak with fear meeting his fearsome stare. He hesitated only when the device around his neck began to glow in and out of existence with a frantic, pulsating movement, as if trying to get his attention. Looking down at it, his brow furrowed in confusion before he held it in one palm to hold it up curiously to her form. Once close enough to her, the device let off a long... steady glow.

Immediately the being put her down, letting her gasp for air as he glared at her with a confusion written so clearly across his face she might have laughed at it if her windpipe wasn’t moderatley bruised.

“You,” He growled as his hand found the top of her head and tugged hard on her skull, her hair cut too short to provide any leverage with his claws so he simply HELD, “You are not who I’m looking for and yet... It reacts to you. Why?”

“Maul,” the first words fell from her lips in a choked desperation, “I-Is the Brother you’re looking for... Is it Maul?”

His gaze held disbelief. The demand of how she could have possibly known that clear on her eyes as she swallowed hard:

“I... Was his apprentice, once... And I still am loyal to him. So, please... Please take me with you if you’re going to find him. That’s all I ask.”

“Make your decision quick,” The pilot hissed as he lowered them into a suddenly unfamiliar planet, “We’re arriving.”

The Zabrak looked down at her, distrust still in his eyes but with the begrudgingly slow acceptance of her status in the situation. Xena took a breath, flexing and laxing her hands as she chewed on her lip and decided, one last time, to put a foot forward in hopes of being brought along on this journey that she prayed would give her life meaning once again:

“My name is Xena.”

“... Savage,” He answered with an accepting nod, “Let’s go, then.”

And her heart nearly wept.

Because this meant he wasn’t dead at all.

----

It was how Xena had ended up with Savage beneath the ground of Lotho Minor, the calls of her companion echoing with chilling distance across the deep, endless caves they had found themselves within.

Every movement filled her body with anxiety. With a unique sense of dread that echoed itself so deeply in her veins that she could feel her hairs stand up from their follicles to the tip with every movement she forced herself into. Keen red eyes traced the world around them, but not even her sight could pierce that impending darkness that swallowed them. Savage, as if sensing her insecurity, paused in movements only to reach out and touch at her shoulder, gently guiding her to a small pile of rocks just before a step in the path they were taking.

“Stay here, Little One,” The nickname hurt even from another Zabrak’s lips, “I will go ahead.”

“I can take care of myself.” Her snap was defensive as she pushed against his grip, but it held firm as he watched her with something akin to frustration and protection in his eyes. She wondered if that was just an emotion she had evoked in the species, and the muse was hilarious enough to bring a smirk to her lips at the idea of any male Zabrak filled with the sudden urge to guard her in one way or another.

And then the attack happened all at once.

The creature flew from the shadows with a force she could not have expected from its massive body. Agile limbs like that of a spider’s ripped forward to snatch Savage from her side and drag him into a fight, the echoes of screams and broken laughs piercing against rusted metal and the smell of loose soil.

Xena froze as she watched the struggle, her body shaking in terror as she watched Savage fight the being. The tug on her heart and her mind was now giving her a headache as it bit its teeth into her skin. Into her blood and very heart as though it were trying to rip it straight from her chest. Her limbs shook as her breath picked up and that medallion around his neck glowed, glowed GLOWED with every tug until-

His face was revealed, worn with hunger and madness as his eyes were filled with nothing but the dark. When Savage spoke, he fled, backwards into the cave with screams that ached on her ears and nonsensical blabbering that signaled just how far he had fallen.

Oh hear heart tugged.

And oh her heart hurt.

Savage moved forward, as if to say something, but was stopped as Xena pulled herself from the shadows. He cursed something under his breath as he opened his mouth to fully warn her of her movements, but a hand upwards silenced him as she shot him a careful look. A desperate one that seemed to mimic how the tug on her heart felt. When he closed his lips, her hand fell to her side and she continued forward. Towards the web of broken shards and metals and the being that clung to it with shaking, clawing hands as he whimpered and writhed.

She was in front of him now, his taught body the same one she had loved years ago and, oh, still did. Even as the edges of starvation made his ribs shine through his dehydrated skin, the marks were the same. He was still the same.

Reaching out, her hand found his face and he froze, eyes widening in shock at the sudden close contact. She could feel his entire body trembling. Shaking like a leaf in the wind as she drew circles in patterns with her thumb and bit her lip, tilting her head to one side to examine him. His hands had, eventually, fallen to the side. They hung limply with the rest of his arms and he simply stood there, in front of her, with wide eyes that gazed into her own. She simply held his face there, close to hers...

And she smiled, weakly, but a smile.

“Maul...” She whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion, “... What did they do to you?”

He tried to form words but found nothing in them, his quiet clicking and murmurs nothing in her ears as she simply focused on his being. On his existence as the two of them stood like that. Slowly, then, a hand rose up. Reaching out to her own, he held it. His palm was cold and clammy, weak and dirtied with the ground he had been living in for... For so, so long. Too long. Her heart ached again and, this time, she felt the pull of it forward to connect with his own. Invisible threads entwined to create a whole circuitry again and, for the first time in years, she felt something close to alive.

“... Little One?” He spoke with disbelief in his tone as her nickname, gentle and unsure, fell from between his shaking mouth. She laughed then, tears in her eyes as she nodded her conformation and leaned forward.

Pressing their foreheads together brought with it the rough scrape of horn to soft flesh but she didn’t care. All she cared about now was the man in front of her, broken but alive and still there as he pressed his forehead back and something of a sob ripped from his lips, shaking and weak with appreciation for the presence of something that made him feel so complete again. He repeated her nickname over and over again. A chorus of ‘Little One’ echoed against the edges of the chambers and she didn’t dare to move herself away from him as he embraced her close.

“I’m here, love,” She gasped as tears flowed freely from her eyes, “I’m here, I’m back. I promise. I absolutely promise that I’m here.”

She only pulled away when Savage cleared his throat. The two gazed up with sharp eyes at the additional presence they had all but forgotten about.

“It’s time we leave this place,” Savage’s voice was unsure of his presence in the situation, “Unless you two are happy living here.”

Xena couldn’t stop the laugh before she turned back to Maul. Reaching out, she took his hand in her own and squeezed with a careful, reassuring grip that made him startle but focus back on her as he watched her with those angry, deep eyes.

“It’s time to go, Master Maul,” She shuddered at the use of his name on her tongue, “Will you go with us now?”

To her relief, he nodded.

----

Maul clung to her the whole ride back. His arms wrapped tightly around her form and tugging her close to his body as he nuzzled into her and she kissed at his messy face with a smile to her lips, laughing at the way his spidered limbs tickled her sides as they tried to grab and pull. To cling and absorb her into his entire form as he whispered gentle phrases of ‘mine’ and ‘little one’ in a slow chant as if to himself.

Savage’s presence wasn’t welcome to say the least. Each time he checked on the both of them. Maul would pull her closer, curling around her form like an animal as he bared his teeth with a frustrated hiss deep in his stomach. Xena could only watch with an apologetic look at their traveling companion, who was growing ever-so irritated by the feral behavior of his supposed Brother. Xena could only offer small comforts as Maul slowly released his hold on her in favor of allowing her arm up to his horns to touch and massage at their bases. It urned a lull of his head against her shoulder as he hummed.

“Maybe don’t come back until we’ve landed,” Xena mused apologetically, “He’s... territorial right now.”

“He’s not an animal.”

“At this point in his psyche? He might as well be,” Xena smiled sadly, “They broke him down so much there... Can your Mother Talzin really repair him? Make him what he was?”

“She can do it,” There was no hesitation in Savage’s voice as he nodded fiercely, “I... Will leave you two alone, then... Do you... Are you sure you’re-”

“I’m fine,” She whispered the gentle tutt as Maul’s teeth grazed her neck and then he went on to nuzzle at her again, making her reach up to continue the strokes of his horns she had offered him before. An eye cracked open and narrowed at Savage for a long, dangerous sort of moment as he pulled her close to him again and scuttled away into the darkest corner of the cargo freight he was able to locate, making Xena stifle a giggle as she watched Savage roll his eyes and give up, exiting the room for the final time until they were landed.

“Mine,” Maul cooed again, pained and choked as he let his hand reach out to touch her face, thumb petting her cheek as he admired her with almost despair-ridden eyes, “Lost... you were lost so many moons ago... So many there’s no way to count now it’s all gone and... You still pull at me. You still tug at me and are still mine. Still mine...”

Xena felt her smile grow on her lips, sad as it was, and she leaned into his touch. She kissed the palm of his hand and nuzzled at his grip until he brought her close and the two of them pressed their foreheads together once again in the darkness of the spaceship they hid away in.

It was then she kissed him. It was long and soft and careful, willing herself not to push him. Not to break him more than he was as they shared their momentary quiet in reunion and his hands held her closer with a surprised shudder at the closeness of another being after so many years. When they pulled away, she kept her head close. She kept herself near because, gods, she was not going to leave him anytime soon. Not when he was alive. Not when he was HERE.

“Yes,” Xena whispered that promise in the form of her tone as she hugged him close:

“Still yours.”

#self insert #self shipping #self ship #selfship #star wars oc #oc/canon #darth maul x oc #kinley writes #of kindness and evil #I MIGHT WRITE A SEQUEL TO THIS BASED ON WHEN HE GETS HIS SANITY BACK BUT UNTIL THEN #I WANT GIANT MAD SPIDER MAUL TO HUG ME AND NUZZLE ME AND GET ANGRY WHEN I GO ANYWHERE TY

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laufire · 4 years

Note

Legacies, Braven, Eve (Lucifer) and Reign/LOT

Legacies

Favorite character: I’m going to shock everyone by saying Lizzie anything-but-Jenna Saltzman xD

Least Favorite character: Alaric needs to be replaced.

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): Lizzie/Sebastian (really didn’t appreciate enough when I had it), Ablah/Lizzie, Lizzie/Rafael Hope/Landon/Lizzie, Chad/Necromancer (I just liked it okay xDD. I hope it’s not over for those two!!).

Character I find most attractive: MG’s mother whose name I can’t remember rn.

Character I would marry: Dorian would be a GREAT life partner.

Character I would be best friends with: probably Josie, based on RL experience. Kaleb too.

a random thought: I really wanted that musical episode...

An unpopular opinion: Lizzie/Rafael and Josie/Rafael rocked and that’s the love triangle he should’ve been kept in.

my canon OTP: I don’t have OTPs but I guess Lizzie/Rafael atm? I’d say Hope/Landon but I’m still ruminating how the ship affected Josie.

Non-canon OTP: Hope/Lizzie gives me all the feels so.

most badass character: Dorian is the perfect example of Badass Normal.

pairing I am not a fan of: Lizzie/MG or Josie/Landon or Hope/Josie (I have mixed feelings about that one because they’ve had scenes I’ve liked and I rather not dislike it, but a few of their “touching” moments came across to me as making Josie miserable and... I can’t).

character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): Rafael. In every damn aspect.

favourite friendship: Josie & Lizzie, ofc. My co-dependent girls.

character I want to adopt or be adopted by: I couldn’t do a worse job than Alaric as Headmaster so I say I take his position and “adopt” them all?

Braven

when of if I started shipping it: I liked it from their first interaction (threatening each other, Raven putting a knife to his neck, Bellamy trying to choke her... good times xD. Now that I think about it, it’s possible I have too many otps that start out with/involve a knife threat? Food for thought), I loved how their relationship contributed to Raven’s storyline after the smut scene etc., but I didn’t fully ship them until 2x12, where Raven ~casually let it slip that his sister was in danger despite being told it might compromise him LOL. It was a small moment but nonetheless.

my thoughts: late seasons development have made me reevaluate and I know see it as having been romantically unrequited. AKA Bellamy was into it, Raven wasn't.

What makes me happy about them: their narrative pull.

What makes me sad about them: the loss of potential.

things done in fanfic that annoys me: I’d be pissed at any post-s4 fic that dismissed Echo. And ofc I hate that they’re often written as a stepping stone before Bellamy/Clarke ¬¬

things I look for in fanfic: I haven’t read Braven fanfic in sooooo long. Tbh I think I’d look for complete AUs (fusions, historical AUs, early show canon-divergence) because in canon I’m very distanced from the ship.

My kinks: personally I’m very into the idea of Bellamy ~gently taking off Raven’s brace lol.

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: I want Raven to have a successful and non-shippy ending, however that materializes (I’ve grown to think it’s the best option for her and a lot of characters like her). And err... I’m going to reserve my opinion about what I want Bellamy’s ending to be right now xDD

My happily ever after for them: utterly impossible after s5 because I love Echo too much.

Eve (Lucifer)

How I feel about this character: this show is so damn frustrating because they have an amazingly interesting mythos to pull from AND a source material that looks pretty damn good too BUT THEY KEEP MAKING THE DULLEST CHOICES. Eve wasn’t amazing or anything but I found her actress charming and gorgeous and she felt a little like a breath of fresh air sometimes xD

All the people I ship romantically with this character: no one really. I liked some of her moments with Lucifer but he’s the target of those dull choices so zzzzz.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: she and Ella were cute.

My unpopular opinion about this character: I can’t ship her with Maze. Maze was my fave character in the show and Eve’s inclusion was pretty terrible for her all in all, IMO. It pushed her further away from the show’s centre and made her even proppier. If Eve wasn’t so proppy herself I might even resent her for it LOL.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: that she was in a different canon xD

my het ship: Eve/Lucifer, I guess.

my fem/slash ship: Ella/Eve, if forced to choose.

my OTP: n/a.

my OT3: n/a.

my cross over ship: since now all DC earths are the same one, I’m just going to say Eve/Alice from Batwoman because it sounds random af and potentially hilarious yet interesting.

my kink: she seemed to indulge in plenty but all in the pursuit of pleasing Lucifer, so she needs to reevaluate, start with simple stuff, and then see if she wants to build up from there, okay xD

a head cannon fact: she hates processed food (I just can’t imagine someone from so long ago liking that weird taste. She’d probably have trouble with a lot of food these days at first).

my gender bend: hmm. After some research, I’m going with Yoav Reuveni because I haven’t found anything better. I predict I’ll be bad with this question xD

Crossover ship: Reign x Legends of Tomorrow

Obviously from Reign I have to pick Lola to save her. I’d... kind of want to see what Charlie/Lola could look like LOL.

#missbrunettebarbie #legacies #talking to the void #my thoughts #plecverse thoughts #replies #plecverse #lucifer (fox)#eve #braven #reign #dc's legends of tomorrow #dc thoughts #the 100 #t100 thoughts #dc #dctv #lady lola #thanks!

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sdv-hiddenfarm · 4 years

Text

Thank you so much, @runawayface! I was crying before I even read the story...thank you for the kind words on the Stories series. I appreciate them, and they inspire me!

Readers, this is very much like the Stories series. It’s mostly focused on the villagers, all in-character and full of charm. It’s a longer fic, 12 pages/4500+ words, and it is 100% worth reading.

To: girljen/sdv-hiddenfarm

From: runawayface

Title: New Farmer Stories

Word Count: 4,537

Summary: It’s not every day that a new resident is coming to Pelican Town, so when a notice appears on the town bulletin board to announce the arrival of a new farmer, the villagers all have a wide range of reactions to such momentous news. Most are excited, others are not, but there is no escaping the hysteria that takes over the town at the prospect of someone new.

Notes: I’m inspired by the Stories collection on AO3, they are each a true masterpiece. The way each character is fully fleshed out and written with a personality that both nods to canon as well as being given their own unique twist… it’s masterful. I hope that I can do justice to your work, it is nothing short of awe-inspiring how fluidly you are able to weave so many wonderful and unique characters together in your stories. Thank you for what you bring to the community.

*Please look for accompanying artwork for this piece from @coindraws, we collaborated for fic/artwork for you!

ATTN: RESIDENTS OF PELICAN TOWN

As Mayor of Pelican Town, I am happy to announce that a new resident will be joining our community next week! Her name is Michele (granddaughter of Duncan, for those who remember him) and she will be moving into the old farmhouse at Hidden Farm. Please make her feel welcome in our community and help her adjust to life in Pelican Town.

-Mayor Lewis

The notice had been tacked onto the community bulletin board on a large, bright purple piece of paper during the middle of the night. Pierre was the first to notice this large announcement when he awoke on this cold winter morning and shuffled outdoors to brush the snow from his doorstep. Announcements on large, bright purple paper were usually from Mayor Lewis himself and it almost always meant that something important was happening in Pelican Town. When Pierre noticed this new announcement, he very quickly ran indoors to grab Caroline and Abigail who were in the kitchen enjoying their breakfast from the warmth of the family’s kitchen. The three of them rushed outside and read the notice together, their jaws collectively agape as they processed the news that they had just read… someone new was coming to Pelican Town.

It didn’t take long for such momentous news to spread through the town like wildfire, especially with Caroline on the case. Calls were made all across town and within the hour, the town square was packed as the residents all shuffled out of their homes to see the announcement for themselves. It wasn’t every day that a new resident was coming to town and all the villagers of Pelican Town couldn’t wait to start speculating about the new farmer and how this new addition could drastically shift the town dynamic. In such a small town, even one person could easily change the entire dynamic of the town for better or for worse.

“A new resident, I can’t believe it!” Caroline gushed excitedly to Marnie and Jodi. The three ladies had excused themselves to a corner of town square to start chatting about the new farmer almost immediately.

“Thanks so much for calling us,” Jodi said to Caroline, looking appreciative.

“You were my first phone call, Jodi,” Caroline answered with a wink. Then she turned to Marnie. “And of course, you were my second.”

“This is so exciting,” Marnie went on, trying very hard to subdue the anxious, giddy grin on her face. “Hidden Farm has been abandoned for so long, it’ll be nice to have someone finally breathe life into it.”

“I remember Duncan, he was such a kind man,” Jodi said fondly. “I hope this new farmer is kind as well, we could use more nice people here in town. If she’s his granddaughter, I would hope she’d have the same values as Duncan.”

While Jodi, Caroline, and Marnie were huddled together, trying to talk quietly about the new farmer; Pierre, Gus, and Lewis were standing right outside of Pierre’s General Store having the same conversation, however Pierre was making no attempt to keep his voice down and in fact was speaking a bit louder than perhaps he needed to.

“You know, Mayor, I was the first to notice your announcement,” Pierre bragged with a smug grin on his face.

“That stands to reason, as it was posted outside of your door,” Lewis replied matter-of-factly, as Pierre’s smug smirk faded.

“I always love new residents!” Gus exclaimed jovially, looking positively thrilled. “It always shakes the town up a bit, changes things around. It keeps things interesting.”

“Good for business,” Pierre went on, causing Gus to roll his eyes slightly. That wasn’t quite what Gus meant, but leave it to Pierre to interpret it as such. “I’ll definitely have to get in touch with my suppliers to let them know I’ll be needing to stock greater quantities of seeds. I’m sure this new farmer and I will get to know each other very well once they start needing to purchase seeds for the farm.”

“Unless they get them from JojaMart,” Lewis commented with a frown, causing Pierre to lose a bit of color in his face.

Next to Pierre’s shop, Doctor Harvey was craning his neck over Pierre’s shoulder to see the announcement better, he was one of the last to be called about this new development and was still trying to figure out exactly what was going on throughout the commotion. When Maru spotted Harvey trying to read the note, she quickly rushed over to him.

“Doctor!” Maru called out to him from across the crowd. She gently excused her way through the crowd until she had reached the clinic, followed closely by her mother and father.

“Ah, Maru!” Harvey said cordially, giving her a small wave. “Robin and Demetrius as well, nice to see you all this morning.”

“Crazy stuff about the new farmer, right?” Maru asked excitedly, nearly bouncing on the tips of her toes in excitement.

“I’ve only just heard about it,” Harvey replied, still glancing at the notice on the bulletin board. “I stepped out the clinic door to find a mass of people outside, for a moment I thought there was a community event I’d forgotten about!”

“Nope, just everyone losing their minds over some fresh blood!” Robin commented with a smirk.

“I try to avoid anything that leads to fresh blood,” Harvey replied with a deadpan expression, though Demetrius burst out laughing.

“Good one, Doctor!” Demetrius howled, slapping his knee in amusement.

From across the town square, Maru spotted Penny sitting under a tree with Vincent and Jas, speaking excitedly to the both of them.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Maru said distractedly, still staring across the square at Penny.

“But you only just got here!” Harvey commented to the back of Maru’s head, she was already crossing town square to join Penny and the children.

“Hey!” Maru said excitedly, taking a seat on the grass next to Penny.

“Oh!” Penny squealed, jumping in surprise at Maru’s sudden appearance. “You scared me!”

“I’m sorry,” Maru replied, biting her bottom lip apologetically.

“That’s okay,” Penny said sweetly. “I was just talking to Vincent and Jas about the new farmer. Sometimes it can be exciting when someone new joins a community, but it can also be an overwhelming or even scary time.”

“I’m not scared!” Vincent chimed in, putting on his bravest face, though all he was really doing was just clenching his teeth awkwardly.

“And there’s no reason to be,” Penny said gently to Vincent. Then she turned her attention to Jas. “But it’s also perfectly okay to be a little nervous.”

“I… I just hope she’s nice,” Jas said quietly.

“I’m sure she will be,” Penny said reassuringly. “I’ll tell you what, why don’t we make some welcome cards for the new farmer this afternoon! We can use leaves and flowers to glue to the front of our card to welcome Ms. Michele to our community!”

“Such a smart idea,” Maru commented with an affectionate smile at Penny. “I’m free all day if you guys want some help.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you Maru,” Penny replied with a warm smile.

Near the tree where Maru, Penny, Vincent, and Jas sat making plans for their card, Elliot and Leah had stepped aside from the crowd to stand together near the river. Elliot was staring out across the river absentmindedly, he appeared very deep in thought, which wasn’t necessarily unusual for him.

“What’s going on in that brain of yours?” Leah asked with a chuckle. If allowed to, Elliot could easily spend an entire afternoon staring thoughtfully across the river. Leah would give anything for just a glimpse into his mind.

“Just pondering over how the town dynamic is drastically going to be changed with the arrival of this new farmer, and how their presence here will mold and change our everyday life in possibly new and exciting ways, the prospect of it is rather exhilarating,” Elliot mused.

“Yup… a new person in town will do that,” Leah commented with a shrug. She winced slightly at such a simple answer, she couldn’t help but feel slightly intimidated sometimes when holding a conversation with Elliot.

“Michele…” Elliot suddenly said, the name escaping his lips slowly and delicately as though he were uttering a forbidden secret.

“Huh?” Leah asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Michele,” Elliot repeated thoughtfully. “Quite a lovely name, though I’m kicking myself for not remembering its origin.”

“I guess it’s a pretty name,” Leah replied quietly, trying to hold back the bitter scowl on her face. She tried to turn her attention elsewhere as Elliot continued to stare thoughtfully across the river.

Just North of the river, Abigail, Sam, and Sebastian were huddled together against the wall of the saloon. They, too, were speculating about the new addition to town.

“I can’t believe there’s gonna be a new chick!” Sam exclaimed to Sebastian and Abigail. “I hope she’s a babe!”

“Sam, don’t be gross,” Abigail moaned, tilting her head at Sam.

“What?! Is it wrong to hope that the new chick who’s moving to town is a hottie?” Sam asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“Yes!” Abigail replied with an exasperated sigh. “Sebastian, help me out here.”

“Huh?” Sebastian answered, snapping to attention at the mention of his name. He hadn’t been paying any attention to the conversation up to this point.

“Nevermind, you’re useless,” Abigail said with a huff before rounding back to Sam. “And you’re insensitive.”

“I’m sorry if I said something to make you mad,” Sam said honestly, seeing the pout on Abigail’s face. “I really didn’t mean to.”

“It’s fine,” Abigail sighed, her harsh expression softening. “Just try to play it cool, okay? She’s a person, not a piece of meat.”

“What kind of meat?” Sam asked thoughtfully, his tongue sticking slightly out of his mouth as his brain reeled. “Salami? Nah, not salami, I just had that last week… Ooh, pepperoni! On a pizza!” Sam looked delighted at the sudden prospect of pepperoni pizza, causing Abigail and Sebastian to shake their heads. Sam was quite easily derailed.

On the other side of the saloon, Alex and Haley were standing together near Dusty’s enclosure, trying to distance themselves from the overexcited crowd.

“I just don’t see what the fuss is all about,” Haley said with a small huff. “Everyone’s losing their minds over someone we haven’t even met yet.”

“I don’t know, I think I get it,” Alex said thoughtfully. “Not a lot happens here, at least this is something that can shake things up.”

“I guess,” Haley sighed, folding her arms. “Could be interesting to have someone new here, at least maybe the town won’t be so boring for a few weeks.”

Alex nodded in agreement, anything that could breathe some life into this dull town was always welcome. He looked up and noticed that his grandparents were right outside of the house and he grinned when he noticed that his grandmother looked positively elated.

“Oh, George, there’s going to be someone new in town, isn’t that wonderful?” Evelyn asked, clapping her hands excitedly in front of her.

“Great, another new face around this town, just what we need,” George replied sarcastically.

“It’s exactly what we need,” Evelyn replied with a nod, glossing over her husband’s sarcasm.

“There’s enough daggum people in this town, we don’t need another one,” George spat.

“I think having a new face in town will be wonderful,” Evelyn went on positively. “Plus, it’s Duncan’s granddaughter, I’m sure she’ll be a delight. That old farm has been abandoned for some time now, it’s a shame to see Duncan’s legacy wither away like that.”

George’s harsh expression softened at the mention of Duncan, he had always held a great amount of respect for Duncan and even George couldn’t deny that it would be nice to see Hidden Farm returned to its former glory. Of course, he couldn’t express such a sudden change of heart in front of Evelyn, so he simply scowled and changed the subject.

“Let’s get back in the house, it’s freezing out here, Evie,” George complained, folding his arms across his chest for warmth.

Evelyn smiled knowingly at George as she wheeled him back inside the house. She knew George well enough to know that sudden changes in conversation were his way of agreeing with her without actually saying so.

While most of the villagers of Pelican Town spent their morning in town square, talking excitedly about the new farmer and already making speculations about what she might be like, others were not so enthusiastic to broach the subject. Shane gave the memo a quick glance on his way to work that morning, giving nothing more than a grunt in acknowledgement before continuing on his way toward JojaMart for his morning shift. Pam read the first half of the announcement and scoffed, rolling her eyes as she headed back home. She hardly saw what the fuss was all about, a new villager in town wasn’t enough to lose your head about. Willy and Clint had also seen the notice, but shrugged as they returned back to their work. Perhaps they could discuss this new development over a drink at the saloon that evening, but unlike many of the villagers in town who could somehow find time away from their work, Clint and Willy felt that their time would be better spent returning to work rather than gossiping in the middle of town square. Emily, sadly, had missed the announcement altogether. She had stayed overnight with a friend in the Calico Desert and wasn’t due to arrive back home until later in the afternoon. Emily would find out soon enough, most likely that night for her shift at the Stardrop Saloon.

~*~

“I can’t believe I missed such exciting news!” Emily moaned once she arrived at the saloon for her shift. Gus had broken the news to her the moment she stepped through the doors, he was too excited about the prospect of a new member of the community to contain himself.

“Apparently her bus is scheduled to arrive late in the afternoon on the last day of winter,” Gus said excitedly. “Mind helping me prepare a small gift basket for Farmer Michele?”

“Ooh, I’d love to!” Emily replied excitedly. “I think I can real quick knit a scarf for her, plus I’m sure we can find some treats around the saloon!”

“I’ll also need you to hold down the fort in the saloon by yourself for a bit that day,” Gus went on. “I’d like to deliver the basket personally, you know I can’t turn down the chance to welcome someone new. Doesn’t happen every day.”

“Of course, Gus,” Emily answered immediately. “I can handle things here, you got it. You should be able to hand Farmer Michele the basket in person.”

From across the bar, Gus and Emily could hear a loud, annoyed groan. They both turned to the source of the sound and saw Pam seated in her usual spot with a sour look on her face.

“If I hear the name ‘Farmer Michele’ one more time, I’m gonna throw this beer stein across the room,” Pam grumbled to Gus.

“Hey, c’mon, you can’t fault everyone else for being a little worked up, it’s an exciting time!” Gus said with a smile.

“They can be excited all they want, doesn’t mean I have to be,” Pam scowled. Gus simply shrugged and turned his attention to the other side of the bar to Shane whose beer stein was almost empty.

“Ready for round two?” Gus asked Shane.

“You know I am,” Shane answered, downing the remaining contents of his beer stein as Gus poured another.

“So what do you think of all this news about Farmer Michele?” Gus asked curiously. He swapped Shane’s empty tankard for the fresh one he had just poured.

Shane didn’t answer, he simply grunted and shrugged.

“Why am I not surprised that you and Pam are the ones turning your noses up to a new face around town,” Gus sighed, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

From across the saloon, Clint had his head perked up, unable to stop himself from overhearing Gus’ conversations with Pam and Shane. He took a quick swig from his beer before turning his attention back to Willy who was clutching his mead.

“All this talk of the new farmer, can’t even escape it at the saloon,” Clint sighed. He was taken aback when Willy’s face lit up in excitement.

“Always happy to have a new face in town,” Willy commented, looking pleased. “Maybe the lass might be interested in learnin’ a thing or two about fishing from an ol’ fisherman like me. Fishing’s becomin’ a dying art and-” Clint immediately let out a long sigh and shook his head, interrupting Willy.

“Oh, for Yoba’s sake, old man, nobody wants to learn how to fish, give it up!” Clint said loudly, clapping Willy hard on the back. “You’ve asked the entire town if they want to learn how to fish, no one wants to.” Clint started chuckling at Willy, but Willy just shrugged.

“You just never know,” Willy replied cryptically, taking a swig from his mead. “Never hurts to ask.”

“Well you’ve asked everyone in Pelican Town at least a dozen times and been turned down, what’s one more?” Clint joked, elbowing Willy in the ribs.

Without missing a beat, Willy replied, “At least I’ve asked and been rejected, tell me now how things are working out with you and Emily?”

Clint’s face turned bright red and he mumbled a few curse words at Willy under his breath as he buried his face in his beer stein, leaving Willy laughing heartily.

Luckily for Shane and Pam, the remainder of that night was spent with very little mention of Farmer Michele. However, with each day that passed, the town became more and more abuzz with excitement and anticipation for her arrival. By the time the last day of winter arrived, it was almost impossible to escape the name ‘Farmer Michele’.

~*~

Robin arrived at the bus stop late in the afternoon on the last day of winter, ready to greet Farmer Michele when her bus was scheduled to arrive. Mayor Lewis had entrusted her to meet the town’s newest arrival at the bus stop while he remained at the farmhouse, working on last minute details to turn the rundown old house into a proper home. As Robin stood waiting at the bus stop, dancing anxiously on the tips of her toes, she could hear footsteps walking down the cobblestone path that led into town. She looked up in surprise to see a small welcoming committee consisting of Gus, Jodi, and quite surprisingly, Sam.

“Hi there, Robin!” Gus called out, waving his hand jovially to her. His other hand was clutching a large basket, filled to the brim with goodies from the valley. Behind him, Jodi was walking with Sam close to her side, he was looking a bit awkward to be there.

“Hey there, gang!” Robin said excitedly as they approached her. “What brings you all here?”

“Oh, you know I can’t resist the excitement of welcoming a new member to the community!” Gus said happily, his large, bushy mustache curling upward in his excitement. “I prepared a welcome basket for Farmer Michele, just a few things to help her get settled in.”

Inside the basket was a bottle of wine, one of the pricier bottles that Gus had on hand at the saloon. A few coupons were sticking out near the front, one for a free meal and one for a free drink at the Stardrop Saloon. Also included was a colorful scarf that Emily had made, a freshly baked loaf of bread, a tin of Evelyn’s famous chocolate chip cookies, as well as a few non-perishable snacks and other goodies. Gus couldn’t resist making a little extra effort to help the new farmer feel welcome, it was an exciting thing to welcome someone new into their tight-knit community.

“What about you, Jodi?” Robin asked curiously, turning her attention to Jodi and Sam.

“The kids made a beautiful card to give the new famer, but they couldn’t make it in person to greet her,” Jodi explained with a small frown. “Penny has them on a field trip in the forest today so she asked if I could hand-deliver the card personally.”

“And you, Sam?” Robin asked, the most curious of all. Sam did not look thrilled to be there and she had a feeling that he was here against his will.

“Mom dragged me along to help in case the new farmer had a lot of luggage to unload off of the bus,” Sam answered with a shrug. “She figures if she had to come here, might as well bring some backup in case the farmer needs help.”

“Well, that’s very kind of you,” Robin began, then chuckled as she went on, “even if it’s against your will.”

For a few minutes, Gus, Robin, and Jodi began talking excitedly about the new farmer’s arrival, it seemed to be the only topic of conversation throughout town over the last week. Now that her arrival was closer than ever, they could feel a palpable excitement in the air as they waited eagerly for her to arrive. Sam spent his time at the bus stop kicking the stumps of trees out of boredom and chuckling in amusement as snow fell off of the trees and landed on the ground with a ‘thump’. Winter was almost over and the layer of snow that had covered the town through most of the season was finally starting to disappear as the warm sun began to make itself known in preparation for spring.

All of a sudden, Robin jumped when she heard the sound of a large, rumbling bus engine headed down the highway right toward Pelican Town. Robin, Gus, Jodi, and even Sam all snapped to attention and stared down the road. The moment the bus became visible in the distance, Jodi danced on the tip of her toes in anticipation and Gus let out a loud whoop of excitement. They all stood back as the bus approached, giving a considerable amount of space to allow the new farmer some room to disembark. When the bus came to a complete stop, the doors slowly opened and out walked a charming young woman with shoulder-length dark brown hair, holding only a single suitcase. She appeared slightly nervous, though anyone would be under these circumstances. For a moment, everyone stared at each other awkwardly, poor Farmer Michele looked even more nervous as her welcoming committee simply stared at her. Finally, Robin shook her head back and forth to snap herself out of it and gave Farmer Michele a proper greeting.

“Hello! You must be Michele,” Robin said with a warm, welcoming smile. “I’m Robin, the local carpenter.”

“H-hi there,” Michele stammered, timidly holding out a hand. Robin took her hand and shook it rather enthusiastically.

“This here would be Gus, owner of the Stardrop Saloon,” Robin said, gesturing toward Gus who gave a small bow in greeting.

“On behalf of the residents of Pelican Town, I’m thrilled to welcome you to our community,” Gus said with a warm smile, handing Michele the gift basket.

“Thank you so much, that’s so thoughtful!” Michele said appreciatively, setting her suitcase down to take the basket from Gus.

“Over here we have Jodi,” Robin went on, signaling to Jodi who looked positively delighted.

“Such a pleasure to meet you,” Jodi giggled excitedly, extending a hand forward to shake Michele’s hand.

When Jodi released Michele’s hand, she reached into her purse and pulled out the card that Penny had made with Vincent and Jas. Glued to the front cover of the card were a few twigs and flowers that they had found around the valley and inside, the children had scrawled ‘Welcome to Pelican Town, Farmer Michele’ with crayon. Jodi hadn’t noticed until now that the ‘h’ in Michele had been written backwards, probably by Vincent.

“This is so sweet,” Michele commented with a smile. Jodi noticed what appeared to be small tears in the corners of Michele’s eyes as she read over the card.

“My son, Vincent, and his friend Jas made that for you,” Jodi explained. “They’re really the only children here in town, but they’re very excited to meet you.”

“I’m sure I’d love to meet them,” Michele said kindly, carefully stowing the card safely in the outside pocket of her suitcase.

“And lastly, this is Sam, Jodi’s other son,” Robin finished, gesturing to Sam. “He’s here to help in case you need assistance getting all of your belongings to the farmhouse.”

No one had noticed until now, but Sam was staring at Michele in awe from the moment she had stepped off of the bus, there was something about her that simply entranced him. When Robin gestured towards him, his cheeks flushed at the sudden attention on him, awkwardly waving a bit over-exaggerated as though he temporarily forgot how to wave.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Michele said politely, extending her hand once more. Sam’s hand continued to wave for a few moments before he flinched, realizing that her hand had been waiting in front of him for a handshake.

“Oh, hey, sorry, mice to neat you! I mean, nice to meet you!” Sam exclaimed, shaking her hand with as much enthusiasm as he had displayed when he waved to her, causing Michele to chuckle slightly. “Need any help with your stuff?”

“I think I’ve got it,” Michele answered, looking back at her solitary suitcase. “But I appreciate the offer.” Sam looked slightly crestfallen as Michele turned back to Robin to collect her things. She had her suitcase in one hand and cradled Gus’ gift basket in the other.

“We should probably get you on your way!” Robin said excitedly. “Mayor Lewis sent me here to fetch you and show you the way to your new home. He’s there right now, tidying things up for your arrival. The farm’s right over here, if you’ll follow me.”

All at once Gus, Jodi, and Sam began bidding simultaneous ‘farewells’ to Farmer Michele, waving excitedly as she and Robin headed down the cobblestone path toward the farm.

“Nice to meet you!” Gus called out to her with a large wave.

“Welcome to Pelican Town!” Jodi hollered, clapping her hands excitedly.

“Bye!” Sam yelled, a bit louder than he had intended.

Michele turned around briefly to wave back to Gus, Jodi, and Sam, then continued on her way down the path to Hidden Farm. As she and Robin left the path and stepped onto the soft dirt, Robin gestured toward the overgrown farmland and looked at Michele uncertainly, hoping the poor girl wouldn’t be overwhelmed by the sight of her farmland in such disrepair.

“This is Hidden Farm,” Robin announced in a slightly high-pitched voice, trying to sound as positive and upbeat as possible. “Welcome home!”

Michele looked out at the field full of overgrowth and debris and a look of fierce determination spread across her face.

“I’m home,” Michele replied with a nod and a small smile.

#stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley farmer #farmer michele #stardew valley villagers #all of them #this is great

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crossbows-and-moonshine · 5 years

Text

How to stay motivated.

Welcome my loves, to the first-ever FanFic Fridays post.

I’m kicking this one off with something I’ve been asked a lot in my years writing. A lot of people seem to have the same question or problem so I figured it was a good way to start this new series.

I’ve been asked more than a few times how to stay motivated writing a fic, more so when you’re taking requests. Now I’m not talking writer's block here, although some tips do apply. If anyone wants my tips on writer's block, let me know and I’ll cover it another time. But this is purely about when you’re just not motivated with a fic or requests. Either multi chap or one-shots.

Who are you writing for?

The first step is simple. You need to have a real good think about who you’re writing for, because if you're writing for anyone other than yourself and your own enjoyment, let me tell you, its gonna get old real fucking fast.

You have to enjoy what you're writing. That's the only way it will inspire you to write. Don't get me wrong, we do write for the readers too, especially with one-shots that are requested like me. But what I learnt was, I can't sit there and force myself to write something just because somebody wants it.

I’ll end up staring at a blank document for hours until I painfully churn something out that's a pile of shit. And nobody wants that. I have a billion requests in my ask box that have sat there for ages. It doesn't mean I won't write them, it just means I’ll write them when the inspiration grabs me.

My best work happens when I’m really into something, when I can't help but keep typing and get it all down.

If your sole motivation for writing is to get likes and follows, you’ll burn yourself out within a blink of an eye. You have to want to write and love the topic you write about for it to work well, if you want to put out good content. Sometimes, likes and reviews are scarce, and if that's the only reason you write, to please others, then you’ll find yourself wanting to give up. Those of us who write for our own enjoyment will continue to write and post because that's not the only reason why we are doing it.

This doesn't mean we don't love when a reader lets us know they enjoyed our work. We fanfic writers love that shit. it lets us know what things are a hit, and who doesn't love it when you spend time making something and people let you know it was awesome?

The difference is though, even though we enjoy and appreciate it, that isn't our sole motivation to write. We would still write regardless of that and continue to post our work.

If you do write for yourself, once you have completed it and decide to post it, the readers will most likely go nuts for it. It will be clear you poured your soul into the work, and its because you loved it so much.

If you’re unsure whether you write for yourself or not, here's a little exercise that could help. Write a fic, the amount of chapters is up to you. But don’t post it until it is fully written and complete. With no feedback or likes to keep you going, you’ll have to keep going with it until it's done off your own back. Then you can post it and reap the rewards and you have written it completely for your own enjoyment. This is exactly what I did with Such a Softer Sin, and let me tell you, it was the best thing I ever did.

Doing this first step ensures that you’re more likely to be motivated to write. This will eliminate a lot of the feelings of demotivation that creep up on you.

Niche

Another simple thing is to have a good think about what kind of things within fics you enjoy writing. By this, I mean your little niche in the fandom. For example, I love writing AU’s or things set before the movies or show. When it comes to writing canon, I fucking loathe it. The times I do write canon, I try and do canon divergent to keep it somewhat more interesting for me. Whenever I try to write strictly canon, the motivation gets sucked out of me quicker than me slurping on a milkshake from McDonald’s. And let me tell you, I slurp real fucking fast.

Figure out what kind of things you like writing. Maybe you love canon, maybe you love AU’s or pre-show/movies. The beauty of writing your own fics is the fact you can do whatever the fuck you want with them. Don't force yourself to write something if you don't enjoy that style.

Pantser or plotter?

Similar to above, figuring out which way you like to write can really help keep you motivated. You could be writing the way you find isn't for you and that's why you’re struggling. A plotter is self-explanatory. It's a writer that plots out the story. Some plotters are intense, planning out every detail and character before they write, others only minor plotting. A pantser is someone who free writes, this is me. Free writing for those who might not now, is writing with no plot. I literally open my document and type randomly, it feeds off itself. One chapter would roll into more inspiration for the next and so on. My muses are in my head and it's like I’m watching a movie in my mind. I just type it out for you all. I really feel like I’m not in control of my fics and half the time, I’m just as shocked as my readers are with what comes out. Or maybe I’m just crazy?

The point of me telling you this is; When I started, I tried to plot. Oh, how I fucking tried. But it didn't work for me. I lost motivation quickly and I’m a pantser by nature. So more than half the time my chapters would end up in the opposite direction as I planned and then I got stuck, trying to figure out how to get it back on track and I’d just give up. I didn’t even know free writing was a thing. I thought you had to plot things out, that it was the only way to write well. And I was wrong.

Give both a go and see what feels right for you. I’m a pantser for life. I would get the briefest idea for a fic and start typing, the rest comes as I type. Its more fun for me that way. I feel like a reader too, getting the experience of not knowing what's going to happen next.

There's nothing wrong with being a plotter though, it’s all about personal preference. One is not superior to another. Maybe you’re a super organised person, plotting keeps you on track. Maybe you even enjoy mapping it all out. Just take a moment to try both types and see what you enjoy the most. Then you’ll know what your writing style is and you can go from there. The more you enjoy it, the more motivated you will be and the better your fics will be. Win-win.

Now of course sometimes, you might love a fic. You’re really into it, but then bam, the spark’s gone and you have no idea what the fuck happened. Now you have a half-finished fic and if you’ve already started posting it, people waiting for an update.

Under Pressure

First off, don't ever feel pressured to post an update, even if people are bugging you about it. Like I mentioned before, if you force it out of yourself to please others, you're more than likely going to be unhappy with the result. Taking a break can be a good thing. Take a step back from the fic, maybe even work on another. Having a breather and coming back with fresh eyes can be super useful and there's no shame in needing a break from a fic.

The exercise above is honestly a really good tool to use anyway. When I started writing multi chaps, I would write a chapter and post it right away. This can give you so much stress and pressure. Whenever I would hit a wall or the motivation went away, I had people asking about updates and I started to get stressed. Then I wouldn't be able to write at all. Now, I tend to either finish the fic, or at least be more than 5 chapters ahead of what I’m posting. This way, even if you do lag behind with writing, you have something to post and it will ease the pressure.

My preference is to finish the fic completely. Then I get to post every day without worry and I’m not playing catch up, trying to write quickly and rushing to get it posted. Now you’re all thinking, ‘But Sarah, aren’t you posting Let The Flames Begin as you go?’ Yes, I am. Why? Because I’m an idiot :’)

I posted the first chapter. It came to me and I wanted to know if it was worth making into something. Usually, I’d just write it anyway and save it for a rainy day. But I have that many stories on the go, I didn't know if it was worth taking my time with. People liked it and as I started writing it, I fucking fell so in love with the story that now I can't stop writing it.

I am in front though by around 10 chapters, so I’m not too worried about catching up. To me, that's plenty of chapters ahead to make sure if I do hit a wall, I won't feel pressured or worried about it. All my other fics I’m working on though won’t be posted until they’re complete.

Thinking ahead like this can really ease that pressure and in my opinion, that really helps you write better and stay motivated.

Fall in love again

Sometimes, it might be useful to try and remember what you liked about your fic in the first place. Maybe rewatch the movie or show, even read other peoples fics to get you back in the groove. Read your own fic from the very beginning and pick out the parts you liked best and why you liked them. Maybe the last chapter just ran away with itself and it went into a direction you really didn't expect or like. It happens to me all the time. Sit down and see if there's a way you can work around it and bring it back to the place you wanted it to be, or if all else fails, delete the chapter and rewrite it the way you wished you had in the first place.

Closing requests

Now this one is more specific to one-shot writers who take requests. Don't feel bad if you have to close your requests for a little while to catch up. Feeling overwhelmed can make you lose motivation real fucking quick. I don't know about you guys, but I can't write under pressure. It mounts up and my brain just melts and then I can't write a fucking thing. Close requests, catch up, take a minute to breathe. Sometimes, something as simple as taking the pressure off can be really freeing for your mind and get you back into it.

Write when it feels right

Also, don't feel like you have to write them in the order people sent you. People might not think this is fair but they need to see it from the writers POV. I have some requests that are over a year old, my brain just hasn't been inspired to write them. Yet someone could send me a request today that makes my brain get excited and I have to write it. Sometimes once I’ve got in the swing of it, I end up finishing multiple requests when I write this way. There is no need to try and get to them in order like that. If some don't inspire you, just wait until they do and write another.

Plot bunnies 4eva

This one applies to both multi chap and one-shot writers and something you guys know I do all the fucking time. If you’re stuck and need a break from one thing, feel free to start another. Am I enabling you to make those plot bunnies grow? Why yes, I am. But there's a reason.

When I get stuck on a fic, I’ll put it away for a bit and work on another idea I had. This gives me plenty to work on. So whenever I get stuck on something, I just jump to another that's inspiring me. Writing something new can really get you back into writing again and its better than not writing at all. It gets your creative juices flowing and you might find yourself going back to the fic you're stuck on with new ideas.

On the same note, sometimes you might get this super cool idea for the person you’re writing about. And you cram it in your current fic but it’s just not fucking working. Now your story is all weird and you don't like it and it’s making you not want to continue with it. Take that idea and make a new fic with it. Sometimes I get ideas for Daryl and I try them out in my fic, but it just doesn't gel with what’s already going on or the OC in the story. It doesn't make sense to try and stick an idea in there that doesn't fit and feels out of place. But that doesn't mean you have to throw it away. Just use it for another story and see where it leads.

Breaks don't equal quitting

There's nothing wrong with taking a break from writing altogether. If its all gotten too much or you have no motivation at all for anything. Maybe, like me, you have mental health issues and you just need a good breather. That's perfectly fine and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

Those who have followed me for a while might remember that I went on a hiatus for over a year at one point. My mental health reached an all-time low and I couldn't keep up with requests. I put so much pressure on myself and it made me worse, and in the end, I had to take a step back altogether.

At one point I thought that was it. I thought my love for writing fanfics was over and I was gutted. And then randomly one day, an idea popped into my head. The simplest of thoughts about an OC meeting the boys from Boondock Saints. My idea was just that I wanted a girl to come into McGinty's out of the rain, and that's where she meets the boys. That was it, the smallest of ideas. The rest came to me as I started writing and before I knew it, I couldn't stop. I wrote 39 chapters of that one, Such a Softer Sin, and then I even did a sequel.

Don't feel like a break means quitting forever or that you’ll never be inspired to write again. After writing that fic, I haven't stopped writing again and I’m more in love with writing than I’ve ever been. Sometimes you just need to recharge your batteries again and there’s nothing wrong with that at all.

I hope some of these tips are helpful to you guys. You don't have to listen to me of course, all of this is just my opinion and personal experience. If you have any questions or a problem, feel free to talk to me any way you feel like and I’ll get to it on FanFic Fridays! :)

Much love,

Sarah

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