#after i finish the 5+1 fic that lays the groundwork

[rainintheevening]

How Qui-Gon saves Anakin (and the Galaxy): Part 1

Haven't even finished the fic, but have so many more thoughts about my Qui-Gon is Obi-Wan’s Father AU. Mostly about what happens after as we get into the movies, like in TPM.

-Qui-Gon saying something to Shmi about knowing what it's like to let go of your son for his sake, and wanting your child to grow up strong and safe.

-Obi-Wan still being thrown by Qui-Gon saying he'll take Anakin as his padawan, but during their argument before takeoff, Qui-Gon pointedly calls him 'my son', which always settles something in Obi-Wan whenever he's wound up, and it works this time too. Qui-Gon makes sure Obi-Wan knows that padawan or no, Obi-Wan is his son, and nothing will ever change that.

-Obi-Wan screaming, "Ada!" when Qui-Gon goes down under Maul’s blade.

-QUI-GON SURVIVING. Because I'm writing this story, not GL.

-But barely, and as much as they manage to fix or replace most of his damaged organs, he's never going to fully recover.

-Obi-Wan gets knighted once Qui-Gon is able to perform the ceremony, but that takes a few months, and that is actually good time for Anakin to acclimate to Temple life.

-Obi-Wan takes Anakin as his padawan, and it is actually kinda perfect? Cause Obi-Wan has his dad to get advice from, and Anakin has a grandpa he can safely vent to when he's frustrated.

-Qui-Gon hates being permanently injured, but that's less about the constant pain (which they say he'll have to deal with to some degree for the rest of his life), and more about the loss of mobility. It takes him a year or two to really come to terms with that, with not being able to just get up and go ever again.

-Anakin learns a lot from watching Qui-Gon deal with that, and seeing the man he considers a hero struggle both physically and emotionally.

-Obi-Wan has his hands full, but he doesn’t deal with any of it alone. Yaddle, who's always been a great friend of him and Qui-Gon, is particularly lovely with helping him find a fair balance between working with Anakin and taking care of Qui-Gon until his dad is mostly self-sufficient again.

-After losing his temper with Anakin one day, and very quickly apologising, Qui-Gon takes some advice from Obi-Wan and gets more honest and open with Anakin about when he's having bad days. This leads to Anakin making it his mission to give Qui-Gon as many good days as possible.

-Qui-Gon finally accepts his condition when the healers warn him that the 'spare parts' will only sustain him so long, and his days are numbered. When he realises that if his injuries are bad enough that he will never recover, he probably should have died on Naboo. But for whatever reason he's been given extra time. Extra time to see his son grow as a knight, to contribute to Anakin’s education, to have more tea with his friends. Extra time to lose himself in the Archives and be dragged out, blinking like an owl, by Jocasta Nu telling him his boys are looking for him and the reason he's feeling faint is because he hasn't eaten all day. Extra time for the three of them to end up cuddled together in the same bed when Anakin’s had a nightmare, and Qui-Gon's feeling the pain, and Obi-Wan is kinda overwhelmed with how much he loves his dad and his kid and he just wants them both to be okay. It's a gift, Qui-Gon discovers. A painful one to be sure. But a gift nonetheless, and he's going to make the most of it.

-He definitely enables a lot of Anakin’s mischievous pranks and more unorthodox ways of blowing off steam. But he does his best not to undermine Obi-Wan’s authority as Anakin’s master.

-When Anakin gets into his particularly rebellious and moody teens, Qui-Gon helps pull him out of spirals by telling all sorts of stories from when Obi-Wan was a padawan, embarrassing ones especially, and stories from his own apprenticeship. He never tries to teach Anakin anything in those talks, especially seeing as how one of Anakin’s complaints is about Obi-Wan making everything into a lesson. But it really does help Anakin, makes him think, and see his master as more approachable, less perfect.

-It comes on toward ten years since finding Anakin, and the Battle of Naboo, and Qui-Gon is being more and more intentional with the time he does get to spend with Obi-Wan and Anakin. He gets the feeling he doesn't have more than half a dozen years left at the most. He's trying to make sure his boys will be ready when he dies.

-Aaaaaand then we get the Clone Wars.

-And my plot brain goes bonkers with the possibilities.

[cheesybadgers]

Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 8)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 5,455

Summary: Set loosely during Our Man in Madrid (although without spoiling anything, there is some significant canon divergence), Javier and Horacio are plunged back into the harsh reality of war after their reunion and are forced to confront some conflicts of their own.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Canon-typical violence (please bear in mind which ep this chapter partially covers), PTSD symptoms (mostly flashbacks), some religious symbolism, angst (with a side order of fluff though!), smoking, swearing, a handful of vague sexual references but no smut.

Notes: I can’t believe a certain scene is finally done after having it in my head for months (and you may have noticed I laid some of the groundwork for it back in chapter 3, mwaha), phew! Oh and the chapter is named after On The Floor by Brandon Flowers, because the lyrics are kinda on point.

I’ve got a large chunk of chapter 9 already drafted, although life is probably going to be a bit busier over the next couple of months, but I’ll do my best to get as much written as possible. This fic *will* get finished eventually, damnit, if it’s the last thing I do 😂 Thanks to anyone still reading and please feel free to comment/chat about any of it on Tumblr/AO3 ❤️

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 8: On The Floor

Javier’s crumpled sheets lay strewn in a forgotten heap at the foot of the bed, apparently no match for clammy, tangled limbs. A worthy sacrifice that allowed him to rest against Horacio’s torso and entwine their fingers. Javier’s free hand brought a cigarette to his lips as Horacio’s traced in and out of the flares of sunlight that illuminated his form in all the right places. They had passed at least half the day like this already, although it didn’t matter when they had nowhere to be.

It wasn’t rare for them to sit in comfortable silence, but Javier could practically hear the cogs turning inside Horacio’s head. He sensed a shift in his mood earlier that morning after the initial high of their reunion had simmered down. After the real reason for his return had sunk in.

Knowing better than to offer false reassurances, Javier held his cigarette aloft. The mattress shifted as Horacio took a deep inhale, but no immediate exhale followed. Instead, calloused fingers tilted Javier’s jaw upwards. A cloud of vapour blew directly into his mouth as they shared an indulgent kiss as addictive as their nicotine habit.

“Shower with me,” Horacio rasped when they pulled apart. Few sentences could have persuaded Javier to move, but that was one of them.

At first, it was all slick hands, flushed skin pressed against cold tiles and shallow breaths amplified by glass walls. Fingernails dimpled hip bones whilst eager tongues chased water droplets, drawing gasps and shivers with each one caught. Too much, yet still not enough to satisfy their insatiable need for one another. It was an itch they couldn’t scratch, each attempt stoking the flames further. A palpable tension no doubt exacerbated by the return to war looming on the horizon.

Once they had recuperated, Horacio washed the soap from Javier’s spent body, his movements thorough and unhurried. Mellow, restorative touches contrasted against the roughness he was capable of in the heat of the moment, as hands caressed limbs and took extra care over the areas he had marked. One act followed the other as easily as night followed day; just another in a long line of contradictions where Horacio was concerned.

Javier had been physically intimate with his fair share of people over the years, but never like this. Except for the previous night, of course. What they were doing now was very similar and still had the power to overwhelm him. His instinct was to recoil, but another part of him yelled the opposite. A part of him that was gradually becoming easier to listen to. A part of him that was now urging him to stay, to lean into it, to let go.

He waited until Horacio faced the shower faucet, head tilted back and eyes closed as he rinsed the last remnants of sex and sweat from his hair. Javier released his arms from Horacio’s waist and reached for his shampoo bottle, squeezing a generous amount into his palm.

He lifted his tentative hands to Horacio’s head and carded his fingers through his hair. “Let me take care of you,” Javier murmured as he grazed his moustache along Horacio’s shoulders.

Horacio stilled for a moment, deliberating whether to give in or not. It dawned on him the last time they’d done this – or at least something much like it – was after Diana Turbay. Heaviness swelled in his chest as the sudden intrusive thoughts mingled with memories of dissolving into Javier’s lap. Not that he’d forgotten; he never allowed himself to. If he dwelled too long, he could still taste the gunshot residue in the air and smell the musty damp of the building they’d stormed. A nauseating scent that had clung to his uniform even once laundered.

He glanced at his right hand as the spray cascaded over his trigger finger. The harder he stared, the stronger his belief the water had turned to a flowing river of crimson. Who knew how much more blood would be shed? And how much would be on his hands? His breathing quickened as he scrunched his eyes shut and shook his head in an attempt to quieten his mind.

“Hey, you still with me?” Javier nuzzled into the crook of Horacio’s neck. He didn’t know exactly where he’d gone but could hazard a guess.

Horacio came to as Javier’s placid tones drifted into his ear. “Er…yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just relax. I’ve got you.” Javier’s hushed words were delicate and gentle as if he was trying to coax a frightened animal to safety and, to some extent, he was.

Horacio grunted and lolled his head back to meet Javier’s hands as they built up a lather. They massaged across his scalp in rhythmic circles, the soft yet firm pressure chipping away at the layers of apprehension. Hands Horacio had come to realise would always be there to catch him when he fell, something he was still getting used to. Not from a lack of trust but from the years of conditioning where resilience and control were necessary for survival.

The rising steam enveloped them in a protective cocoon from the outside world. For now, all Horacio knew was Javier’s soothing ministrations, along with the calming notes of eucalyptus and cedarwood. He recognised the fragrance from his pillows, from his clothes and from the countless times he’d buried himself in Javier’s hair. Heady, grounding, home.

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Sunday began much like the previous morning, slow and languorous as they lost themselves in each other again. But this time, Horacio had a flight to catch and an apartment in Medellín to move back into, so he was up and dressed before Javier.

“You sure I can’t drive you to the airport?”

“You know we can’t risk it. Plus, you look far too comfortable as you are.” Horacio smiled as he admired the view of Javier stretched across the bed on his stomach with his arms wrapped around a pillow. His upper back and broad shoulders peeked out over the top of the sheets like a delectable treat Horacio was having trouble resisting.

He settled for sitting on the edge of the mattress and allowing his fingers to trail across the warmth of Javier’s pliant body.

Javier all but purred and leaned into Horacio’s touch. “Don’t start what you can’t finish,” he mumbled into his pillow.

“You’re far too tempting. And actually, I’ve still got 20 minutes.” His mouth was already working its way down Javier’s neck when they heard a muffled knock at the door.

They both froze and silenced immediately. “Shit! Wait here, I’ll get rid of whoever the fuck that is.” Javier heaved a sigh as he got out of bed, tugging on his jeans with the cigarette he’d picked up from the nightstand perched between his lips.

As he walked from the bedroom to the front door, he cursed under his breath at being denied what he imagined was about to be a very pleasurable 20 minutes. He looked through the peephole to identify the culprit; it was Steve. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Steve? What the—? I thought you were in Medellín this weekend?”

“Good mornin’ to you too, Javi.” Steve mock-saluted at his partner’s less than friendly welcome. “I figured I’d left it late enough for your friend to leave,” he continued with a wink and peered past Javier on the off-chance someone was in view.

Javier inhaled on his cigarette, stalling for time as he tried to think of any incriminating evidence on display behind him. Fortunately, Horacio’s luggage was out of sight. And his need for tidiness meant he’d scooped up every item of clothing from the floor on Friday night. “My…friend?” Playing dumb was about his only line of defence by this point.

“Yeah, I hate to break it to you, but the walls are paper-thin in this place. I was gonna stop by when I got back yesterday but noticed – against my will, I should add – you were otherwise engaged. A lot.” The glee on Steve’s face as he teased his partner couldn’t have been further from Javier’s rabbit-in-the-headlights expression as he scrambled to disguise the panic that had set in.

“Seriously, Steve, what do you want?” Javier was wrong; playing dumb and grouchy deflection were his two lines of defence.

“Connie called after you left on Friday.”

“Is she okay? And Olivia?”

“Oh yeah, yeah. They’re both fine. She wanted to talk things through and I didn’t want half the CNP and fuck knows who else listening in. Not to mention, those bunks weren’t designed for people of my height. So, I thought I’d come back here and catch whichever flight you’re on tomorrow.”

“Right, of course, makes sense. Did it go okay with Connie?”

“Yeah, yeah it did.” Steve couldn’t hide his smile as he spoke. “She’s agreed to come back. Connie’s sister’s looking after Olivia, so I dunno how long she’ll be able to stay, but it’s a start.”

“That’s great news, Steve.” As frustrating as this unexpected visit was, Javier couldn’t deny how pleased he was for them. He hated seeing Steve in such a mess and he’d missed Connie too.

“Thanks, man. Things just haven’t been right since she left.”

Javier tried to ignore the ache at having to keep his equivalent of Connie hidden away in his bedroom, like some sort of dirty secret. It was how he’d always operated when it came to other men. Not that he’d ever had anything comparable to this with another man before, or with anyone. It was another reason he was grateful for Connie’s return. Someone who didn’t judge and who he didn’t have to lie to. Although, this had been their closest call so far and it was hard not to wonder how much longer they could remain under Steve’s radar.

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Horacio returned to Carlos Holguín on Monday, after spending the rest of Sunday unpacking and settling back into his apartment. The school remained unchanged in so many ways yet different in others. There were a lot of faces he didn’t recall, along with the heavy absence of too many he did. Trujillo welcomed him with a firm embrace that knocked him backwards with its force. Trujillo had soon regaled him with every detail from the last year, but Horacio didn’t mind. It felt good to be back with his men again.

Being reacquainted with the DEA, however, was something of a farce. He could barely contain his smirk when he took Javier’s palm in a bracing handshake, fingers catching on his pulse point. Horacio lightly pressed into the tender skin at his wrist, where he knew there would still be faint traces of their weekend escapades. He detected the minutest flinch in Javier’s grip as they greeted each other like the long-lost colleagues they were supposed to be.

A brief flash of mischief crossed Javier’s pupils as his hand reached up to pat Horacio’s arm, much like it had done in Tolú. One light slap followed with another as they exchanged pleasantries before the touch morphed into a prominent squeeze around Horacio’s bicep.

Horacio gulped and gave him a pointed look as he moved on to shake Murphy’s hand. Despite his best efforts, his mind raced with flashbacks; not least of all one involving the man in front of him almost catching them in the act 24 hours ago.

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Whilst Horacio was now housed in a different wing of the school, it was easy to forget how long he’d been away. Putting on his uniform that morning was like wearing a second skin, even when part of him wished it hadn’t been so easy. He sat behind his new desk, already surrounded by stacks of paperwork and manila files. Some things never changed. His new workspace wasn’t quite as grand as the Consulate, but he didn’t expect to spend as much time in it as he had in Madrid.

The tranquillity of the last year already seemed like a distant, idyllic dream. He wasn’t ready to let go of it, but he also had to remember why he was here. His country and his President were counting on him like never before. But then, so was the man he loved. An extradition-supporting-yet-bureaucracy-hating DEA agent of all people. He could have laughed at the irony of it if the stakes weren’t so high.

The sound of the door opening and closing drew his eyes up from a batch of authorisation forms awaiting his signature. Perhaps said DEA agent’s ears were burning.

“Thought you could do with this before the meeting.” Javier carried two steaming mugs of coffee across the room. He passed one to Horacio as he stood up from his desk, their fingers brushing together in the process. Much like their earlier handshake, it was an innocent gesture on the face of it, but with a hidden salacious edge that sent shockwaves through them both.

“Thanks,” Horacio replied as he reached for the cup. He would take any caffeine he could get his hands on right now.

They’d passed the point at which it was customary for one of them to let go of the mug. Instead, their fingers danced over each other’s; probing and teasing in a silent and secret flirtation that pushed the boundaries, given Steve’s and Trujillo’s imminent arrival. They couldn’t help themselves, though.

They heard voices approaching the door and broke apart, all but knocking the coffee out of their hands but recovering in time as Steve and Trujillo entered the room. Javier caught the tail end of an eye roll from Steve as he made a point of sipping from the drink he was forced to make himself. Shit.

Once the door was shut, they got straight down to business and discussing tactics. Gaviria had offered the CNP all available resources, but Horacio had no intention of following in Pinzón’s footsteps.

“No more large-scale operations. Search Bloc goes back to small-scale tactics.”

“Amen,” Javier replied as soon as Horacio had finished speaking. It distracted Horacio for a fraction of a second before he continued, both men unaware of the flicker of bemusement that passed between Trujillo and Steve.

“Stealth operations, surprise raids, that sort of thing. We change the game. But first, we let Pablo know we’re back.”

With that, a convoy of trucks set off through the streets of Medellín. It wouldn’t be long before news of Horacio’s return made its way back to Escobar. It was a risky strategy when it blew the element of surprise out of the water, but Horacio couldn’t help himself with everything Escobar had done in his absence. Too many colleagues and friends needlessly gunned down with no consequence. Something had to be done. He knew he got under Pablo’s skin, so in his mind, it was worth it. Especially imagining the look on his face when he discovered Horacio had decorated his mural in Barrio Pablo Escobar. A cheap shot, quite literally, but if that didn’t get his attention, nothing would.

There was method in Horacio’s madness, as it had the desired effect of drawing Escobar’s spotters out of the woodwork. With the assistance of Centra Spike and the DEA, their intel captured six radio transmissions. The trouble was, they didn’t have the exact locations of the transmissions.

“Our best bet is to corner each of these buildings,” Steve referred to the maps laid out on the table in front of them. “This time, we hit the ground.”

Horacio considered Murphy’s suggestion for a moment, unable to disagree with his logic for a change. “Trujillo, load up six unmarked cars, four men per car. Instruct them to leave in 20-minute intervals to avoid attention. Clear?”

“Yes, Colonel,” Trujillo confirmed before he left the room to set their plan in motion.

“Peña, you’re with me. Murphy, Jacoby, you stay here and guide us.” The words left Horacio’s mouth before he’d considered the implications of them. It was second nature to have Javier by his side after so long apart. It was selfish, but he didn’t want to be without him if he didn’t have to be.

Apart from Horacio’s procession through Medellín, the two of them had been inseparable all day. Whether catching stolen moments on their breaks in a disused classroom with the door wedged shut, or gravitating towards each other in every meeting they found themselves in, they were always in each other’s periphery and personal space. Far enough apart so as not to raise questions, but the proximity still grounded them.

Javier, on the other hand, could already feel Steve shooting daggers at him. The look was more for Horacio’s benefit than his, even if he didn’t dare aim it at his intended target. This plan, after all, was Steve’s idea.

“Careful out there, partner,” Steve mumbled under his breath as Javier followed Horacio out of the room. The heat of Steve’s scowl blazed into the back of Javier’s head as he walked away. Shit. No way was that going to be the end of it. They had entered into the territory of suspicious behaviour and Steve would want to know why he wasn’t included.

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Javier hung back whilst Search Bloc changed into their civilian clothes. He ducked inside the door to the locker room before it swung shut behind the last group of men to leave. Horacio was the only one left.

“What the hell was that back there?”

Horacio pulled his grey polo shirt over his head, not bothering to turn around at the interruption. “What are you talking about?”

“Steve?”

“This is a covert op; I’m bringing the exact number of men we need. It’s nothing personal.”

He realised that was at least a half-truth these days. Murphy had raised his shackles in the past when it came to Javier, before Tolú at least. Now, it was Murphy’s lazy attempts to learn much in the way of Spanish several years down the line and his general contrariness whenever they crossed paths. However, his intention wasn’t to spite Murphy (much). If truth be told, Steve hadn’t factored in Horacio’s decision at all, as all he could see and think about was Javier, even if he wasn’t fully aware of it.

“I don’t think Steve will see it that way,” Javier scoffed.

“You expect me to make tactical decisions based on not upsetting your partner?” Horacio shook his head and rolled his eyes, still facing away from Javier as he folded the fatigues he’d swapped for a pair of khakis.  

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“He’s not stupid, Horacio. He nearly caught us yesterday for fuck’s sake! If you keep showing me preferential treatment, he’s gonna start asking questions. Trust me.”

“I do trust you.” A mild offence crept into Horacio’s tone at even a frivolous doubting of that sentiment. “But he didn’t see or hear anything yesterday that could implicate me, so let him ask all he wants.”

“And that’s a risk you’re willing to take, is it?” Javier didn’t know why, but he’d never mentioned Connie to Horacio and now wasn’t the ideal time to, either. She had kept her silence and of course, Javier trusted her, but her imminent return alongside Steve’s raised suspicions made him jittery nonetheless.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Javier. Don’t you think we’ve got bigger fucking things to worry about right now?” As if to further emphasise his point, he stashed his uniform in the locker in front of him and attached his gun holster to his trousers.

“Yeah, well I could say the same about those.”

Horacio finally stilled then pivoted, his eyes landing on Javier’s. “Meaning?”

Javier dropped his gaze to the floor and bit down on the inside of his cheek. “Forget it.”

“No, go on.” Horacio took a step closer. His voice kept as low and steady as ever, but the challenge was clear in the fierce glare Javier could feel radiating into his skull despite not meeting it.

Javier sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, already regretting his choice of words, but knowing Horacio wouldn’t let it go now. “Your little stunt with Escobar’s mural for starters.”

“It got us the intel we needed, didn’t it?”

“Yes, but,” Javier paused and ran his thumb along his top lip as he contemplated his next sentence. “Don’t you think it could be seen by some as a bit…reckless?”

“Reckless?” Horacio’s eyebrows raised before he nodded with a sarcastic pout. “Perhaps you’re right. Maybe I should be more careful what I say in future as well. Especially to those running scared of their own feelings.” Shit. He didn’t know where the fuck that had come from.

Javier let out a wry laugh and shook his head, somehow taken aback but also unsurprised by the gut punch that blow had landed him. “You want me to say it back just to make you feel better? Like it magically makes up for your apparent death wish and all of this?” He gestured around the room in place of anything else to better represent the status quo.

The damage done by their words was evident in both men’s eyes as their argument shifted into something else entirely. Something raw and visceral, where repressed feelings didn’t so much as bubble to the surface, but rather violently explode. Where the ability to wound was almost too efficient. An advantage when out in the field, but not when it came to each other.

“No, I want you to say it because you mean it, Javier.” His curt words hung between them, suspended in a vacuum until Horacio continued like the last few minutes hadn’t happened. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a job to do. You coming or not?” He’d gone too far but wasn’t in a position to deal with it whilst there was work to be done. So, instead, he adjusted the collar of the beige jacket he’d tugged over his shoulders and headed out of the door to reconvene with his men.  

Javier stood speechless in the locker room for a long moment. Once again, he had no choice but to follow, although this time he wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

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A modest fleet of vehicles travelled under the cover of darkness, as per Horacio’s orders. He and Javier were in separate teams, giving them much-needed distance after striking each other with uncomfortable truths they hadn’t meant to lay bare. As they approached their assigned locations, they had no choice but to put it all on hold, as their focus shifted to the task at hand.

The night air was brisk despite the lack of breeze. It was the kind of weather that was deceptive in its stillness. The kind where there was a threat of an incoming storm, but it could change course at the last minute. The kind where even those who thought they had prepared for all eventualities could be caught off guard.

Javier was glad he’d opted to wear his leather jacket before leaving base. He sat in the back seat of his team’s vehicle; one hand poised on the door handle, whilst the other clutched his cigarette. The steady hit of nicotine just about numbed whatever the fuck he felt in the aftermath of the last few days. And yet he stubbed it out with relief when there was movement on the street at long last.

He watched and waited as the spotter closed up the motorcycle garage he’d had his eye on for the last hour. The teenage boy had nearly gotten away as he pulled the shutter down, but Javier’s reflexes were quicker. He swooped in and grabbed the bottom of the door before it could close. He yanked it back up again and came face to face with their target, who was now surrounded with no way out.

A few streets away, Horacio’s team knocked on doors but received nothing but a wall of silence. Either no one knew anything or they weren’t prepared to talk if they did. He suspected the latter. It may have been a while since he’d done this, but some things remained a constant. Eventually, he gave chase to a young boy of about six or seven, who he caught by chance when questioning the boy’s mother on the doorstep. Horacio followed him up to the rooftops, where his team uncovered a stash of radios. Success.

Javier’s team were the last to arrive at the agreed meeting point, a secluded alley concealed by trees and high walls. They were shrouded in inky-graphite except for the hazy bulbs of their vehicles and a pale, spectral glow between the increasingly turbulent clouds.

Javier had become astute at reading others; whether it be their subtle eye movements, habitual ticks, or the intonation of their voice. People often betrayed their feelings or motivations without him having to push. He’d always had a natural aptitude for it, but he had honed his skills in Colombia, especially when dealing with informants.

For a long time, Horacio was a closed book to Javier; a robust, impenetrable wall of stoicism. There were still instances that threw him, but generally speaking, he had a good read on him these days. However, there was something dangerous and volatile in the air as Javier observed from a distance whilst Horacio lined up the spotters. Spotter was no longer the right word, either. It occurred to him when he apprehended the teenage boy; these were children. Using any other language was a convenient way to distance themselves from the reality of the situation and it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Horacio prowled down the line of children, who were on their knees with their hands resting behind their heads. His silhouette stalked wolf-like along the wall behind them with each movement, like a bad omen lying in wait. “Do you know who I am? My name is Colonel Horacio Carrillo. Last week, 30 police officers were murdered.”

“Those pigs probably deserved it.” One of the older teen boys was brave – or stupid – enough to engage. It wasn’t just the fact he’d mouthed off, but also the words he’d chosen. The notion that so many good men in any way deserved their barbaric deaths was an insult of the highest order to Horacio.

“Shut up, kid,” Javier murmured under his breath. A cowardly plea, seeing as it had gone unheard and unnoticed.

The atmosphere in the alley dangled precariously on a knife-edge, hinging on the slightest movement or utterance. It vibrated and buzzed through Javier from head to toe, like a live wire in jeopardy of short-circuiting at any moment.

“Many of those pigs were my friends.” Horacio’s voice was quiet and measured but not lacking in venom.

Javier had witnessed it many times before. A fact that was still difficult to reconcile when comparing this version of Horacio to the one in his bed and shower. He’d seen grown men crumble and whimper and beg when on the receiving end of this version. It was often the last voice they heard before they were put out of their misery. Because it wasn’t the gun or the blade at their jugular that was the most terrifying part of the ordeal; it was the ruthless tone of the man wielding them. But one jarring difference stood between then and now: these weren’t grown men.

“Those perched on rooftops, guiding murderers with radios are assassins themselves. I hope after this encounter, you’ll reconsider working for someone who thinks he’s above the law.” The ominous sound of Horacio cocking his pistol echoed around the claustrophobic confines of the alley.

A deathly silence followed, broken by more ill-judged bravado from the boy.

Horacio had only planned on scaring them. Perhaps bringing them in for questioning and a night in the cells at the most. But now, palpitations pounded through him; from the adrenaline or rage or grief or guilt, he wasn’t sure any longer.

All he could see was red. Blood red. An endless deluge congealing in front of his eyes and under his skin. He could feel his own surging through his body with each deafening thud of his pulse, knowing how easily it could be stopped in its tracks. Knowing how fine the line between life and death was and how many had fallen on the wrong side of it. All because of one man. One man hellbent on making Colombia bleed. And oh, how he’d succeeded. Not just by inflicting the wounds himself but by threatening and coercing and driving others into doing it for him. Pushing people to the brink and beyond until their bloodlust rivalled his own. Now, they were all drowning in it with no way to stem the flow.

He opened his eyes to find his gun raised to the boy’s head. His wrist was stable, but his trigger finger twitched and stalled as he struggled with the ringing in his ears that forced his eyes shut to abate the pain. As his lids closed, he was back in Tolú. Half-conscious on the ground, blood streaming down his face. That was why he recognised the ringing, now joined by gunfire. Not in the present, but it was his weapon. Gunshot residue and the stench of damp suffocated his senses. But then he was sat in a pew, or was he knelt on the floor? Rosary beads clenched between his fingers, and a cross seared into his chest, heart and soul. No, not a cross. His cross. Their cross.

A distant but familiar voice reached from somewhere in the back of his mind. A voice that escalated in urgency and insistence the longer he stood with the boy’s life in his right hand. A voice that had always been with him, despite the fact he didn’t trust it as much as he wanted to. It swirled in his head until the words crystalised and replaced the white noise consuming his ears. Except you didn’t shoot him. Because you made a choice, Javier.

He came to with a sharp inhale and his gaze fell on the boy; in particular, the wooden crucifix at his neck. Fear reflected in the whites of his eyes and filled Horacio with pity and revulsion. As if hit with a moment of clarity, he elevated his gun above the boy’s head and fired several times at the concrete wall behind him.

The boy flinched and covered his ears with his hands, but at least he was alive.

“Tell your friends if you continue to work for Pablo Escobar and I catch any of you on the rooftops, next time I won’t miss. You can leave.” Nobody moved a muscle until he bellowed “Leave!” in a tone that even made Javier jump. The children scattered without another word.

Horacio stood stock still, breathing hard and staring at the bullet holes in the wall. Streaks of moonlight illuminated his features and brought into focus the glassy sheen that had settled across his pupils. A light tap on his shoulder startled him out of his daze.

“Colonel, are you alright?”

“Yes…I’m fine, thank you, Trujillo. You can head back to the cars with the others. I’ll join you shortly.”

“If you’re sure, Colonel?”

Horacio was already facing Javier in the shadows. “I’m sure,” he confirmed, although his eyes remained fixed on Javier’s for several seconds before he turned back around. “Honestly, you can go. Thank you.”

“No problem, Colonel.” Trujillo’s narrowed eyes darted multiple times between the two men until he had no choice but to make his exit.

Once they were alone, Horacio approached Javier, who still hadn’t moved or spoken. His arms hung rigid by his sides, his fingers on his right hand twitching whilst his jaw ground back and forth. His eyes bore the same watery glaze as Horacio’s.

“Are you okay?” Horacio asked, surprised at how strained his words came out as they caught in his throat like dense ash.

“What do you fucking think?” Javier scoffed.

“Look, I—”

“Can we not do this now?” Javier pleaded as his hands cradled his hips and his eyes descended to the ground. “I, er, think I just need some space.”

“Okay, sure. Whatever you need.” A stony silence permeated the oppressive air between them, both men already too battle-weary for another fight. “I – I’m sorry, though. For putting you through that.”

“You always are.” There was no vitriol in Javier’s words, only resigned acceptance that stung Horacio harder than if he’d screamed in his face.

He watched Javier retreat into the night with almost as much haste as the children, leaving him to carry his discharged gun and the ever-present crushing weight of remorse.

[fleurdeneuf]

tv show quiz

I was tagged by @joi-in-the-tardis, @blueboxesandtrafficcones, and @onthedriftinthetardis.  Thank you! :D

Pick 5 shows, then answer the following questions. Don’t cheat. Tag 10 peeps.

Doctor Who

Killing Eve

Life on Mars

Gentleman Jack

Father Brown

1. Who is your favorite character in 2?

It’s a tie between Villanelle and my boy Kenny. 

2. Who is your least favorite character in 1?

Umm....River Song and Madame de Pompadour....aka bad writing.

3. What is your favorite episode of 4?

Probably episode 8?  The happy ending after all of that angst!

4. What is your favorite season of 5?

Hmmm....I do like season 1 because I love Susie and she leaves after that, but they’re all good.  I do prefer the earlier seasons with Lady Felicia though (I love Bunty too, but LF is my fave).

5. Who is your favorite couple in 3?

Haha, there aren’t many to choose from!  But definitely Sam/Annie, even though I wasn’t sure for most of the time whether I actually shipped them, or just BroTP....but by the end I shipped it.  :’)

6. Who is your favorite couple in 2?

Eve/Villanelle (to the surprise of no one!)

7. What is your favorite episode of 1?

Dagnabit....ok, um, probably Rose?  Just the perfect opener!  But I also love The Unquiet Dead and Dalek and POTW and....

8. What is your favorite episode of 5?

IT’S A COZY MYSTERY SERIES WITH SEVEN SEASONS.  HOW CAN I PICK ONE FAVORITE EPISODE.  It would be much easier for me to list the handful of episodes that I DON’T like.  So, I’ll just say, generally speaking, my favorite eps are the ones where Father Brown says something beautiful and compassionate about God and love and makes me cry (this happens a lot).

9. What is your favorite season of 2?

I love both seasons so far, but I’ll say season 1 just by a hair...because of the originality and laying the groundwork.

10. How long have you watched 1?

HAHA....I started watching DW in 2007-2008?  I don’t remember exactly, but shortly after I finished grad school and moved home again, which was summer of 2007.  Let’s see...I was caught up just in time to watch season 4 when it aired in the US, which google helpfully tells me was April of 2008, so yeah, I would’ve started season 1 in late 2007 or early 2008 probably.

11. How did you become interested in 3?

I probably first heard about it when I first joined tumblr, especially from UK friends and Simm fans ( @flypup especially ;) ), and it was on my radar/in the back of my mind for a while, but I never got around to watching it.  And then I got Britbox and it was there, and then I fell into last year’s Simm Spiral (TM) and then @chiaroscuroverse suggested watching it, and then we did! 

12. Who is your favorite actor in 4?

Suranne Jones??? Sophie Rundle??? Both?????

13. Which do you prefer, 1, 2, or 5?

HOW DARE.  OK, I’m most obsessed with 2 right now, but 1 has been in my heart for more than ten years, and I’m currently rewatching 5 and it’s bringing me lots of happiness and good feelings, so I say: ALL OF THEM.

14. Which show have you seen more episodes of, 1 or 3 ?

.......1.  Because I’ve seen every episode and serial ever made, whereas 3 has only 16 episodes. :p

15. If you could be anyone from 4, who would you be?

Well, I’m partially Ann Walker already, so...

16. Would a crossover between 3 and 4 work?

No.  (Unless Sam ended up in 1830s West Yorkshire, rather than 1970s Manchester???)

17. Pair two characters in 1 who would make an unlikely but strangely okay couple.

Oh goodness....of course I’m suddenly forgetting all of the fic ships I’ve ever read....OK, I’m gonna go with amberfocus’s Pete’s World OT3 from Wolf Moon and Hunger Moon: Mickey, Suzie, and Jake.  She really sold that relationship, and I hadn’t even seen Torchwood yet at the time. :D  Runner up goes to Jack and Martha.  I have a soft spot for them as friends (I love how much Jack adores her), and I could see, given the right circumstances, that turning into something.

18. Overall, which show has the better storyline, 3 or 5?

3!  An original and amazing storyline that ends at the perfect point, and is open to interpretation.  5, as mentioned above, is a cozy mystery series, and as such, it doesn’t really have big plot arcs; the episodes are pretty self-contained.

19. Which has the better theme music, 2 or 4?

2, OBVS.  Have I flailed about the perfection of KE’s score and soundtrack lately?????  Perfection.

Tagging: @sorrynotsorrybabyx, @deartimekeeper, @ciara-jane, @naughtylupine, @wholockgal, @asthewheelwills, @pinchtheprincess, @stoprobbers, @turnswithus, @tinyconfusion  (no pressure, but @ and tag me if you do it!)

[alivingfire]

Annual Writing Self-Evaluation 2016

i’m gonna try and do this thing! i was tagged by @a-writerwrites, @mediawhorefics, @afirethatcannotdie and @churchrat. 

1. List of works published this year:

Hiding Place (technically, last chapter and epilogue posted in january) Inconceivable Anonymous Said Oh Glory Been Together Since Way Back When Tumblr fics series (6 total) Day 1: So It Begins (from the 30 days of smut) True Love’s Gold Play the Odds

2. Work you are most proud of (and why):

i mean. here’s the deal. hiding place is like... my everest. it’s my starry night. i put so much of myself into that damn thing, and the process of it 100% changed me, my writing style, how i view the fandom as well as the band. it will be my best accomplishment (even though there are definitely things i would go back now and change in it) until the next time i write a 365,000 word ode to two boys in love. 

but, also, researching and writing oh glory in four days was also pretty cool. 

3. Work you are least proud of (and why):

hmm. maybe my chapter for the 30 days of smut, just because i feel like i could’ve been more adventurous with it. i felt like -- just based on my own personal thoughts -- i sort of had a duty? as the first author to lay as much groundwork as possible for the why, and that ended up taking away from the actual sex of it all.  

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

this was actually really tough, and i just spent a good hour and a half digging for some quotes that aren’t stop-on-your-heart depressing that stuck with me after i wrote them. so here, from my least angsty fic - 

This is where Harry should be kissing someone he’s only known for a couple of hours, someone pretty with a bright smile who makes his stomach flip when their fingers touch. It could be something new too, maybe if the kiss was good Harry would ask for a date, or a phone number; maybe if the kiss wasn’t that memorable they’d stay friends. Either way, a memory made, a New Year celebrated, a firework of lips and smiles fizzing between him and someone bright, sparkling, new.

Instead, he’s kissing Louis.

Not that Louis doesn’t sparkle; Louis shines, Louis is what the moon gets its light from when the sun doesn’t want to do its job. Louis melts the frost off the world, Louis is the burnished gold of old London and the shiny silver of chrome and glass.

And it’s not that Louis isn’t new, because Louis is ever-changing; Louis is the pattern of the stars in the sky night after night, Louis is tie-dyed freedom, reckless waves against a shore, no beat of the drum the same.

It’s just that this kiss is something new but something old, too. It’s twelve years of friendship with a new sharp edge. It’s a glass mirror broken into new shapes, a mosaic of what was and what is and what will continue to change.

5. Share or describe a favorite review you received:

okay i was looking forward to answering this part. one of my favorite people of all time, kyla @greenadidasjumper, went through and basically live-commented her thoughts on every single chapter of hiding place, usually spanning multiple comments because they were so long. i tried for a while to go through and answer her questions and reply to what she said, but i ended up just reading them over and over and forgetting to answer so now they’re just there in my inbox for whenever i’m sad 💕💕

6. A time when writing was really, really hard:

i always have a tough time jumping into something new after i’ve wrapped up a project, and i think the hardest one for me was after been together since way back when. for some reason (maybe because it hit so close to home), that was the hardest fic for me to move on from, and it took a good month or so for me to even be interested in trying anything new. 

7. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you

most of hiding place, lol. i would start a scene with no clear path and it would usually end up a lot angstier than i’d originally intended. i was also pretty surprised by how much i put into the OCs for been together, they were a lot of fun to write. 

8. How did you grow as a writer this year:

well, that’s a good question, lol. i definitely think i’ve found my ~voice, so to speak, and i’m honing in on how i want to write as opposed to what i think others want from me. i’ve also discovered this year that the stuff of mine people tend to like the most are the things i speed-write, which is fascinating because those are the pieces i usually end up doubting the most; either way, i’ve definitely gotten better at churning out 20-30k in a week or so. 

9. How do you hope to grow next year:

i’m still trying to strike that balance between narrative voice and character voice, so that’s a big thing for me (especially since my next big project will rely a lot on changing POVs). 

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

ooh, well. i’m forever inspired by other authors, and anytime i find a fic that catches my attention it’s like lighting a fire, so whoknows, dolce, zarah (😞), claire, addy and lexy, @a-writerwrites, @lululawrence, cherrystreet, j, @mediawhorefics, @waytoomanypeopleintheaddisonlee, ellie, @thedarkestlarrie, @banana-louis, @loveloveolivia, @churchrat, @lucystarkid, @juliusschmidt, - i could go on for days, you’re all huge inspirations and i sorta love you all to bits, even if it’s from afar sometimes. also @ravenclawisak was a massive massive help during the final sprint of hiding place, and in fact you can blame her for some of the more Extreme Angst in the final chapters.  

11. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

it’s actually really funny, looking back, how many fandom interests leaked into the stuff i was writing when it was being discussed -- like when a new famous friend is introduced to the fandom or an old theory or famous story is brought up and discussed. like, for instance, true love’s gold would’ve been massively different if it hadn’t been for harry’s another man shoot. 

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

reach out to other writers. honestly, i love having a network of authors i can go to with any questions about writing or formatting or even plotting out new projects and throwing headcanons around. authors are also the biggest allies you could ask for when it comes to hyping up your stories; get you someone who’ll reblog your fic post everyday because they’re so proud of you (but you have to do the same for them!! be a good bro). 

13. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

the angel and demon au is going to be a doozy, so that’s one for sure. once that’s finished, though, i have my sights set on basically a whole list of things that’ve been in the back of my mind for months. ALSO idk if j @paynner is ready to go public with this but let me tell you people we have Planned Some Things and it might take us years to do it but when we do it’ll rock some worlds. 😇

14. Tag three writers whose answers you’d like to read. ;)

j have you done this??? you totally should so @paynner... and i’ll add my two coffee girls @coffeelouis and @coffeehazza 😘

*All answers should be about works published in 2016. Also, you can skip any questions you hate or don’t want to answer, but please leave them on the list so that others can do them if they want. :)