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the-hinky-panda · 2 years

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Pura Vida: Part II

Pairing: Colonel Horatio Carrillo x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: So I decided that these two needed a non-canon ending so here is an alternate ending to Mariposa where Carrillo does not die in the ambush.

Tag List: @the-ginger-hedge-witch, @xoxabs88xox

“I have an idea.”

Horacio is almost asleep when you make your announcement. You’re both on the couch, he’s propped up in the corner and your head is laying in his lap, watching a documentary on whales. Or seals. It could have been sharks, he lost track of the animal when he closed his eyes. “¿Qué es?” (What is it?)

You look up at him. “Oh, I didn’t realize you were asleep.”

He opens one eye and looks down at you. “What gave me away?”

“You used Spanish. You only do that when you're distracted or half asleep. Or,” you grin slyly, “otherwise engaged.”

“Hm.” He opens both eyes now and sits up straighter. “So what is this idea?”

“Remember our conversation on the beach before the turtles showed up? We were talking about what to do next and how to help kids like Diego get out of the barrios and the cartels?”

“Yes.”

“Well, why not do what Costa Rica does for the turtles? Have a safe place for the kids that want out. We could run it like a camp. Give them a place to stay, feed them, and teach them whatever they may need to know before moving forward with their lives.”

He thinks about it for a moment. It sounds good in its initial presentation but obviously there would be extensive planning involved. You would need a property set up for multiple residents. You would have to take security measures for your own personal safety and that of the community as sicarios would most likely catch onto something like this and try to infiltrate the young people trying to escape the cartel. “We’re going to need some help getting it set up.”

A look of hope blooms across your face. It’s like watching clouds roll back to have the sun shine for the first time in days. “You mean it? You’re okay with doing something like this?”

He nods. “Yes, I am. I think once we work out the details, it’s a great idea.”

“We’re definitely going to need new identities for this.” You scramble off the couch. “I’ll go call Stechner.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll love to hear from us.” Horacio turns the television off before following you into the office. Since the home you’re currently in belongs to an ex-CIA agent, the phone lines are secure and you still have Stechner’s sat phone number memorized. Stechner is picking up the phone when Horacio sits down in one of the leather wingback chairs. You’ve already put him on speaker phone.

“Stechner.”

“Hey, it’s me,” you start, too excited to even properly identify yourself.

Stechner sputters on the other end and spits out your name.

“Yeah, look we have an idea-”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing calling me? You’re fucking dead. D-e-a-d. Do you understand? No more communicado!”

Horacio watches your face harden and he hides a smile behind his hand. This is so much more entertaining than the documentary.

“Well, you’re the one that made us dead so now you get to deal with us. Think of it as us haunting you from the afterlife. Now look, we need some help getting an idea off the ground, an idea that may help you guys with the drug war.”

Stechner sighs. “Okay, since you’re out of the game, I’m going to level with you. Do you know how much money Uncle Sam is pouring into the countries with major cartels? It is an independent contractor's dream. If you start fucking around with someone’s income, they’re going to start fucking around with your life. You’re very good at your job so take this as a compliment when I say, stay out of the fucking war on drugs. You’re done. It’s over. Lose this number.”

Horacio watches as the reality of the situation hits you. The war that you both fought with everything you had, the war that had “killed” both of you, is now a political move that will continue as long as it makes money. It’s a bitter pill to swallow but you do by lifting the phone receiver and bringing it back down disconnecting the phone call. You stare at the phone like it’s personally offended you, but he knows better. You’re planning and scheming. He’ll do the execution of whatever plan you come up with and suddenly you’re both falling back into the familiar pattern that made Search Bloc as successful as it was.

But this is different. Instead of planning the downfall, capture, and execution of a man, you’re planning on how to steal his foot soldiers. There is no resorting to violence, arming yourselves to the teeth, and going in guns blazing. This is going to take strategy, bending of some laws, but the outcome is going to be much more positive than any raid that he had planned. He stands up from the chair and goes over to one of the bookcases to retrieve a rosewood carved chessboard. He sets it down on the desk and returns to his chair. You smile as you take the plush office chair behind the desk and stare down at the board.

“Let’s start planning,” he says as he leans forward and moves a pawn.

You play through two games, each of you winning one. By the time you start the third, you’re halfway through the expensive bottle of scotch that had been sitting on the bar in the other room and you’ve made about five pages of notes. First, you need a property. While this house is nice, it isn’t yours and it isn’t set up for multiple guests. Second, you need money to purchase the property. Thankfully, land is cheap in Costa Rica but neither one of you has access to your bank accounts. Third, you need to get word to the Search Bloc in Colombia that there is going to be a safe house available for anyone they deem trustworthy and desperate enough to make it to the middle of nowhere in hopes of a new life. Out of the three steps, the last one is the easiest since there is one person who knows that you’re both alive. By the time the sun had come up, you had a plan.

Step one: go to Tortuguero village and ask around about potential properties. You are pointed in the direction of an older couple who ran a camp type hostel for those interested in staying in the rainforest and studying the biodiversity of the national park. They’re too old to continue keeping up with the visitors. They show you and Horacio the property: a main lodge for meals and meetings, two wings of rooms located on opposite sides of the lodge. There are twenty rooms total. There is a small private residence, a two bedroom rancher where the owners lived for sixty years. There are wild gardens around the property, trails through the rainforest, and a swimming pool. They are selling it for a song and you jump on the opportunity.

Now comes step two: attain funds. Horacio had put his lockpicking skills to good use and managed to get filing cabinets open. You went through everything and discovered this retired CIA agent had multiple properties all over the world. Surely he wasn’t going to miss this one. You could sell this one to pay for the new one. Was it legal? No, but Horacio could tell you were still irate over Stechner’s stance that the war on drugs was too monetarily prolific to end. Apparently that justified some financial fraud in your book and he didn’t care one way or another. Quite frankly, he had been put out by Stechner’s comment as well.

The scheme ends up working. Stechner gets alerted that the house is listed for sale. Three days after it goes on the market, an envelope is delivered to the house. It contains documents for new identities for the both of you: IDs, passports, and a bank book. Stechner at least has the decency to not transfer any of Horacio’s money over to a new account so all the money is from your frozen bank account. Thankfully, it’s more than enough to purchase the property a little further down the lagoon. You of course use your new identities.

Which brings you to step three: contact a trusted source in Colombia that won’t give your identities away. There is only one choice for that and with the secured landline, the call is placed to Trujillo, who is relieved to hear from you both and more than willing to help. He fills you both in on the hunt for Escobar, the introduction of Los Pepes to the fray, and a few complaints over the tight structure and methodical nature of Colonel Hugo Martinez. But at the end of the call, there is satisfaction in knowing the fight is continuing in both your absences.

Life does indeed move forward.

***

“Ronaldo?” Horacio looks at the ID in his hand and scoffs.

You tilt your head and give him a slight smile. “I could see you being a Ronaldo.”

“And what lovely name did you receive, mi amor?”

“I am now Luciana Solano.”

He glances back down at his ID. Ronaldo Solano. He supposes this is the closest you two will get to being married.

It takes another month before all the paperwork is finalized and you are now homeowners, or rather the Solanos are. Once you’ve packed what clothes and belongings you have acquired since your recoveries, you both go to the village to get food and basic supplies for the move to the new property that evening. You want to visit the beach, sit on the sand and listen to the waves and he makes an excuse of wanting to watch the unofficial fútbol match. A bit of relaxation before you start working on the property for its new purpose as a haven for those escaping the cartels. However, he walks right past the players and locates the most expensive jewelry shop he can find in the line of tourists shops. He can’t seem to locate a traditional gold wedding band but he does find a gold ring with etchings of vines in the wide band.

He tries to hide his excitement of being able to present you with a gift, a symbol of his commitment to you now that he can offer it. It’s something he never thought was going to be possible, or even appropriate, but here he is. Dead and gone, never to return to Colombia but able to spend the remainder of his life with you, his soulmate. However, he’s out of practice with schooling his features and you are still sharp in your detailed gathering of information and immediately catch on when he joins you on the beach for the beginning of sunset. You eye him semi-warily.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing,” he shrugs.

Clearly you don’t believe him. “Please tell me you didn’t go off and get cigarettes.”

He laughs. “No, I didn’t.”

“You know what Luisa said about you smoking.”

“I remember.”

“And with the lung damage from the-”

“I didn’t get cigarettes! Dios mio, woman.” (My God.)

You hum but are still clearly suspicious. “Fine.”

You slip your hand into his and thread your fingers between his own, a peace offering. Well, judging from the look in your eye, a trojan horse peace offering. It only takes you a few moments of quiet before you make your move and Horacio lets you. You turn to face him and straddle his waist, sitting on his stomach and flashing him a cheeky grin. Then starts the pat down. He leans back on his elbows in the soft sand and waits until you discover the small box in his pants pocket. Curiosity raises a furrow in your brow as you stare down at it, turning the brown cardboard container over in your hand.

“What is it?”

It’s his turn to grin up at you. “Too small for cigarettes.”

You move your knee to jab him in the side and he rewards you with a grunt. He takes the box from you and opens it, showing you the ring.

“I thought, given our new identities, that Ronaldo would want his wife to wear a wedding ring. That he would want, what few people they come across, to know that she belongs to him and he belongs to her.” He takes the ring out and holds it out to you. And for one heartstopping moment, all you do is stare at it without moving.

“And what of Horacio? What does he want?”

If the question had been posed to him a few months ago, the answer immediately given would have been Escobar’s head on a silver platter. But that was before the ambush, before he almost died because of his arrogance and violent obsession. And what had it gotten him? Pablo still had his family, his loyal men, his money, his empire. Horacio had lost his family when he stopped being a protector and instead became an antagonizer. He had almost lost you to Gato and you both had lost a child.

He had to die, to be reborn, to see just how far he had strayed. He had to take the last few months to recover physically but also mentally. His tactics had been destructive, not to Pablo Escobar, but to himself and his family. He’s determined now to go back to the man he was before the cartels twisted him into something that had been unrecognizable: a protector. If possible, a hero. He would settle for on the right path and if you loved him, looked at him like you were now, then he would have his confirmation that he is now headed in the correct direction.

“I want you to know that you’re loved, protected, and adored by me. I want you to know that you never have to be alone anymore unless you choose to be. I want you to know you’re my other half, mi alma gemela para siempre.” (my soulmate forever.)

Tears are spilling down your cheeks but your smile is immense. “I didn’t know…I would have written something down if I had known this…” you swipe at your face to wipe the tears away. “If I had known this was going to...”

“All I need to hear is that you’ll be mine.”

You lean forward and press your lips to his. “I already am.”

***

You’re wringing your hair out over the sink in the kitchen…no, your kitchen, when a flash of lightning lights up the room. At the moment it’s the only light that is being offered in the small house. Five minutes before reaching your property, the skies opened and poured out buckets of rain. The lightning knocked out the electricity. It took three trips from the boat to the house before everything was safely inside but you and Horacio were completely soaked. Unfortunately, so are all your clothes in your bags.

Well, all of your clothes. Horacio had the presence of mind to wrap some of his clothes in plastic before placing them in his bag thanks to military training in a jungle environment. After briefly suggesting you should just wander around nude until you dried off, he did relinquish one of his t-shirts for you to wear. You also manage to find a pair of underwear that is just damp. You finish braiding your hair at the sink and as you’re tying off the end, Horacio comes up behind you. He slips his arms around your waist, pulling you back against him as he buries his face in the side of your neck.

“Me encanta verte con mi ropa.” (I love seeing you in my clothes.)

“Just five minutes ago you were trying to get me out of clothes completely.”

You feel him smile against your still damp skin as he mouths at the slope where your shoulder and neck meet. “My clothes, no clothes, sigues siendo tan hermosa.” (you’re still so beautiful.)

One of his hands slips under the hem of the t-shirt and ghosts over your stomach before filling his palm with your breast. You push back against him, grinding your ass against his already hard cock and you’re rewarded with a loan groan. You grab the bottom of the shirt and pull it over your head, tossing it onto the kitchen table. Horacio’s other hand slides under the waistband of your panties, his fingers slipping through the wetness that’s been gathering since you’ve arrived. You've watched him walk around the dark house with just a towel wrapped low around his waist, rain water running in rivulets down from his hair, along the strong column of his neck, over his broad chest. He slips a finger inside of you and pinches your earlobe between his teeth. Your knees buckle but he holds you upright.

“Do you want me to take you here, querida?” he whispers in your ear. “Bend you over the counter, hm? Or should I take you to bed and fuck you there?”

You could come just from hearing him talk to you like this. He is usually quiet during sex, a man of few words both in and out of the bedroom. The fact that he’s being this verbal gives you a reading on how intense his emotions are at the moment. There’s another flash of lightning and it catches the gold band on your left hand. Of course his emotions are running high tonight and that intensity seeps into your body. When he adds a second finger you make your decision. There’s no way you can walk to the bedroom right now. “Here,” you manage to say, “fuck me here.”

He spits an obscenity in Spanish as he shoves your panties down your legs and you step out of them. You see the towel hit the tiled floor as his hand presses between your shoulder blades until your chest is flat on the butcher block countertop. Somewhere in the back recesses of your mind, you’re thankful for the warm wood beneath you and not having it be something cold like tile or stone. But then he’s threading his hand into the braid of your hair, his fingers making a mess of the plait you just finished and you know you’re in for an intense session this evening.

“¿Lista?” (Ready?)

You find a small space between the counter and the wall and wedge your fingertips in there. “Lista.”

He uses his knee to nudge your legs into a wider stance before slipping the head of his cock into you with no resistance. Your forehead rests on the counter as he takes his time to completely enter you, inch by painstakingly slow inch. His hand smooths over your back, running lightly over the bumps of your spine before returning to the bend of your hip and pulling you even tighter against him.

“He estado pensando en esto todo el día.” (I’ve been thinking about this all day.)

You try to push a laugh out of your throat but the stretch of him in this position always takes you a couple moments to adjust. You’re surprised he’s kept his hands to himself for as long as he has if he’s been thinking about this all day. He bends forward, kissing and nipping at the skin around your shoulder blades. You can feel him murmuring things against your skin but you can’t make them out. When you’re finally comfortable with the feeling of him inside of you, you glance over your shoulder, a cheeky smile on your face. His eyes are almost black, color rising from his neck up to the high point of his cheekbones.

“Así que esos pensamientos, ¿te incluían realmente jodiéndome o es esto?” (So those thoughts, did they include you actually fucking me or is this it?)

The smile he gives you is half wild as he holds your gaze while snapping his hips forward once with enough force to bounce your knees off the lower cabinets. “¿Cómo es eso, mi amor?” (How is that, my love?)

It’s wonderful. It’s perfect. But you need more and you know he’s waiting for your permission. So you shrug. “Está bien.” (It’s okay.)

The grip on your hip and in your hair tighten. “Te voy a hacer feliz, no tenemos vecinos aquí.” (I’m going to make you happy that we don’t have neighbors here.)

You groan as you drop your forehead down to the counter. “Vamos, mi amor.” (Let’s go, my love.)

There is no warming up. He immediately sets a desperate pace that has you struggling to keep up. You lose your grip on the counter and end up bracing your hands on the cabinets above your bent form. Once you have something to push against, you can now meet his thrusts. He groans at feeling you push back against him and his teeth scrape against the slope of your shoulder. Your knees keep hitting the lower cabinetry. It shouldn’t feel this good, the violence of teeth, bruised knees, and the pulling of hair but, fuck, it’s amazing when he gets like this. When his desire for you overwhelms him to the point of taking what he wants. But the care that he shows you guarantees that you will get what you want as well. He never lets you down, never makes you fall and does not catch you.

“Joder, te sientes tan bien.” (Fuck, you feel so good.)

His arm moves from your hip to slip between your legs, his fingers easily finding your clit. You can’t stop the moan that rips itself from your throat. You make a fist and hit the cabinet above your head. “Fuck! God, don’t stop. Feels so…so good.”

He tugs on your hair, pulling you up and against his chest as he continues to pound into you from behind and tease your clit from the front. His mouth is right next to your ear and he starts whispering the most filthy things to you.

“Tomándome tan bien, mi pequeña mariposa. Se siente tan bien alrededor de mi polla. Quiero que vengas. Quiero que vengas alrededor de mi polla,” he pauses briefly, “mi querida esposa.” (You’re taking me so well, my little butterfly. Feels so good around my cock. I want you to come. I want you to come around my cock, my darling wife.)

You shatter around him with a sob. He groans into your shoulder as he comes hard inside of you, filling you with his release. Your senses come back to you slowly. You can hear the rasp of his breathing, feel the humid puffs of breath against your back. Your legs are shaking from being braced for the entire session, as are your arms. But what surprises you the most are the tears. You started crying when you came, the powerful release completely overwhelming you but the emotions don’t fade with the lingering lightening under your skin. Splashes of water continue to drop onto the counter underneath you and you don’t know how to stop them.

My darling wife.

That is what tipped you over the edge both physically and emotionally. Something you never had hoped to ever hear uttered in the soft rasp of his voice. The disappointment of never being able to be his, truly and only his, was too great to bear under the hope of your circumstances changing. However, those circumstances have changed now. He is yours and you are his and there is no need to hide it anymore. It’s like telling a child you couldn’t get the one thing they wanted only to surprise them with it a few minutes later. Unexpected and restoring hope in a cruel world.

But then comes the sharp pain of reality as you feel his spend wetting the inside of your thighs, slowly dripping out of you. Questions that had been so important to you before, no longer need to be asked. Do we need a condom? You miss hearing his rough voice, seeing the concentration on his face as he tries to hold back from his own orgasm. Where do you want me to come? Now, it doesn’t matter.

The double edged sword of your inability to have children but his use of the my darling wife tears you down the middle of your soul. You have your miracle: Horacio for the rest of your life. You also have the price of your miracle: Horacio is all you will ever have. You know yourself, you know that despite the void of not being able to have a child, he will be enough. But will you be enough for him? Will your defective body be enough for him? He has two children that he can no longer see. What if he wants more?

“Querida?” His hands smooth over your bare arms and slip back around your waist, tugging in an attempt to turn you around to face him. You resist, tears still streaming down your face as you try to wipe them away before he notices. But he does and spins you around, picking you up effortlessly and sitting you on the counter. His eyes and hands roam over your body from head to toe, his face pinched with concern. “Did I hurt you? Lo siento, mi amor.” (I’m sorry, my love.)

You shake your head and wipe more tears away. “No, you didn’t hurt me.”

“Okay, bien. What…”

You bury your face against his neck and breathe in his scent in an effort to find your center again. He must understand that’s what you’re doing as he tightens his arms around you, pressing you closer to him. His heart is still racing, his breathing still ragged with a slight whistle, and his hands are still trembling. But his hold is solid, reassuring, as he waits for you to gather yourself. It takes a few minutes before your own breathing evens out and the tears finally dry.

You pull away from him slightly and swipe a hand across your cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re certain I didn’t hurt you?”

“Yes, I’m certain.” You give him a shaky smile and a weak laugh, lightly touching the side of his face. “I don’t know why-”

He hums loud enough to interrupt you, his subtle way of calling you out. He bends down to retrieve the towel and uses it to gently clean away the cooling, sticky mess of your union before helping you down off the counter. “Let’s go to bed.”

He kisses you on the cheek and keeps an arm around you as you both head into the bedroom and slip beneath the cool cotton sheets and mosquito netting. You settle against him, your head finding its way to his chest as his hand finds its way to your ribcage. He’s waiting for you to say something and you know he’s not going to go to sleep until you do. So you trace invisible designs on his chest, finding it easier to tell his collarbone your thoughts than his face.

“You called me your wife.”

He completely tenses underneath you.

“I liked it…alot, actually.” Tears start to creep into the corners of your eyes again but you’re able to blink them away this time.

“Okay.” The tension in his muscles release. Mostly.

“And as much as this is more than I ever expected, I can only ever be a wife. I can’t-”

He rolls over to face you, forcing you to readjust with your head on a pillow. You’re now face to face but still can’t bring yourself to look in his eyes. There will either be acceptance or pity there and you don’t know if you can handle seeing either one. He smooths back the stray hairs that have come loose from your braid, his hand coming to rest on your cheek.

“Sometimes, I forget how young you are.”

Confusion at his statement gives you the motivation needed to look him in the eye. There is no acceptance or pity in his dark eyes, just warmth. Love.

“You’re so capable,” he continues, “wise, and intuitive. Until-”

“Until I’m not.”

He huffs a soft laugh. “Until your lack of experience catches up to you.”

Sometimes you too forget that there’s close to fifteen years difference between the two of you. That he’s seen twice as much as you have, has done twice as much as you. Which brings you back to your main concern. “So is just being a wife, not a mother, enough?”

“Just being you is enough.”

He kisses you gently, nothing but sweetness and adoration. Half your heart is at peace knowing that he is satisfied with the situation. But the other half, your half, knows that ache and disappointment will never go away. You will always feel like you’re letting him down in this way.

***

You and Horacio are working on some of the guest rooms in early December. Trujillo has about five young people who are looking to get out of Medellín and he’s waiting for a good time to bring them himself for the first trip. But everytime he thinks he has a departure date, there’s something new that pops up in the investigation. Horacio and you both tell him that Escobar’s capture is, and always will be, priority.

Horacio is checking all the plumbing, making sure everything is working properly. You are making up the beds in the rooms, two single cots per room. You’ve done your best to make the room hospitable. Medium quality bed linens with little decorative touches in each room like throw pillows, small chairs, a rug, and some flowers. You’re nervous about taking in five teenagers but also excited about their arrival. You can’t have children of your own but you can fill the empty space with these kids. It’s fitting a round peg in a square hole but you’re hopeful it’ll be enough.

You have a battery operated radio playing out on the front patio of the line of rooms, filling the air with upbeat Spanish pop music. You’re only half listening to it as you go about tucking sheets and unfurling quilts that you have recently washed after purchasing them from a thrift shop. The music stops halfway through the song with an urgent news story. You’re still not listening very closely to it until Horacio drops a metal tool on the concrete floor and startles you.

“Shit, Horac-”

He shushes you as he makes a beeline for the radio outside and you follow him, now listening intently to the news report.

“Una vez más, Pablo Escobar ha sido asesinado a balazos durante un altercado con la unidad del Bloque de Búsqueda del CNP.” (Once again, Pablo Escobar has been shot and killed during an altercation with the CNP Search Bloc unit.)

All the air in Costa Rica disappears. All the birds, bugs, and monkeys stop making noise. Your body has gone numb.

“La madre de Escobar identificó y confirmó que el cuerpo que sacaron de la azotea es el de su hijo.” (Escobar's mother has identified and confirmed that the body removed from the rooftop is her son.)

You force your eyes away from the radio to Horacio. His posture is rigid, more so than the standard military stance. His face is pinched, jaw tense, as if the news is infuriating him. But you know that’s not the case. He wants details. He wants to know a step by step, second by second play of what happened.

“El presidente Gaviria se dirigirá al pueblo colombiano esta noche. Para hacernos eco de las palabras de un oficial de policía colombiano que habló por radio después de que dispararan a Escobar, viva Colombia.” (President Gaviria is to address the Colombian people this evening. To echo the words of a Colombian police officer who radioed after Escobar was shot, long live Colombia.)

The music picks up again, the air returns, the animals start to make noise once more, and your fingertips start to tingle.

“So that’s it?” Horacio shrugs. “A two minute announcement?”

“It doesn’t take a lot of time to say he’s dead.” You pause for a moment. “Pablo Escobar is dead.”

Horacio’s jaw ticks. “The motherfucker is dead.”

A laugh bubbles up from your throat but tears sting your eyes. You wonder if this is what it feels like to go insane, or have a nervous breakdown. So many years, so many lives and four words bring it to an end. It almost feels like a let down if you’re honest with yourself. Before you can say anything else to Horacio, the phone in the house starts to ring and Horacio takes off at a jog to answer it. You follow him but at a slower pace. By the time you reach the house, your tears and odd laughter have passed. You hear Trujillo’s familiar voice over the speaker phone.

“Lo siento, no pude llamar antes. Quería asegurarme de que no había nadie cerca cuando llamé.” (Sorry I couldn’t call earlier. I wanted to make sure no one was around when I called.)

“Nosotros entendemos,” Horacio says. (We understand.) “Entonces, ¿estabas allí?” (So, were you there?)

There’s a pause on the other end and then Trujillo clears his throat. “Sí. Sí estuve allí. En la azotea.” (Yes. Yes, I was there on the rooftop.)

Silence falls over the room. Horacio actually looks pleased now. Out of everyone, you both are relieved that Trujillo was present. That he had been the one standing over Escobar at the end.

“Yo era el …” Trujillo's voice breaks. “Yo fui quien le disparó. En la cabeza. Y lo hice por ti. Para ustedes dos.” (I was the one…I was the one who shot him. In the head. And I did it for you. For both of you.)

Horacio reaches for you and you immediately allow yourself to be pulled into his lap. Tears glass his eyes as he struggles to come up with something to say, anything. But what can you say? Thank you seems so trite in the face of something so historically monumental. Trujillo seems to compose himself as you hear him sniff and take a deep breath. When he speaks again, his voice is still full of emotion but isn’t shaking anymore.

“Él está muerto. Usted no.” He pauses. “Nosotros ganamos.” (He’s dead. You’re not. We won.)

One week later, you and Horacio are standing on the riverbank at La Pavona scanning the crowd for Trujillo and the five teenagers. You teased Horacio on the boat ride over to the port that Trujillo isn’t going to recognize him now that he’s grown a closely trimmed beard as well as his longer hair. What was once just waves are now starting to form complete curls and you’re finding it harder and harder to keep your hands out of them. Not that he seems to be minding it at all.

Since the news of Escobar’s death, there’s a new lightness surrounding the both of you. Shadows that you thought were permanently etched into both your faces, have lifted. You both smile more, laugh easier, and peace finally seems like it is just a breath away from your reach, almost within reach. Almost.

You recognize the teenagers before your eyes land on Trujillo. Scared, haunted, with just a touch of hope in their faces. They’re holding well worn backpacks and suitcases held together with duct tape. It immediately takes you back to your time in the homeless shelter, with the peeling fake leather suitcase tied together with string because the zipper was broken. You remember the feeling of standing in the doorway of your college dorm room with that suitcase and seeing the look of disgust on your roommate’s face, like she was afraid of catching lice from you. You swallow down the bitterness of that memory, plaster the largest smile you can manage and wave enthusiastically at the group of teens.

“¡Hola, chicos!” you shout to them and they slowly make their way down the steep bank down to where you and Horacio are still stationed at the small motor boat. Trujillo quickly leads the way and almost knocks Horacio over when he hugs him in greeting. You know those two are going to talk business so you go immediately to the kids. There are three girls and two boys ranging from twelve to sixteen from your best guess. You introduce yourself as Luciana Solano and learn their names: Juan and Andres were the boys, Luz, Maria, and Paola were the girls. You’re helping them load their belongings into the boat so the weight will be evenly distributed when Horacio and Trujillo come over to the boat. The hug that Trujillo gives you is rib crushing.

“Hola, hermana.” (Hello, sister.)

“Hola, héroe.” (Hello, hero.)

He scoffs at the greeting. “Ojalá ambos hubieran estado allí.” (I wish you both had been there.)

You wave dismissively. “Nos representaste bien. Muy bien. Gracias.” (You represented us well. Very well. Thank you.)

“Le di una actualización sobre esta operación a…” he pauses and points at Horacio. (I gave an update about this operation to…)

You smirk. “Ronaldo.”

Trujillo makes a disgusted face. “Ronaldo?”

“Stechner nos dio los nombres,” you shrug. (Stechner gave us the names.)

Trujillo nods. “Entonces tienes suerte de que no te haya nombrado Pablo y Tata.” (Then you’re lucky he didn’t name you Pablo and Tata.)

He makes a good point. You wouldn’t have put it past Stechner to do something like that to get back at you for forcing his hand with the false identities. “¿Cuál es la actualización?” (What’s the update?)

“Él te lo dirá. Tengo que regresar ahora mismo.” (He’ll tell you. I have to head back right now.)

“¿Qué? ¿Por qué no puedes quedarte?” (What? Why can’t you stay?)

He shrugs. “Tenemos a Escobar. Ahora vamos a Cali.” (We got Escobar. Now on to Cali.) He motions to the kids in the boat. “¿Puedo decir algo?” (May I say something?)

“Por supuesto.” (Of course.)

Trujillo goes over to the boat, standing on the shore line and looking at each of the kids in their face. “Escúchame con mucha atención una vez más. Estas personas,” he looks back at you and Horacio with a smirk, “Ronaldo y Luciana, van a protegerte, cuidarte y ayudarte a salir adelante, donde sea que estés. Escúchalos. Sepa que tienen sus mejores intereses en el corazón. Buena suerte.” (Listen to me very carefully one more time. These people, …Ronaldo and Luciana, are going to protect, care, and help you move forward, wherever that may be. Listen to them. Know they have their best interests at heart. Good luck.)

Trujillo gives them one last serious nod before hugging you and Horacio one last time before heading back up the hill. You step into the boat and are suddenly faced with five sets of nervous eyes. Five teenagers, scared to death, and all looking at you for guidance. You look at Horacio, who is in the middle of maneuvering the boat out into the water so they can start the forty minute ride to the property. Once he opens up the engine, he turns around and gives the five kids a casual wave.

“Hola, chicos. Soy Ronaldo Solano y esta es mi esposa, Luciana.” (Hello guys. I’m Ronaldo Solano and this is my wife, Luciana.) He leans over to you. “Go ahead. Give them your speech.”

You’re stuck between complete embarrassment at knowing he overheard you practicing what you were going to say to the kids and a flash of irritation at just how much joy he is getting out of your nervousness. Bastard. But it is the motivation that you needed.

“Pura vida!” You start but they just stare back at you in silence. “Este es un saludo común en Costa Rica, por lo que lo escuchará mucho. Cuando alguien lo dice, simplemente se lo repites.” (Pure life. This is a common greeting in Costa Rica so you'll hear it alot. When someone says it, you just repeat it back to them.)

You tell them about the wildlife that lives in this region of the country which wouldn’t seem like an appropriate topic of conversation but when crocodiles inhabit the water and pit vipers are plentiful in the underbrush of the rainforest, they need to know the immediate dangers. They listen with rapt attention to the stories of howler monkeys that like to act as early morning alarms in the morning, the bright colors of the green macaws and toucans that perch in the trees around the property. There is even a three-toed sloth that sometimes makes an appearance from time to time in the tree by the pool.

The time flies by and before you know it, the boat is docking at the pier. The kids look around the property with wide eyed curiosity and any doubts that you may have had evaporates. “Bienvenido a casa. Pura vida!” (Welcome home.)

The kids all exchange a brief look before responding in unison, “Pura vida!”

You show them to their rooms, give them about half an hour to get settled before providing dinner for them. The nerves are still running high but there are more tentative smiles. You feel your education training kicking in and pick up on things that would be red flags in a classroom. They move as a unit, closing ranks against any perceived threat. They’re all still in survival mode so you make noise when you approach them so they’re not startled. You don’t invade their personal space and give them the freedom to move around the property as they feel comfortable. By the time you see them to bed and wait for the lights to disappear in the rooms, you’re exhausted.

“I think one of the kids recognized me.”

And just like that, you’re awake. “One of the boys?”

Horacio pours himself a glass of whiskey and offers it to you but you shake your head so he puts the bottle back in the cabinet. “No, one of the girls. Paola, I think.”

Paola had been extremely shy and silent, but so had most of them. You would keep an eye on her in the next few days, just as you know that Horacio would be doing perimeter checks in the morning and evenings as well.

“Trujillo vetted these kids himself. If she does know you, then it most likely won’t be detrimental to us.”

He nods. “That’s what I keep telling myself.”

Speaking of Trujillo, that brings up another subject that you haven’t had a chance to follow up with him. “So what is this plan that Trujillo was telling you about?”

He sits down on the couch and you take your customary seat under his arm. “We have a much more sophisticated group helping us in Colombia now.”

“Really?”

“Colonel Martinez’s son is working in the intel unit, monitoring radio frequencies. He’s the one that’s picking up on some communications with the kids and sliding those names and locations to Trujillo.”

“That’s a brilliant idea.”

“We’ll see if it works.”

And that is the crux of the entire operation: see if it works.

#colonel horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo x you #horacio carrillo fic #narcos fic #Pura Vida Series #hinky writes

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leylinefiction · 2 years

Text

Pura Vida (A Mariposa Alternate Ending): Part II

Pairing: Colonel Horatio Carrillo x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: So I decided that these two needed a non-canon ending so here is an alternate ending to Mariposa where Carrillo does not die in the ambush.

Tag List: @the-ginger-hedge-witch, @xoxabs88xox

“I have an idea.”

You look up at him. “Oh, I didn’t realize you were asleep.”

He opens one eye and looks down at you. “What gave me away?”

“You used Spanish. You only do that when you're distracted or half asleep. Or,” you grin slyly, “otherwise engaged.”

“Hm.” He opens both eyes now and sits up straighter. “So what is this idea?”

“Remember our conversation on the beach before the turtles showed up? We were talking about what to do next and how to help kids like Diego get out of the barrios and the cartels?”

“Yes.”

A look of hope blooms across your face. It’s like watching clouds roll back to have the sun shine for the first time in days. “You mean it? You’re okay with doing something like this?”

He nods. “Yes, I am. I think once we work out the details, it’s a great idea.”

“We’re definitely going to need new identities for this.” You scramble off the couch. “I’ll go call Stechner.”

“Stechner.”

“Hey, it’s me,” you start, too excited to even properly identify yourself.

Stechner sputters on the other end and spits out your name.

“Yeah, look we have an idea-”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing calling me? You’re fucking dead. D-e-a-d. Do you understand? No more communicado!”

Horacio watches your face harden and he hides a smile behind his hand. This is so much more entertaining than the documentary.

“Let’s start planning,” he says as he leans forward and moves a pawn.

Life does indeed move forward.

***

“Ronaldo?” Horacio looks at the ID in his hand and scoffs.

You tilt your head and give him a slight smile. “I could see you being a Ronaldo.”

“And what lovely name did you receive, mi amor?”

“I am now Luciana Solano.”

He glances back down at his ID. Ronaldo Solano. He supposes this is the closest you two will get to being married.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing,” he shrugs.

Clearly you don’t believe him. “Please tell me you didn’t go off and get cigarettes.”

He laughs. “No, I didn’t.”

“You know what Luisa said about you smoking.”

“I remember.”

“And with the lung damage from the-”

“I didn’t get cigarettes! Dios mio, woman.” (My God.)

You hum but are still clearly suspicious. “Fine.”

“What is it?”

It’s his turn to grin up at you. “Too small for cigarettes.”

You move your knee to jab him in the side and he rewards you with a grunt. He takes the box from you and opens it, showing you the ring.

“And what of Horacio? What does he want?”

“All I need to hear is that you’ll be mine.”

You lean forward and press your lips to his. “I already am.”

***

“Me encanta verte con mi ropa.” (I love seeing you in my clothes.)

“Just five minutes ago you were trying to get me out of clothes completely.”

You feel him smile against your still damp skin as he mouths at the slope where your shoulder and neck meet. “My clothes, no clothes, sigues siendo tan hermosa.” (you’re still so beautiful.)

“Do you want me to take you here, querida?” he whispers in your ear. “Bend you over the counter, hm? Or should I take you to bed and fuck you there?”

“¿Lista?” (Ready?)

You find a small space between the counter and the wall and wedge your fingertips in there. “Lista.”

“He estado pensando en esto todo el día.” (I’ve been thinking about this all day.)

“Así que esos pensamientos, ¿te incluían realmente jodiéndome o es esto?” (So those thoughts, did they include you actually fucking me or is this it?)

It’s wonderful. It’s perfect. But you need more and you know he’s waiting for your permission. So you shrug. “Está bien.” (It’s okay.)

The grip on your hip and in your hair tighten. “Te voy a hacer feliz, no tenemos vecinos aquí.” (I’m going to make you happy that we don’t have neighbors here.)

You groan as you drop your forehead down to the counter. “Vamos, mi amor.” (Let’s go, my love.)

“Joder, te sientes tan bien.” (Fuck, you feel so good.)

My darling wife.

You shake your head and wipe more tears away. “No, you didn’t hurt me.”

“Okay, bien. What…”

You pull away from him slightly and swipe a hand across your cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re certain I didn’t hurt you?”

“Yes, I’m certain.” You give him a shaky smile and a weak laugh, lightly touching the side of his face. “I don’t know why-”

“You called me your wife.”

He completely tenses underneath you.

“I liked it…alot, actually.” Tears start to creep into the corners of your eyes again but you’re able to blink them away this time.

“Okay.” The tension in his muscles release. Mostly.

“And as much as this is more than I ever expected, I can only ever be a wife. I can’t-”

“Sometimes, I forget how young you are.”

Confusion at his statement gives you the motivation needed to look him in the eye. There is no acceptance or pity in his dark eyes, just warmth. Love.

“You’re so capable,” he continues, “wise, and intuitive. Until-”

“Until I’m not.”

He huffs a soft laugh. “Until your lack of experience catches up to you.”

“Just being you is enough.”

***

“Shit, Horac-”

He shushes you as he makes a beeline for the radio outside and you follow him, now listening intently to the news report.

All the air in Costa Rica disappears. All the birds, bugs, and monkeys stop making noise. Your body has gone numb.

The music picks up again, the air returns, the animals start to make noise once more, and your fingertips start to tingle.

“So that’s it?” Horacio shrugs. “A two minute announcement?”

“It doesn’t take a lot of time to say he’s dead.” You pause for a moment. “Pablo Escobar is dead.”

Horacio’s jaw ticks. “The motherfucker is dead.”

“Lo siento, no pude llamar antes. Quería asegurarme de que no había nadie cerca cuando llamé.” (Sorry I couldn’t call earlier. I wanted to make sure no one was around when I called.)

“Nosotros entendemos,” Horacio says. (We understand.) “Entonces, ¿estabas allí?” (So, were you there?)

There’s a pause on the other end and then Trujillo clears his throat. “Sí. Sí estuve allí. En la azotea.” (Yes. Yes, I was there on the rooftop.)

Silence falls over the room. Horacio actually looks pleased now. Out of everyone, you both are relieved that Trujillo was present. That he had been the one standing over Escobar at the end.

“Él está muerto. Usted no.” He pauses. “Nosotros ganamos.” (He’s dead. You’re not. We won.)

“Hola, hermana.” (Hello, sister.)

“Hola, héroe.” (Hello, hero.)

He scoffs at the greeting. “Ojalá ambos hubieran estado allí.” (I wish you both had been there.)

You wave dismissively. “Nos representaste bien. Muy bien. Gracias.” (You represented us well. Very well. Thank you.)

“Le di una actualización sobre esta operación a…” he pauses and points at Horacio. (I gave an update about this operation to…)

You smirk. “Ronaldo.”

Trujillo makes a disgusted face. “Ronaldo?”

“Stechner nos dio los nombres,” you shrug. (Stechner gave us the names.)

Trujillo nods. “Entonces tienes suerte de que no te haya nombrado Pablo y Tata.” (Then you’re lucky he didn’t name you Pablo and Tata.)

“Él te lo dirá. Tengo que regresar ahora mismo.” (He’ll tell you. I have to head back right now.)

“¿Qué? ¿Por qué no puedes quedarte?” (What? Why can’t you stay?)

He shrugs. “Tenemos a Escobar. Ahora vamos a Cali.” (We got Escobar. Now on to Cali.) He motions to the kids in the boat. “¿Puedo decir algo?” (May I say something?)

“Por supuesto.” (Of course.)

“Hola, chicos. Soy Ronaldo Solano y esta es mi esposa, Luciana.” (Hello guys. I’m Ronaldo Solano and this is my wife, Luciana.) He leans over to you. “Go ahead. Give them your speech.”

The kids all exchange a brief look before responding in unison, “Pura vida!”

“I think one of the kids recognized me.”

And just like that, you’re awake. “One of the boys?”

Horacio pours himself a glass of whiskey and offers it to you but you shake your head so he puts the bottle back in the cabinet. “No, one of the girls. Paola, I think.”

“Trujillo vetted these kids himself. If she does know you, then it most likely won’t be detrimental to us.”

He nods. “That’s what I keep telling myself.”

Speaking of Trujillo, that brings up another subject that you haven’t had a chance to follow up with him. “So what is this plan that Trujillo was telling you about?”

He sits down on the couch and you take your customary seat under his arm. “We have a much more sophisticated group helping us in Colombia now.”

“Really?”

“That’s a brilliant idea.”

“We’ll see if it works.”

And that is the crux of the entire operation: see if it works.

#colonel horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo x you #horacio carrillo fic #narcos fic #mariposa

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privateschoolscholarshipsperth · 2 years

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The Benefits of Independent Schools Surpass the Costs

The benefits of private schools far exceed their costs, and many parents discover that their child will profit more in the future. Many parents feel much more involved in their youngster's education and learning, as well as are able to speak up on their youngster's part if something appears amiss. Parents likewise value the safety of their child, and also the reality that independent schools usually call for fewer employee per pupil than public colleges. Some independent schools also supply scholarships to those that are not able to pay the full rate.

Statistics reveal that independent school students are twice as likely as public school trainees to give their schools an "A" quality. These results originate from the State of Our Country's Youth survey conducted by the Horatio Alger Association of Distinguished Americans. The survey polls greater than 1,500 trainees in the United States every year. The SASS database provides a selection of details on the quality of public as well as independent schools. The data from the SASS survey is particularly useful, as it gives the opportunity to construct tailored reports.

One of the most striking finding in the NotesEdu research study is that trainees attending independent schools do better on examinations, compared to students in public schools. Scientists associate this to the reality that private school trainees typically come from more fortunate homes and also have extra abilities to offer institution. When pupils are selected, the contrast in between public and independent schools ends up being difficult. When contextual impacts are factored in, it is tough to draw conclusive final thoughts, and also a number of the findings of the research are doubtful. An usual disadvantage of private schools is that their educational program is commonly much more extensive.

The educational program is much more limited as well as there is much less variety of pupils. In a similar way, independent schools are not mandated by legislation to help sick pupils. Because of this, their pupil bodies are less diverse than their public equivalents. And there is no warranty of admission. While the admission procedure for independent schools is much more competitive than that of public institutions, moms and dads should not fail to remember that if it is a good selection, it will repay in the long run. Despite these drawbacks, independent schools usually offer smaller sized class sizes and also even more individualized instruction.

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This may consist of sports, songs, art, or perhaps clubs. While after-school activities can offer trainees with added excitement as well as encourage them for more academically demanding work, a study performed at Stanford University discovered that trainees involved in the arts were 3 times as most likely to gain an honor roll. And also since sporting activity is part of the daily life of numerous moms and dads, youngsters involved in sport are extra concentrated and also committed.

If the topic is still not clear to you, open this link: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alternative_school, that demystifies the topic.

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tabletopjourneys · 3 years

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Session 35 Notes

The Silver Scale Pack get to know various members of Rana's immediate family, get woken by draconic-speaking rodents, find out more about their quest, and hit a few stores on their way back through Longview, headed for one of the local taverns.

@gher-bear @aradow @telurin @epimetala

On this day we have a nice visit with Rana's mother, Romy, stay over and find out Anesh, for as long as anyone can remember, has a population of tiny animals that speak draconic. They all speak draconic and have infected our rats with the same! It's totally normal guys! And no, Diem, it is not because one of the town's people is secretly a dragon. We'd know. For sure.

The next day we move on to meet Rana's brother, sister-in-law, niece, and niephew. We find out a little more about Haldric and Phi's daggers, which she hides in her pack and displays her common daggers in their place instead. Ixayl'anu gets her platinum ring made, Diem gives the kids their putty vivis as a gift. On our way toward the tavern, we hit a general supply store and maaaybe one other??? Dried fruits and granola were purchased along Phi's medical supplies at any rate.

(Read More)

Session 35 Notes

Notes!

(Chillin’ with Rana’s mom)

When we go in Rana’s home, Phi becomes a wandering cat who helps herself to exploration, comes back and says “There’s a hot tub!”

Mom: You’re welcome to borrow it.

Phi: Is this where you grew up?

Rana: Yep! (pulls out duck sauce, honey, apple jam etc. - giving it to her mom).

Phi sees this and pulls out her very expired mixed fruit to hand over, along with her gummy owlbears.

Mom: Oh no dear, that’s fine, you don’t have to start pulling supplies out of your pack.

Phi drops the gummy owlbears into the pile anyway.

Rana: Really sorry to barge in like this, but we just needed a couple of days, we’ve run into some situations and I’m looking for someone in Bouldergap - wanted to see if Stell knew anything about them.

Romy tells us we’re welcome anyway, stresses that this is still Rana’s home too and says something about friends that I missed for note-taking.

Rana pulls out the silver scale and letter from Retin and talks about him, says she’s pretty sure the guy Retin is sending us to is a dwarf. We were told he might be helpful, but we weren’t told where he was. She figured Bouldergap was the place to look and knows it’s a long shot her mom or brother would know him but we also needed a place to stay on the way, so thought she thought she might as well ask.

Romy: I can’t be sure but I feel like Stell has mentioned a Haldric in passing but I certainly don’t have a whole lot of communication with anybody of that name.

Rana: No ironbands as customers then?

Romy: No

Rana: It’s a weird thing, handed us this dragon scale gave us that name and sent us this way.

We’ve noticed Romy has a bone of contention with Rana over the news about shadowood travelling.

With prompting Diem remembers they’re the story teller and should tell it, 13 performance, gets smoother as they go on. However, to their friends, who have heard Diem tell this particular story among others many times, they definitely seem off their game a little.

When we get to fighting the dragon, Romy is worried, Diem insists healers were on standby so nobody died

Rana: We almost had him.

Diem: Well I mean technically one of us did get him later that night…

Phi cracks up laughing

After stories Rana says something about the meteor

Mom says something I missed for note-taking, GM is telling us about blacksmiths/nosy customers (so maybe something about that?).

Through conversation we gather that Grismor is innkeeper/tavern keeper of The Smiling Dragon - one of 2 inns who trades in gossip. Smiling Dragon is better for gossip, better drink, does his own ale, seasonal brews, jolly little dwarf who is as tall as he is round. Square dwarf.

Rana tells us about her messages to her brother which provided a nice distraction about meteor news for Longview.

Rana offers her mother the camels then belated asks us if that’s alright.

Diem says that they can’t obviously take the camels everywhere they go after this anyway.

There’s some talk about whether they’re needed for the trip further North.

Romy: Lets see how they do with the sheep

Rana: Elk’s in with the sheep and they’re doing fine (I think we ended up deciding ooc that it’s in a separate paddock though).

Rana is playing with the silver dragon scale while making small talk which eventually includes Farford gossip too - specifically the mention of a firecat.

Romy: Yeah someone was talking about seeing one here too.

Rana: No one saw the person it was with so I’m thinking it’s just a stray

Romy: We do have a lot of flame point cats in the area so it’s possible I suppose.

Ixayl’anu: Is it the same type of cat?

Conversation about them being wild cats vs tame, a specific species, etc continues.

Rana: No like flame point siamese not actual fire

DM: these are not just cats they are more akin to avatars of The Candace

We find out the entire town is talking about firecats too

Rana: How’s Stell (Stellan) doing? I picked up a few things for the kids, so hopefully they’ll like it.

Romy: Good

Rana: Nothing alive

Romy: I’m sure Stell will appreciate that.

Diem asks about the kids so we find out Rana has a niece and niephio (I have no idea on the spelling for this and a google search turned up only nibling as a suggestion for enby niece/nephew). Diem grins further to learn of the niephio in particular.

Rana (upon mention of the niece): She big enough to help with the forge yet?

Romy: She’s big enough to do the bellows and help out

Rana: We will hunt them down tomorrow

Phi: Yay!

At some point Phi would say “So your brother only has two kids?”

Rana: Yeah just two kids

Phi: Oh, so they’re just starting?

Rana: No I get the impression they might be done

Phi: Interesting...

Rana: At least he doesn’t (something I missed)

Phi: Well, that’s why you have more, so they can be together.

Rana: I’ll mention it to him...better yet you could mention it to him

Phi: This is the starter pack right?

Romy is extremely amused by this conversation.

(Dinner prep and additional conversations)

There are dress mannequins and clothes everywhere, fabrics everywhere.

Diem and Romy eventually start talking about the tailoring and different fabrics and fashions etc.

As they talk about that, Rana wanders off to make food for everyone.

Phi goes to help cook.

Diem wanders off with Romy to talk about fabrics and fashion some more (Rana will throw them out the second story window if they do more than that lol).

Rana was half sorting her bag and still has her rocks and stuff spread out on the rug even as she’s making dinner now.

Romy gifts Diem an outfit by the end of their conversation, still so happy this is the first time Rana’s brought anyone home. As she’s got Diem pulled aside though, she asks for more details about everything that happened, worried and just making sure everything’s truly good, and how is Rana really doing?

Diem spins it well about how capable Rana is.

Her mom def agrees and looks worried, but noticeably less so.

While waiting for dinner we all talk more, telling Romy about how we saved Perfection. She does not look ready to come to terms that her daughter is an adventurer now, but accepts it.

Part 16 of Rana rumors according to the other townsfolk who saw us all: “Yeah we knew something like this was gonna happen eventually”

Rana brings up the thunderbird and we talk about that.

Food got delivered, rats were introduced, how Rana and Phi have been training them to spy, rat race story from the Harvest festival gets told as well.

Rana notes that she is actually showing us off to her mom <3

Rana prompts us to talk about ourselves to her mom.

Phi happily tells her whole life story, or at least all the things she’s said to us as a group.

Ixyal’anu talks a little about herself as well.

Diem hangs back and doesn’t say much during this portion as they already talked pretty extensively with Romy already.

Rana: And Ixayl'anu’s on a task for her god but she doesn’t have a fire cat, she has vague dreams.

Romy asks about Ixayl’anu’s deity, pleasant ‘mom questions.’

As things wind down, Diem remembers the find familiar spell and asks if they have a moment, whether it would be alright to summon them while they’re here - noting it would listen to their directions and not make a mess or break anything. They get permission, but never end up doing the spell before bed.

Phi takes her hot tub bath, Diem takes one after.

After Rana gets us settled to bed in the guest room, she goes out and takes a point of exhaustion spending 8 hours to cast enriching the land again since she’s been gone a few years and it only lasts a year, then she goes and sits with the sheep, all of the sheep bed down next to her in a sea of white around her and she leans back against the nearest sheep for a nap/meditation during the spell. They remember her and know she’s the source of the good food.

(Mice vs. Rats: Draconic edition)

During the night, in the wee hours of the morning Ixayl’anu wakes up hearing some very high squeaky voices arguing “This is our territory”

“No, we were invited,” back and forth half awake-half asleep and thinking “what is this? Oh...this is real, this is something that is happening here.”

Very tiny angry voices continue.

Investigation check for more details 15: It’s dark in the room, she can kinda see in the shadows, she doesn’t see anyone. At the foot of Ixayl'anu’s bed is Horatio, four little house mice are around him being territorial against him, and the strange thing is they are all speaking draconic, including Horatio.

Ixayl'anu: What...what?

When Phi wakes up she doesn’t understand her rat any more, but she does hear the rat and mice speaking draconic.

Ixayl’anu: What?

The four mice squeak in a mousy scream

Horatio: Yeah you better run (turns to Ixayl'anu): Thanks!

Ixayl’anu: What? Why? Why are you speaking draconic?

Horatio: Is that what this is? I don’t know I was just suddenly able to and these mice were speaking a weird dialect and I found I could speak back in it as well.

Ixayl’anu: What...okay...and you’re still speaking it, who were they what were you fighting about?

Horatio: They live here and were being territorial and I was telling them I was an invited guest ‘cause I’m with you all.

(I am dead to the world as Phi wakes up)

Phi: Why are you talking to yourself?

Ixayl’anu gestures at the rat

Phi: Have you been teaching my rat that...?

Ixayl’anu: No…. Do you think that’s just something you can teach a rat?

Phi to Horatio: How are you doing that?

Horatio: I don’t know it just happened!

Phi: You’re still doing it…

There is conversation back and forth as its established among the three characters that Horatio still understands Phi, but since he is no longer speaking rat, she can’t understand him, but now Ixayl’anu can both understand and speak with him through draconic.

Ixayl’anu says something I missed.

Phi: what are you saying to my rat?

Ixayl’anu says something else I missed.

Horatio: You all can just decide what language to speak in? That’s weird.

Ixayl’anu: Yeah it is weird

Horatio: It’s a weird dialect and apparently it’s infectious.

Hamlet is mentioned in the back and forth and Phi, recognizing the name, wonders aloud if Hamlet is like this now as well. She tells Horatio he’s changed and she hopes it’s not permanent

Ixayl’anu tries to stop her to ask about that back and forth but Phi slips out of the guest room.

Phi 25 stealths through the house looking for Rana. From a window she sees an odd clump of sheep in the field. She goes out outside and climbs the fence.

Rana is deep in meditation.

Phi: Hamlet, wake up Hamlet…

Rat wakes up and cleans his face but says something back in draconic that she can’t understand.

Phi in common: Oh my god.

Phi uses her stone to let Ixayl'anu know not only this, but what she can see out here around Rana (visible plant growth around her - she’s decided to sleep on her sheep in the field which is weirdly moving and Hamlet’s doing the same thing, Rana’s not moving, I feel like I’m dreaming I don’t know about you…)

In squeakish Phi tells Hamlet that she can’t understand him but she knows he can understand her so “If you want to find out what’s going on you have to talk to Ixayl'anu about it because she’ll understand you. So I’m going to go now.”

Hamlet is irritated and goes back to sleep. All the sheep watch her. One sheep baas at her, then they all start baaing for food, none of them were speaking draconic.

Ixayl’anu to horatio while Phi’s gone: They just walked up to you and started talking to you and that was it?

Horatio: They tried to fight me!

Ixayl’anu: like biting and scratching?

Horatio: Yeah, look at this wet spot! And I’m an invited guest!

Ixayl’anu: That’s rude!

Horatio: That’s very rude, yeah! I’m an invited guest *stamps tiny rat feet*!

Together Ixayl’anu and Horatio determine they probably live in the roof or something, not pets.

Ixayl’anu casts detect magic. She sees the faintest little glow around Horatio. So faint you may think it’s not there and the only reason she sees it is because the lights are off, a wisp of power with the vaguest sense of magic. The source of it is nowhere nearby and the magic itself is so barely there she can’t even see the mice in the walls like she should have if they were properly bespelled in some way. It’s not any specific school for it. Mostly all she really sees is the glow of our various magic items.

At this point Phi returns

(Diem’s perception rolls were 2, 3, and now 0 lol. It is at this point we determine Diem is actually being held in sleep by their patron, catching up, talking about the familiar, and the follower and the spells and just having tea and a lovely bonding time. Probably when they were Tarma out in the desert, they did less communicating)

I missed some back and forth between Ixayl’anu, Phi, and Horatio.

Phi: They were being aggressive and picking on him?

Ixayl’anu to Horatio: Would you be willing to see where these mice have gone?

Horatio: You want me to bring one back to you? Yeah I can do that.

Ixayl’anu: You don’t have to but it’d be nice, I can give you food for it, *looks at her supplies*

Horatio: What kind of treat do I get, what’s in it for me?

Ixayl’anu: Nope no that’s not food I have nope that’s not food. *pauses in her rummaging* Well, what do you want, I suppose we can find something for you?

*thinks on it* A gummy owlbear?

Ixayl’anu: Oh I have some of those. Sure. *finds her little package of them*.

Horatio: Okay! *scurries off and disappears*

About two minutes later she hears furious squeak yelling, Horatio reappears holding a mouse by the scruff of its neck in his mouth “I found one!”

Ixayl’anu: Where’s the cage you keep the rats from? To put the mouse in?

Phi: We sold the cages, the carrier is Horatio’s home...there’s this box?

Ixayl’anu: Yeah that’ll do.

They find a box of rocks to gently empty real quick and put the mouse in it/close the lid (15 animal handling check).

As soon as Horatio had dropped the mouse: “Gummy owlbear please.”

Phi: He knows fetch now!

Ixayl’anu: All that training you’ve been doing with him is paying off! *taps box* Hello?

Phi: Ask if it if it talks like that if it knows it’s doing it or ask if it knows any dragons? I don’t know?

Ixayl’anu: Right?

Mouse is bouncing around in the box trying to get out.

Rana head canoned the rats as 400-550 grams

Horatio is gaming the system a little bit and only found a wine gummy to eat, never officially given one (Phi bought fancy rat treats for him)

(More things I missed and wrote down as “Talking to mouse ah 2”)

The mouse is screaming obscenities at Ixayl’anu.

Horatio is on his back in 7th heaven and suggests she should also give the mouse a gummy owlbear, maybe it’ll talk then.

Ixayl’anu sneaks in a smaller portion and it takes awhile for it to calm down and then it’s quiet for a little bit after until... “This doesn’t make us friends!”

Ixayl’anu: You want more? I’ve got more.

Mouse: I mean...yes

Ixayl’anu: I’m not planning on keeping you here I just want to ask a few questions

Mouse: More first

Ixayl’anu: Okay *puts in other half of gummy*

Mouse is very very quiet

Ixayl’anu taps the box: Hello?

Mouse (slurred): What do you want?

Ixayl’anu: Where’d you learn to talk like that

Mouse: I always talk like this this is how mice talk

Some similar back and forth about this.

Mouse (when asked about dragonborn/people like Ixayl’anu): People like you don’t come around here.

Ixayl’anu: Really? Oh… (to Phi in common now) I don’t this is how they talk, this is weird.

Phi: I think they just don’t know, they don’t know that they’re weird, you know

Ixayl’anu: But horatio thinks it’s a weird dialect

Phi: Did you ask if it if they saw any dragonborn? Or dragons?

Ixayl’anu: Well they haven’t seen anything like me (then to the mouse in draconic) Have you seen anything big with wings?

Mouse: Yeah outside but I live in this house I don’t have to worry about that

Ixayl’anu: Are there any mice that you can’t talk to?

Mouse: Everybody kinda talks like this around here

Ixayl’anu: Kind of or they do?

Mouse: They do?

Ixayl’anu: They all speak this...they all...speak this...I’m really confused.

They decide to try and wake Diem up for a third opinion, and it takes awhile before Diem’s patron allows it, letting Diem know that their friends need them for a moment, so they will have to continue catching up later.

Ixayl’anu as Diem finally starts waking up out of sorts: Weird things are happening

Diem continues to be out of it enough for a bit until eventually Phi catches them up - including the detail about Rana meditating in a cloud of sheep.

Phi (to Diem about the mouse in the box: It’s drunk

Diem: Are you guys sure you’re not drunk?

Phi: I’m not sure we’re not dreaming

Ixayl’anu: This isn’t dreaming not even close.

(I didn’t tag these two responses so the first might be Ixayl’anu and the 2nd Phi)

Too tired to bother with ritual magic, Diem uses a slot to cast comprehend languages.

Mouse asks if we’ve got more of those treats, which Horatio hears and says “Yeah! I’ll eat another!” *perks up*

Diem translates for phi who turns sharply to Horatio to talk about how many he’s already eaten and how he got one in the first place to ask Ixayl’anu for another, etc.

Horatio looks sheepish: Weeeellll sometimes you don’t secure your bag very good and I was hungry and they smelled good.

Phi smirks and retrieves Ixayl’anu’s package of owl gummies, then gives half to Horatio, and half to the mouse.

Horatio: YES! (helping her), I want this one I want the bigger section ‘cause I’m bigger and I get the big one (little grabby rat hands)

Diem does a history check on any stories they might have heard about talking animals like this (21). There are plenty of fairy tales with talking animals, sometimes it’s afey kind of thing - playing a prank on people. They’ve heard of similar events happening before, pretty disparate not tied to one physical location. Sometimes they’ve heard stories of animals in an area like within a mile circle will be able to speak draconic or sometimes other languages, not really a pattern to it. Sometimes it’s little towns, other times it’s connected to a whole city. Might be a natural phenomena. Specifically tiny beasts/birds/lizards are usually the type able to speak.

They also know various fae and wish spells can make this happen, but still they’re just random.

Diem shares this with Phi and Ixayl’anu.

(Insert missed conversation here)

Horatio or the mouse (not sure which): Yeah sure sometimes you say words that are funny and I don’t really understand what they are and they kinda sound like that and I don’t know what they are.

?: All the fangs or one specific thing? (I have no idea who said this or where fangs come into play)

We discover the mouse once met a gopher, stuck his nose in its burrow and it yelled at him back in draconic.

Diem to Ixayl’anu: Ask the mouse if it knows any fae in the area

Mouse makes an intelligence check when she asks, but does not know what she is talking about.

We confirm the mouse has always spoken draconic

Diem tells a quick rendition of cinderella as an example of fae meddling with small creatures where dress making is also involved (theorizing that perhaps Rana’s mother gets help from the mice as well)

We’re fairly certain it’s a normal mouse though and it’s now snoring softly so we’re not getting any more info.

Horatio by now is sprawled out on the bed, Phi cuddled around him while Diem gives him scritches. At a loss, we all go back to sleep for now, planning to ask Rana more in the morning.

(Good Morning!)

In the morning Phi will figure out the coffee situation and make some for everyone.

Romy (waking up to this): This is such a nice change of pace, somebody making the coffee for a change, and friends Rana brings in not destroying the house by the time I get up.

Phi: It’s no problem, I was just watching Rana from the window and figured she’d really like some, she’s gonna be tired so I can make sure coffee is waiting for her. We do have quite a story to tell her though.

Romy shows Phi where the biscotti is and such.

Rana is just now getting up and plucks Hamlet up.

Elk: something happened something happened something happened

Rana is feeding the sheep and clearly thinks the elk just wants some too

Elk: Oh is it breakfast? I’d like breakfast too!

Diem, after sleeping on it, performs a new arcana check on what sort of spells and effects cause draconic-speaking critters (21 again). They know now it can be caused by fae, wish spells, high level wizarding things will happen, and that similar strange effects happen around ancient dragon lairs (a little nugget buried in all their Miova dragon research they’d forgotten about), and that sometimes it’s just random without no discernible cause.

Rana comes in covered in sheep wool, hay, butt and legs wet, but she’s happy. Everything outside is noticeably green and lush.

Phi: We made coffee

Rana is super grateful and makes a beeline to grab a cup.

Rana: I took care of the plants and the animals

Ixayl’anu comes down around this time with the mouse in the box.

Romy: Your friend made coffee and something happened last night they were just about to tell me about.

Rana statues over her mother’s words with an ‘oh no what kind of things?’ sort of reaction.

Phi we’ll explain: Where’s Hamlet? Is he in your bag? Wait I’ll go get Horatio (who is snuggling Diem upstairs still)

Rana scritches Hamlet who asks “Oh is it breakfast time?” (in draconic) She’s tired enough she just hands it the biscotti without thinking.

When Phi returns she gets down on her knees in front of hamlet with horatio

Phi: What about today? What are you speaking today?

Speaking to her around his mouth of biscotti “I dunno what am I speaking today?”

This pings for Rana like hey…

Diem comes down as Ixayl'anu is talking about what happened.

Rana healing words the mouse. 7 pts healing. He immediately wakes up and feels great.

Mouse while cleaning his face: I feel really great?!

Ixayl'anu: You want some biscotti?

Mouse (very distrusting): Yes...

She sets the biscotti down. After awhile she’s half grinning and looking at her mom now.

Rana to the group: They just do that around here, always have.

Romy: That’s why the rumor mill here is so lively.

Diem: Why draconic?

(missed conversation)

Rana: Most people understand at least a few words.

Diem: What’s the local lore on it all? I mean...there’s gotta be stories involved?

Romy: The local lore - I did ask around since I’m not from here, it was very strange at the beginning but the townspeople didn’t seem to be bothered, the general consensus is that it’s a blessing of Vkandis.

Diem gets us all talking about maybe the silver scale dragon living nearby as they also share what they remembered about such events after they woke up.

Rana insists she would’ve seen it

Romy thinks you would know though, Diem mentions that they slept with one and didn’t know until the next day though so...

Romy: Rana you did see those kites though (a local cryptid)…?

Rana: That was definitely not a dragon.

Ixayl’anu: Birds? What?

Rana: They almost look like a roc but they’re definitely not rocs (some people write them off as rocs or pterodactyls but the markings are different they are an air cryptid - Ropen from New Guinea).

We get enough from context to realize this is an unusual sighting, but we are not outright told it’s a local cryptid, like spotting bigfoot.

We are told to watch what we say because the bakers bribe the birds and the whole town will end up knowing.

Rana: That thing is def not a dragon though.

Romy admits she’s never even seen a dragon before.

Rana: Diem rode it

Diem (laughing): In more ways than one

Phi laughs too

Rana still insists she would know if one of the townspeople were a dragon though while Diem insists you really couldn’t know that for sure, what if they just enjoyed a simple life and to avoid discovery they just chose a form that aged with the town, no one the wiser. Rana still insists it’s not possible.

Diem: So sure you’d know? We’ve traveled a month together on the road practically living together. How do you actually know I’m not a dragon?

Rana: I don’t.

Prepared for a similar pushback, this admission clearly surprises Diem. “And yet you’re this sure about people you haven’t spent every waking moment with?”

Rana says she thinks if you are not living time people need to know they need to know they will find out what you are doing.

Ixayl'anu: It could just be sleeping somewhere.

Rana: Either way this is just a normal thing

Ixayl’anu: Sure not really but sure.

Diem: Could be the innkeeper and has always been an innkeeper because they enjoy it. Everybody needs a hobby.

Ixayl'anu wants to know if V’kandis has anything to do with dragons.

(It is at this point we are informed that we’ve seen Romy has a shrine to V’kandis in the house as we’ve ignored this fact in favor of being like oh no, it’s not ‘cause a god blessed your town, it’s because of a secret dragon!).

Ixayl'anu scoots the mouse on his way and turns the topic of discussion toward our reasons for being in Longview and Anesh: So we’re looking for this dwarf?

Rana: No we’re looking for my brother

Ixayl’anu: Does he know where he is?

Rana: Maybe.

Phi: How old is he?

Rana: Older than I am

Phi: Oh, so definitely should’ve had more kids by now

Diem: Wait, Phi how many kids do you have then?

Phi (mishearing): Ooooh lemme get back to you on that...between 80 and 50.

Diem: You have at least 50 kids?

Phi: Oh no I have 0 kids, I don’t have that kind of life.

Rana herds us out the door, she leaves most of her heavier stuff at home.

(To Stellan’s house we go)

For some reason we established Diem definitely gets changed under an illusion of Ixayl'anu ever since using her image as a changing screen back in Budelia. Ixayl’anu has no problem with that, but they’ve all probably seen flashes of Diem’s side and leg tattoos anyway over the month we’ve been together.

Before we leave the house Diem casts comprehend languages as ritual. The birds quiet as we approach, but then the chattering starts up and we catch names and normal gossip presumably about people around town.

Ixayl’anu and Diem have a bit of a side chat about this in the RP text snippets section.

We have an uneventful walk over.

We walk in without knocking - Stell is clearly working on a sword or piece of armor.

Amira (the little girl def notices our presence, specifically Rana’s)

Rana quietly holds out her arms for a hug and Amira runs over squealing with excitement.

Diem: That is so adorable.

Rana scoops her up and has her on her hip now.

Amira looks at us and her eyes get really big - like who are you all? With continued excitement.

Stellan takes notice, surprised Rana brought friends, but still busy hammering out the sword.

Rana: Did you get your pigeons?

Stellan (withering look at his sister): I got THREE pigeons, yes.

Rana grins even bigger at his tone and expression.

Stellan is still working on whatever he’s hammering into during this exchange.

Rana: I was worried they wouldn’t get through so I had to send 3 of them.

Stellan: Well they all got here - first one was very surprising, after 3 though...

Phi: What was the message again Rana?

Rana: Oh, I sent him pigeons telling him about the meteorites and that we knew they were going to hit Anesh but we didn’t know where.

Stellan lets us know the meteors have been diverted and are scheduled to hit somewhere in the desert where there are no people.

Rana nods

Diem: Did they use magic to divert them?

Stell: You’re not from around here are you? Must suck to be from a place without a god that cares what happens to you.

He is a BIG guy. He stops hammering to shake our hands

Phi shakes with both hands to see how much she can get them around one of his (she can’t, there’s a gap between her fingertips).

He is very amused to have Phi forcibly shaking his hand with both of hers.

Meanwhile, Hamlet pokes out and gets on Rana’s shoulder to investigate the new passenger on Rana’s hip.

Amira: You have a new pet?

Rana: Yes, but this one is coming with me - you can still play with him for a bit.

Hamlet: What?

Amira in draconic: Wanna be my friend and play?

Hamlet: Okay!

Diem said some things during the exchange I forgot to note (probably a few cool stories about auntie Rana idk, asking about her speaking draconic?) that resulted in Amira excitedly adopting them for a tour of the house/playing with Hamlet. They follow Amira’s excited lead to do just that, but not before stopping near the next doorway for introductions to Adri, her mother.

Diem to Adri: She’s very adorable

Amira (talking about Aunt Rana): Look! She has a pet rat can we have a pet rat too?

Rana: I could probably get them a pet rat?

Adri: I could probably also get them one, if they’re responsible enough and can prove they’re ready to take care of it.

Some possible missed conversation before Adri, Amira, Diem, and Hamlet head deeper into the house while Rana continues talking to her brother.

Rana asks about the dwarf and shows him both the letter and silver scale, which he looks at while listening to the story about the wizard in the shadowoods

Stell: Are you sure it was Haldric that they wanted?

Rana: Yes (she double checks letter)

Stell: I know a Haldric Ironband but he’s a master blacksmith, but I...he...he’s never mentioned anything about wizards or honestly going anywhere so far away?

Rana: To be fair the wizard seemed to know who I was so maybe Haldric never met him either.

Stell: I don’t know this sounds like destiny hero bullshit

Phi is internally happy screaming about oh my god this actually works (it’s just as well that I never noted what actually works since the rest of us might only notice Phi’s happy scream state, rather than mind-reading the reason for it)!

Everyone but Diem learns this shorthand info I can’t entirely follow after the fact. My shorthand is awful and I’ve discovered I am unlikely to remember how to coherently type it later: Bhuxodihr for some reason you do want to mention t by the proper name he’s mostly retired, teaches to a select few, not stellan’s master. Haldric was stellan’s master’s master

Rana holds up the silver scale (again? I guess? lol) “You know what this would signify?” she hands it over to him. “Retin said we could use this, that it would give us legitimacy”

Stellan tests the hardness of it, getting higher and higher and Rana lets him and still nothing happens “Uh…(hands it back) I’m pretty sure this is the real thing.”

Rana: Real dragon scale?

Stellan: Mhm

Rana: Well that’s interesting

Stellan: Who did you say gave this to you again?

Rana: Retin, a wizard who lives in the Rethwellian Shadowoods

Stellan: I think Haldric knew someone down there but they weren’t genasi

Phi and Ixayl’anu tell him that we had a whole argument about it and deduced that Retin takes on the form of whatever will make you feel connected/more at home.

Phi or Ixayl’anu bring up how weird it is that all the animals here speak draconic.

Stellan, however, has hit his limit for weird shit, though not animals speaking draconic - that is a thing that’s completely normal.

Phi awkwardly: You should come visit us some time too, was great meeting you...or...yeah.

Ixayl’anu: Where would he meet us?

Phi: I have a home

Ixayl’anu: But you’re not really there

Phi: Well we can arrange it ahead of time.

Rana: She does have connections in Miova if you every go out that way.

Stellan says some things to Phi about all this, but as he’s talking he looks at her and she sees the moment when he notices her daggers and stops.

Stellan: Where did you get those?

Phi: They’re family heirlooms

Stellan: Nooo….where did you really get those? You can’t take those into stone roost or even bouldergap, not displayed on your hips like that.

Phi: Interesting you say that I was already thinking I should hide them because we found them on the skeleton of a dwarf in a cave in the woods

Ixayl'anu: No it was a corpse

Rana statues a little bit (which Stellan would notice)

Phi: There was a dwarf corpse, yes…

Stellan holds his hands up like ‘I don’t want to hear it’ and points at Phi: You cannot wear those, they’re only given to an elite group of dwarves and they do NOT give them to gnomes, you have to keep them hidden.

A few questions are asked about that. As far as Stellan knows, they’re assassins of some kind.

Phi: So do they have other weapons with the same characteristics?

Stellan: Sometimes they have short swords but not any arrows or large blades - just the small bladed weapons and it was a thing he wasn’t allowed to learn because he’s not a dwarf.

Phi: Do you know anybody who was in this group?

Stellan: No mostly these guys are like--

Rana (talking over him): I don’t think my brother knows any dwarvish assassins

Phi: If I were to return them to the right people, who would I talk to?

Stellan just looks at her for a few seconds: I don’t know if you just heard me but these guys don’t really advertised themselves

Ixayl’anu: Is this a group we wanna have anything to do with or just avoid them?

Stellan: If you’re really determined to get them back to someone, you might try Haldric, but I wouldn’t lead with that.

Ixayl’anu: Are they better to just be avoided?

Stellan: I wouldn’t wanna mess with them but you’re all out there dealing with meteors and who knows what else so maybe that’s what you do now, I don’t know.

Rana: This dwarf found the meteor too and turned into a mushroom

Stellan takes a deep breath.

Rana is enjoying making him uncomfortable now

They all talk about our bag of holding and hiding the weapons, Phi stashes them and pulls out her ordinary daggers to secure in their place.

Rana as they talk about possibly disguising Phi’s daggers: Oh mom has some camels now if you need one, there’re 3

Stellan: Okay I’ll take care of them for you

Rana: Do you want them to talk? I can make them talk.

Stellan (not amused): No, the pigeons are enough.

Phi: Thank you for the information

Rana: Yeah, I would like to not get killed by the people we were looking for

Phi: Yeah that would not be good

Rana: I’m gonna go corrupt tanny for a bit

Stellan: Yeah i’m gonna go back over here and...think about things

Rana: I let mom know everything so you can talk to her later.

At some point before they finish talking to Stellan, Ixayl'anu was looking for signs of jewelry in Stellan’s forge. She saw some platinum but didn’t really see any jewelry (because she needs a platinum ring). She asks him about it anyway while we’re there and it’s simple enough he melts down two platinum coins to make a simple ring for her out of it. He doesn’t even charge her for them since he already has the forge fired up.

He does have Amira help him since he rarely works with platinum and it makes a good teachable moment that takes about 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, Adri has been following Amira and Diem around, Diem gets introduced to Taniel, 10, who probably is working on magic homework, they got really into potion making because they fan Rana and Rana brings herbs back - real into that right now.

Taniel gets up to see Aunt Rana, but Adri warns her to wait a bit they’re talking about tense things right now.

Through conversation along the tour Diem gets that Adri speaks draconic and has been teaching her kids.

Diem makes casual conversation that includes whether or not Adri grew up here and when/why she learned draconic.

About that time Rana walks in and Taniel gives her a big hug and tells her about her new obsession

Adri answers Diem that it makes sense from a guard’s stand point so she learned it, birds are awfully helpful

Diem: Oh yeah that makes sense

Rana: Yeah, Adri is very good at her job

Diem: You look it, you are killing it in that outfit (she is amused), I’m...yeah, not surprising I wouldn’t make a good guard, I even need help when we take watches (said in good humor)

Ixayl'anu stands awkwardly in the door until Adri invites her in properly (because she’s secretly a vampire! shhh)

Rana: We’re not gonna be in town for terribly long, I was just hoping Stellan had some of the info I needed and he did.

Adri: What info?

Rana: Oh I was sent by a wizard to find someone named Haldric who might be in stone roost and I thought Stellan might know him.

Adri takes it in stride “Well, be safe.”

Rana drops in that it has to do with the meteor.

Nearing the end of the conversation and visit, Phi asks if we can run by a general store to get medical kit supplies to complete her partial kit.

When we have to leave Amira is sad about the rat having to go and starts asking for a rat again in super sad puppy fashion.

Adri tells her they’ll still have to see and Diem distracts both children by pulling out the self-animating putty to give them as a gift, telling them how they can shape their own rat or whatever they like and it moves (makes a little rat and sets it down to walk around on the table and lick a paw clean) see?

Their imaginations take off with excited chatter about making tiny dragons and more, once again happy.

(A trip to the general store)

Rana takes us to Bafor’s general store (Bafor is a dragonborn).

Phi tells us that we would have noticed how Phi progressively jumped on this field medic train and as things have gotten dangerous and sketchy. Phi realized it would be handy to have some skills in healing just in case - more so ever since Phi found the medical supplies in Budelia and ever since Averni she’s been doing a little research here and there, including medical knowledge heading out into the new terrain of Anesh, like what to do for heatstroke and working on more survival skills. Over the journey she’s brought it up a few times to Rana and Edea, and Rana readily taught her some of her new feat requirements from her similar healer feat. Phi wants to eventually learn to make her own poisons too for maybe a damage over time, but also poison check and knowing what to do about poisons in order to help heal them.

Phi’s medicine check will also apply to her background skills, diagnosing a wound, how they died (starving, madness, dehydration, container recently held poison, blood spatter analysis, forensic stuff is part of her past).

Combat triage is cool and useful.

Ruled that with her medical proficiency feat she can diagnose poisons and such, but she would have to take a separate feat to make a poison and do dmg over time.

Phi walks into the store and admits she’s filling out the healer’s kit.

Rana says she has those items already and they have this conversation in the store. All along though she and Rana have talked about this over the month we’ve known each other.

Bafor: Yeah I have the little items, but you could also just buy a new healer’s kit already filled.

Phi: Yeah why don’t I just do that.

Bafor: Tell you what, you buy a whole healer’s kit and I will fill out your other one for free.

I think we hit a fruit stand or a different store where the vendor is gruff but warms up as we spend money (because that was a note for the vendor attached to all these dried fruits, but Bafor seemed pretty amenable from the start).

Phi and Diem also buy a big bag of granola for a silver each, and some dried fruits (Anesh grows pomegranate, apricots, olives)

Diem also buys a bag of mixed dried fruit, dried apricots, and a pomegranate (for a silver each)

#Longview #Anesh #Romy #A talk with Rana's mom #Stellan #A talk with Rana's brother #critter mysteries the draconic edition #Adri #Amira #Bafor #Taniel #Haldric mention #Retin mention

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lawandorderforevercsi · 4 years

Text

Love Desires Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI: Miami, Anthony Zuker, and CBS do and Bruno Mars owns the song Marry You.

Beta'd by: calleighstorres

-Summer 2013-

Since becoming a couple, they have been happier than they ever remember being. Horatio and Natalia tried to keep their personal life and professional life separate. However, sometimes that was impossible. Of course, all of their co-workers caught on instantly, and they were happy for them, especially Eric and Calleigh.

Without Stetler there anymore, they dared to engage in subtle flirting and PDA, like holding hands and bringing up her hand and kissing it. It was a new side to their lieutenant they never get to see much of. Plus, now everyone at the lab knew that Natalia was spoken for, and no one would dare cross their lieutenant.

When they had their days off together, they did everything together, from learning to dance, to ziplining to yoga and horseback riding. Then there were days they stayed in had had movie nights. It was only six months later before Natalia took Horatio back to California to meet her family. At the lunch gathering and Horatio was glad to see that Anya was doing well after her scary ordeal. At the same time, they were grateful that he had found Anya, but Natalia's father, Jeffrey, wanted to make sure.

While Natalia, Anya, and Christine were in the kitchen with their mom Joan, Jeffrey sat down with Horatio. Jeffrey began, "First off, Lt. Caine, we are so grateful that you were able to find Anya."

Horatio nodded. He said, "The moment I saw how much Natalia was in pain, I knew I had to do everything I could."

Jeffrey cut to the chase, "You know about Nick Townsend, I presume."

At that name, Horatio felt his heart rate and blood pressure rise ever so slightly when he heard the name. Jeffrey asked, "How can I be sure that you won't end up like him? I can't bear to see my little girl get hurt."

Horatio took a long deep breath and answered, "Mr. Boa Vista, not many people know about my childhood save for Natalia and my co-workers. I lived with an abusive father during my formative years. At times it was either my mom was his target or I was. I tried to get him to do to me more to protect my mom and prevent my brother Raymond from becoming a full-time target. After he killed my mother, he came after me, so I killed him in self-defense. From there on out after I became a cop and then a detective, I made it my mission to protect the innocent while ensuring that justice was served. Because of what I experienced, I will never lay a hand on Natalia."

Though Horatio didn't talk about Marisol's death very much, now was one of those times.

Horatio asked, "I know that you, Natalia may have mentioned my late wife, Marisol."

Jeffrey nodded, "Yes, she has albeit very little."

Horatio said, "Well, not long after we were married, she was murdered by a sniper's bullet on the orders of a crime boss. I wasn't able to deliver on my promise to protect her. I can and will promise you this I would rather die myself before I even let Natalia get hurt. You have my word, Mr. Boa Vista."

Jeffrey nodded. He had no idea that his eldest daughter's boyfriend had a horrible childhood. A childhood that helped shape him to protect the victims and do the right thing. Not to lose his new wife so soon after they got married. Smiling, Jeffrey held out his hand, "Welcome to the family Horatio."

Horatio shook his hand. Natalia then reappeared with drinks and, after putting it down, wrapped her arms around Horatio and kissed him on the cheek. She asked, "Dad, you didn't try to scare Horatio away, did you?"

Jeffrey answered, "Of course not honey, he gets my stamp of approval."

Later that afternoon, before they left, Horatio pulls aside Jeff and Joan.

Horatio began, "Mr. and Mrs. Boa Vista…"

Joan interrupted, "Uh-uh Horatio, it is Joan and Jeff now."

Horatio added, "Jeff, Joan, before I leave tonight as you can pretty much tell how much.

Natalia and I love each other. I want to ask you for your permission and blessing to ask Natalia to marry me."

Both Jeff and Joan were impressed. Not one of the guys that Natalia had brought home had made this extra effort. Not even Nick. Jeff and Joan looked at each other and nodded in agreement. This time Joan said, "You have our permission and blessing. We are so glad that our daughter has finally found someone worthy of her love."

Horatio smiled as he got the blessing he was seeking.

Following a tough commute from her parents' place in Long Beach to Santa Monica (where they were staying), instead of heading back to the hotel, Natalia took him sightseeing. One of these places was the Santa Monica Pier. As they walked on the beach with their shoes in hand, Horatio held her close.

Giving a big, loving kiss, she leaned her forehead against his and said, "See, I knew my

the family would love you."

Horatio smiled, "I had no doubts."

Natalia grinned, "Ever so humble."

Unbeknownst to Natalia Horatio had hired a dance troupe to do a flash mob with a popular song. Right when he knew the dancers were close by, and he leaned and whispered, "My love does you want anything to drink?"

Natalia replied with a kiss, "Yeah, an iced coffee would be nice. Thank you, handsome."

Horatio went to the 'orders.' But instead of the coffee, he went to get the ring and the flowers. After a while, Natalia began to worry. I hope he didn't get lost or anything.

A few people started dancing, and I didn't take Natalia long to recognize it; it was one song she liked. As the dance number continued, she noticed that they something in their hands, single red roses. The group of people dancing began to attract a more extensive viewing crowd; it wasn't long before it was a flash mob. Everyone around her stopped to watch.

It's a beautiful night, we're looking for something dumb to do Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you Is it the look in your eyes, or is it this dancing juice Who cares baby, I think I wanna marry you

Well I know this little chapel on the boulevard We can go No one will know Oh c'mon girl

Who cares if we're trashed Got a pocket full of cash we can blow Shots of Patron And it's on girl

Don't say no no no no no Just say yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah And we'll go go go go go If you're ready, like I'm ready

'Cause it's a beautiful night, we're looking for something dumb to do Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you Is it the look in your eyes or is it this dancing juice Who cares baby, I think I wanna marry you

Oh I'll go get a ring Let the choir bell sing like ooh So what you wanna do Lets just run girl If we wake up and you want to break up That's cool No I won't blame you It was fun girl

Don't say no no no no no Just say yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah And we'll go go go go go If you're ready, like I'm ready

'Cause it's a beautiful night, we're looking for something dumb to do Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you Is it the look in your eyes, or is it this dancing juice Who cares baby, I think I wanna marry you

Just say I do Tell me right now baby Tell me right now baby, baby Just say I do Tell me right now baby Tell me right now baby, baby

Oh It's a beautiful night, we're looking for something dumb to do Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you Is it the look in your eyes, or is it this dancing juice Who cares baby, I think I wanna marry you

Towards the end, all the dancers came forward with the flowers in their hands and gave it to her. By the end, she had two dozen single-stemmed roses in the crook of her arm. Then she heard him clear his voice and gasped when she saw Horatio down on one knee. The jewelry box opened, showing off the emerald cut ring with two stones set on the side set in a yellow setting.

Now she knew why Horatio chose this song. Looking to Horatio's eyes as he began his proposal, "Natalia from the time I saw you at the FBI lab when I was with Agent Reed, something stirred in me. But I was there on business and couldn't do much. I thought that was the only chance I would see you, but our paths did cross again, while it did hurt as to why you were placed at the lab at first when we found out why it helped to ease the sting. As time went on, our work lives intersected, but our personal lives prevented that. After I lost Marisol, you were there for me to help me. It was that day how deep in love I was with you. So, Ms. Natalia Boa Vista, would you do the honor of becoming my wife, will you marry me?"

One of the many things that she loved about Horatio was his subtle, spontaneous nature. With the bouquet of one stem roses, Natalia leaned in and gave him her answer in the form of a long and sweet kiss. As for the crowd, she stood up and, without break eye contact with her, shouted, "Yes! Horatio, I will most definitely marry you!"

The answer she gave earned cheers and claps all around. Horatio got the ring on her finger, gave her a quick kiss before he pulled in her into an enormous hug. For Natalia, this is one of many days that will go down as the best days of her life. She knew that there many more to follow.

Parting lips, Natalia knew what she wanted to do. Once the crowds had dispersed, Natalia whispered in a low alluring voice, "Why don't we go back to our hotel, order in, how does that sound, hm?"

Taking her by the hand, he led her back to their hotel. As soon as they were in their room, Natalia set aside the roses, toed off her shoes, and pulled him in and kissed him long and deep. Horatio loved kissing her luscious lips. Without breaking the kiss, Horatio bent over slightly and swept Natalia up and carried her to the bed. Placing her on the couch, they continued passionately making out, letting their hands roaming each other. The more they kissed more, they craved each other's kiss and touch. Horatio broke the kiss, and Natalia whimpered at the loss of his lips. She would have kissed his lips forever if she could. Gazing deeply into each other's eyes, they saw love radiating from the other's eyes. Quickly taking off his outerwear and pants, he only left his muscle shirt before getting back on the bed. When she saw him in the, she licked her lips at the prospect of being completely shirtless.

Not able to take it any longer, Horatio leaned forward and captured her deliciously sweet lips once more, this time with more zeal than last time. As the smooching continued, Natalia undid the strings on her wrap dress and opened it. Stopping to catch their breaths, Horatio tried to make eye contact; he knew he was losing the battle and lowered his gaze to her bra covered chest. Horatio felt his boxers grow tighter; she looked so enchanting. At first, all Horatio could do was stare at her, followed by, "Wow."

Natalia shook her bra clad chest and asked in a suggestive tone, "Like what you see handsome?"

Horatio replied huskily, "You have no idea, my sexy lady."

Without giving him another chance, Natalia placed her hands on the back of his head and ravenously took his lips with hers, and soon, they dueled for tongue dominance. As the kissing continued, they let their hands freely roam each other's bodies. When Horatio felt the light touches of her fingers on his body, it felt like feather gracing his epidermis.

Before long, their clothes have been shed and scattered all around, and Horatio whispered, "You are all mine, Natalia."

With that, they plunged into a night of sizzling passion.

A/N 2: Thanks for reading the second chapter of "Love Desires" As always, reviews are appreciated!

#csi miami #natalia boa vista #Eva LaRue #horatio caine #david caruso

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hanatriestowrite · 5 years

Text

Okay, so I am still very basic. Very very basic. I like Hamlet. I like my angsty boys, but most importantly I love Horatio, so I guess I’m writing fics for Hamlet too. The Hamlet in this fic is roughly based off of @ask-shakespearehigh Hamlet. Specifically the deal with his hair.

"Laertes."

The sound of his name was enough to snap him back into reality. The king was staring right at him patiently. Laertes hadn't meant to neglect the conversation at hand, but he had grown tired of Denmark. He longed for the newly crowned king to dismiss his court so he could speak to his father about leaving back to France.

"Yes, your majesty?" Laertes managed to say.

The king gestured over to a young man that Laertes didn't recognize. He hadn't even realized that the man was there. He was dressed far too casually to be a courtier. Wearing a simple shirt and a traveler's vest. There was a decent sized bag that Laertes assumed held all of his belongings. A foreigner, his mind helpfully supplied.

"I would like you to lead the good Horatio to Hamlet's chambers," the king said. "I would ask for the servants to do so, but it seems that they are much too busy making the wedding preparations." The King paused. A wistful gaze glazed over him as he looked upon the queen.

Laertes almost let out a sigh of relief. To leave the throne room was a gift sent by God.

"Of course your Majesty," he said. He waved over at Horatio. "Come this way good Horatio."

Horatio turned to the king, uttering a quick thanks before nearly running to Laertes. The two departed from the throne room. Now that Horatio next to him, Laertes could see him more clearly. Compared to everyone in Denmark, the young man had a darker complexion. Freckles dotted the bridge of his nose. He kept his arms close to his chest, tense. His body wracked with anxieties.

"Is this your first time in the presence of nobility?" Laertes couldn't help but ask.

Horatio blinked, barely comprehending that Laertes just spoke. "Wha- oh no. It's not the first time. I've met the late King Hamlet personally a couple of years prior."

"I see."

"Although, being in the presence of so many noblemen and women is not an experience that I would typically wish to have. Especially without a single familiar face." Horatio rubbed the back of his neck.

Laertes hummed. "I understand."

He had been a part of the king's court for years now, but even with Ophelia, he had never felt comfortable there. That discomfort only grew when Claudius took the throne. Laertes was never close to the late king, but he always felt a sense of calm in the king's presence. Now that he was gone, it just didn't feel the same.

"I must ask, how exactly are you acquainted with Hamlet?"

Horatio looked up at Laertes, confused. "You do not know?"

Laertes slowly shook his head, not understanding why he should know in the first place. He didn't remember anyone telling him how this young man knew Hamlet.

Horatio furrowed his brows. Then he began to chuckle. "Ah, I suppose you were getting quite bored there."

Laertes flushed, mentally kicking himself. He.had completely missed the explanation due to his boredom. He never should have spaced out. "My apologies," he said, "you have to understand that the king tends to draw out these meeting."

"No no, it's alright. It's just I always assumed that nobility was a bit more… sophisticated."

"Ex-excuse me!" Laertes sputtered as he watched Horatio shoot him a cheeky grin.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist teasing you a little."

Laertes huffed. "I should have expected this from anyone acquainted with Hamlet."

"You indeed should have."

"You still have not answered my question," he pointed it.

Horatio looked sheepish. "Of course, we were acquainted at Wittenberg," he paused for a moment in thought. "Perhaps you could say that we officially met in the second semester of our first year at Wittenberg."

"Officially?"

Horatio winced, the tips of his ears turning red. "Yes, officially. There was this strange period of time in our first semester where the prince and I simply sat at the same table as one another in the library without talking to one another…everyday. It is slightly embarrassing now that I think about it. I did not even know that he was the prince of Denmark." Horatio let out a dry chuckle, reminiscing at the memory.

Laertes bit back a bark of laughter. That sounded like Hamlet alright. "That is interesting," he settled for, a wry smile on his lips.

"I am glad that you find my humiliation amusing," Horatio said.

“Consider it payback.”

“Payback it is then,” Horatio mused, “you know, you are not so much different from how the Prince described you back in Wittenberg.”

Laertes choked. Horatio quickly gave him a look of concern, jumping at an opportunity to help, but Laertes quickly dismissed him. The thought of Hamlet talking about him was enough to give him hives. The Prince already talked enough shit back here in Elsinore. Laertes didn’t want to know what Hamlet said while he wasn’t in the presence of Laertes, or anyone else in the court for the matter.

“Par- pardon?”

“A bit uptight,” Horatio started with Laertes looking at him, mouth agape. “Expressive, swayed by emotions easily, and embarrassed easily.” Laertes found himself rolling his eyes. Of course, Hamlet would think that. “... But mostly well-meaning.”

“I’m flattered,” Laertes said dryly.

“If it makes you feel any better, he did say that you were a good brother to the fair Ophelia.”

Now that was a surprise. “I..” Laertes was at a loss for words. Laertes could count on his hand the amount of time Hamlet had ever spoken of him in praise. Most of those instances were while they were fencing.

Horatio seemed to have noticed this and quickly supplied, “yet that was followed by a ‘he could less overbearing.’ The prince complained extensively about how he rarely has any time with Ophelia.”

That seemed to shock Laertes out of his shock. “That entitled prick,” he hissed. “If he does anything to Ophelia-”

“That is if Ophelia let him do anything to her,” Horatio snorted. “You mustn't worry too much good Laertes. Your sister is much more intelligent than you give her credit for.”

“And how would you know that?” He snapped.

Horatio shrugged, “she is a capable young woman.” He ended it with that.

Laertes was about to question him further, but then they had finally reached Hamlet’s chamber. It was strange seeing to the doorway so empty. For the last month, there had been people crowded the front of his door, attempting to coax the young prince out of his room. The closest anyone had ever gotten him to open the door were the cooks who would often slide food through when Hamlet cracked the door. If they were lucky, they would find half of the meal finished. Most days, the maids found the plate untouched on the foot of the door. His father’s death had taken its toll on him. Even Laertes couldn’t help but be slightly concern for him.

Laertes knocked on the door to his chamber. “Hamlet, there is someone here asking to have an audience with you.”

Through the door, he could hear the muffled shuffling of feet. A hoarse voice echoed out of the room. “What the fuck do you want Laertes?”

Laertes felt his chest twist in pity. Hamlet’s words lacked the bite that they usually had. He sounded exhausted, tired. Where was the young prince that was full of life? Where had he gone? And will he ever come back?

He looked back to see Horatio, completely crestfallen. The foreigner approached the door hesitantly, pressing his hand against the door. “My lord,” he whispered. There was a choked noise coming from the other side of the door. “It’s me, my lord.”

The handle of the door began to rattle. Laertes let out a breath that he didn’t know that he was holding. Horatio stepped back slightly as the door creaked open.

Just who was this man, to be able to make the Prince of Denmark leave his chambers when no one else could?

Tattered and pale, the man that stumbled out of the room was almost unrecognizable. Dark bags hung under his eyes like bruises. His clothes hung loosely around his small frame. Cheeks sunken in and his eyes were swollen. But most damning of all was his hair. Hamlet had taken great pride in his long hair. It fell past his chest, rivaling the length of Ophelia’s. The late king used to joke about how both father and son matched. Looking at Hamlet now, they could see his hair cropped down to shoulder length. The edges were jagged as if he had hacked away at it with a blade.

“Horatio, what are-”

Hamlet didn’t even get to finish his sentence when Horatio ran and pulled him into a hug. The hug ended just as fast as it began. Horatio jolted away, pulling his hands to his sides. “I.. I apologize, my lord,” he sputtered. “I don’t know what came over me I was simply-”

Hamlet wrapped his arms around Horatio tightly, burying his head into his chest. Horatio let out a yelp in surprise. He opened his mouth to protest, but he quickly closed it. Gingerly slipping his arms under Hamlet’s, he threaded through the young prince’s hair with his hand. Hamlet’s shoulder’s trembled. Laertes could hear the muffled sobs.

Laertes turned around. He felt like an intruder. There were some things that were too personal, intimate, for Laertes to be able to witness. He didn’t know that nature of their relationship. Whether they were friends, lovers, or something entirely different didn’t matter. There was just something so special about what they had. He began to walk away quietly. Snippets of the conversation managing to reach his ears.

“You have lost weight, Horatio.”

“I do not think you have the right to say such things in the state that you are in, my lord.”

“I am aware, I just thought that I would be the first to say this time. It is rare for me to be able to tell you this.”

“...I have been worried sick.”

“Enough to neglect eating.”

“My lord.”

“I know that I’m not much better.”

“I missed you.”

“As did I.”

#hamlet #hamlet fic #laertes #horatio #fic #so i guess this is a thing now #I didn't intend for this to be hamratio #if you want to interpret it like that #go right ahead.#He that thou knowest thine #c: hamlet

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tortoisesshells · 5 years

Note

Top ships (Like boats. Those kinds of ships)

nonny, you know me so well!

this list is the list I made after somewhat careful considerationover lunch break, and, to save everyone a lot of handwringing, I stuck to museum ships or ships you can still see/work aboard. Therefor, this is subject to change at any one point in time,depending on where I’ve been recently, what part of my diss. I’ve been focusingon, and whether or not I think fictional representations of ships (real orotherwise) are fair game.

(1) Charles W. Morgan. mon amour. Definitely thefirst ship of note I saw, at the ripe old age of probably four (there’s someembarrassing family photos lying around somewhere of l’il baby jamesknoxpolkalying around somewhere). I’ve heard that scent is a really powerful trigger formemory, and, before she was extensively repaired by the Seaport around2009-2012(?), I swear, you could smell the whale-oil. Mystic Seaport runs a24-hour Moby-Dick readingmarathon aboard the Morgan -do you know what it’s like to be lying on the deck of the last wooden whalingship in the world, staring up at the stars at 3AM, listening to someone readChapter 96, “The Try-Works”, where Ishmael compares the Pequod to Hell and gets disoriented in the long night watch? It’snot very academic of me, but the sense of lineage, of being part of a long lineof stewards and travelers holding and passing on the Morgan gives me the chills. A+ ship, will read Moby-Dick aboard it again.

(2)HMS Victory. Avery Long Trip for your humble narrator. A Spring Break trip, so’s we’re allclear on what my priorities were in college. I stood on the spot where Nelsonwas shot, and teared up. Horatio Hornblower was my maritime history gatewaydrug, and it’s a short hop from Hornblower to falling ass over tea-kettle intothe RN during the Napoleonic Wars. Wanna know how many biographies of Nelson Ihad on my bookshelf by the time I was fourteen? Seven (7). Victory is huge and beautiful and everything my little pre-teen andearly-teen self had imagined a ship-of-the-line to be. Oldest ship of war stillin commission, anywhere! I don’t know what series of events would lead theRoyal Navy to do anything with a 250+ year old ship, but I sure as shit wouldread that fantasy novel.

(3)USS Constitution.Despite being a US American, I do not have the same attachment to the Constitution as I do to the Victory, but the Constitution has(1) a much cooler design, h/t to Joshua Humphreys for the diagonal riders(? mynaval architecture glossary is weaaaakkk as hell) and building a ship that wassturdy enough to withstand (some) cannon shot as well as not hogginghorrifically over the past 210+ years & (2) a surreptitious role asinspiring the Acheron inthe seminal Western philosophical text, Masterand Commander: The Far Side of the World (2003). Owns onereasonably bad-ass nickname, “Old Ironsides”*, has a long and kind of weirdhistory after her fighting days were over. Like the Victory, is still, technically, in commission - but, unlike the Victory, actually still afloat!* addendum re: “Old Ironsides” - Constitution isnormally on display in the Charlestown Navy Yard across the pier from a WWIIdestroyer, USS Cassin Young. Ihave heard tourist ask the poor NPS rangers if the Cassin Young is “Old Ironsides”. Twice.

(4)USS Constellation. Ondisplay in Baltimore’s Inner Harbor, and, for a very, Very, long time, allegedto be one of the sainted ~Six Original Frigates~ of the United States Navy (ofwhich I can only name five at any one point in time, because I always forgetUSS Congress existed,and that’s not even a comment on current US politics). One of my favorite bitsof drama in US maritime history, to be sure! For a long time, the Constellation on display in Baltimore was supposed to have been the one built in 1797, although that’s not actually the case! The ship on display was built at Gosport in 1854 … at the same time that the old frigate Constellation was dismantled for parts … some of which ended up in the new sloop Constellation. There was something hinky going on with the Navy’s books, iirc, too - I don’t think the Navy took the old frigate off the books, and just ended up keeping the new sloop Constellation under the old listing. There’s an apocryphal story I’ve heard that the subterfuge was because Congress would fund repairs but not the building of a new sloop which, while amusing, isn’t actually the case. Anyway, I love a good historical quandary, & the Constellation checks off a number of boxes! Bureaucratic sleight of hand! The perplexing weirdness of the antebellum Navy Department! Weird pissing contests about “which ship is older?”!

(5) SS John W. Brown. Apart from the righteous name (okay, so she’s not named for the John Brown, but for an early 20th century labor organizer, so solidarity forever! ahem), she’s one of two WWII Liberty Ships (out of 2500+ built, which is just … shit. The US built and launched the SS Robert Peary in under five (5) days just to make a point - there was a lot left to do before the ship was functional, but, you get the point?) that are still afloat & functional. As in, the engine still works. The ship still goes out once in a while. Which I have yet to go on, but, some day! Anyway, the point in all this is the John W. Brown is neat and one of my favorite museum ships because there’s literally dozens of WWII subs and other vessels, but the history of the Liberty ship - the Ford Model T of 20th century shipbuilding - is cool and generally under-appreciated.(5b - because I flip-flopped twice) SSV Corwith Cramer. Not an old ship (she’s older than me, only just), but my first real sailing experience. I don’t think anyone ever forgets the first time they realize they can’t see land, anywhere? That if you fall overboard in the night, and no one misses you, you will die alone and never be found? The first time you go aloft while underway, that electric, anticipatory feeling in your hands, muttering “three points of contact, three points of contact at all times” to yourself? My bunk was in a part of the ship called “Squalor”. I accidentally got grease pencil on my face. I didn’t sleep for over a day because I was so excited! to be there! (& also watch) I heard whales spouting somewhere in the dark late one night, and it was one of the eeriest, most extraordinary things I can remember. on revient toujours a ses premieres amours.

put “top 5” anything in my ask and i will answer ok go

#polkaknox talks #that maritime aesthetic #ask meme

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bazypitchandsimonsnow · 6 years

Text

Love, Snow

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Light Angst

Word count: 14050

Summary: Baz receives a secret admirer note, and starts the strangest correspondence with someone he doesn't know. How does he deal with this on top of his long standing crush on the football quarterback?

Read on AO3

AN: Confession: I misread one of my requests as "first kiss" and got too excited by this idea to re-check the request before I wrote 14k+ words. Oops. I'm very stupid. But hey I ended up writing a really fun AU and I still wanna share it so I'll publish it on it's own. I promise I'm still working on requests and will publish them asap. I hope this fic is a good enough explanation/apology for making those people wait. Very, very sorry. I hope you enjoy this for now :)

So this is like low tech "Love, Simon" and it's stupid but I love it. Also everyone is American because I really wanted the stereotype of "crushing on the high school football quarterback" for Baz. It's so stupid and cheesy I couldn't resist. Also big thank you to @carryonmylovelies for her unending support and the title.

———————————————-

Baz

“And that’s another touchdown, putting the score over with just 3 seconds to spare!” The student announcer shouts into a goddamn microphone. “Way to go #61, Simon Salisbury!”

Everyone jumps up and cheers. It’s way too loud. I wince, curling in on myself more. I do clap politely though. It was a good play. Even though this is just an exhibition game to kick off the year.

Salisbury rips off his helmet, throwing it up in the air with a triumphant shout. His bronze curls are sweaty and plastered to his forehead. He’s smiling in that way. Open mouthed, laughing, blue eyes sparkling. I savour it while I can, because soon all the other jocks crash into him in a big testosterone pile. They’re hollering like madman and congratulating Salisbury with pounds to the back. Christ, I hate how much I wish I was down there.

“Wow, Salisbury did a good job, again,” Niall chuckles.

“Yeah, I guess,” I mutter.

Dev glares at me. “Why do you come to these games if you’re always being such a downer, Baz?”

Because this is the only time I can stare at Simon Salisbury’s tight pants covered behind without anyone noticing, even if it is at a distance. I shrug. “I don’t know. I’m bored.”

“Oh, have you finally run out of books?”

I snort, pushing my glasses further up my nose. “I’m never out of books.”

“Yet here you are.”

I don’t answer that, because I don’t want to explain. I figured out I was gay three years ago, and I only finally accepted it six months ago. What’s even worse is that I’ve liked Simon for that long. Three years of pining after the most popular boy in school. Have I mentioned that my life is absolute hell?

The game slowly wraps up. The teams shake hands, the crowd slowly disperses, and I’m still sitting on the bench, just watching him. Of course he has to high five every single teammate before they go, and then he meets up with his friend. Despite Simon Salisbury being more popular than a lollipop in a daycare centre, his best friend is not another muscle bound jock. In fact, Penelope Bunce is actually my only legitimate academic rival. She has frizzy purple hair and glasses like a sassy librarian. Simon hugs her so hard she’s lifted off the ground. They laugh and smile together, and I’m so fucking jealous.

“Baz? You ready to go?”

I’m snapped out my daze by Niall. He looks at me with crossed arms and a raised brow.

“Yeah,” I reply, zipping up my coat, “let’s go.”

We walk down the bleachers. I can’t help but sneak one last look at Simon, with his arm around Bunce and a big dumb smile on his face. Fuck my life, I’m so screwed.

———————————————-

Watford High is like any other high school. Loud, smelly, and somewhere I desperately wish to escape everyday. I only like the academic aspect, and even that is occasionally lacking. I walk through it briskly, dodging other students on my way to my locker. I’m getting my algebra textbook when he decides to walk by.

“Hey, Baz!” Simon says with a grin as he walks by with Bunce. Why does he always do this? Taunt me with his perfectly messy hair and sunshine smile and big blue eyes? Of course he’s also wearing his letterman jacket that perfectly fits his broad shoulders.

“Hello, Salisbury,” I reply, keeping my voice very neutral, thank God.

“See you in English, yeah?”

“Yes, see you.”

He keeps walking. I (hopefully) subtly watch him keep doing. He’s saying something close to Bunce’s ear. It must be something stupid, because she immediately smacks him over the head. He pouts at her adorably. I rip my gaze away before I start blushing.

I’m pathetic. Here I am, mooning over a guy who I could never have. He’s popular, and a football jock, and straight. He was dating the bloody head cheerleader until the end of last year. He’d never be interested in me.

I walk as fast as I can to English and sit next to Niall as usual. Salisbury is sitting a few desks back with Bunce to his left. They’re murmuring over something. I do wonder what they’re talking about, but I focus on the front of the class. I won’t let my stupid crush affect my studies.

Soon enough, Ms. Possibelf starts her lecture. We’re studying Hamlet, something I’m already extensively familiar with thanks to my English Professor mother. I first read Hamlet when I was 12. I could do this in my sleep.

“And here we can interpret romantic undertones of Hamlet and Horatio’s relationship,” Ms. Possibelf says, pointing the quote on the slide.

“Ms?” One girls says, raising her hand and speaking before she’s actually called on. “I think it’s kind of silly to say Hamlet and Horatio were together. They were obviously just friends because gay people weren’t around back then.”

I raise my hand immediately. Ms. Possibelf gives me a look that’s both “yes, yes I know” and “don’t kill her, Basilton.” She does pick me though. “Yes, Baz?”

“Hamlet and Horatio’s relationship can be interpreted many ways, and romantic is certainly one of them. Considering that many scholars have theorised as such it’s a viable conclusion and something that should be presented to the class. Also, Shakespeare was very likely bisexual himself as he wrote sonnets that many believe were meant for male lovers. Which makes a romantic attraction even more possible. And finally, just because homosexuality was frowned upon in the era does not mean gay people were non-existent. To think so shows an ignorance of history.”

The girl gapes at me for a second, but it quickly becomes a glare. Others murmur and roll their eyes. Niall sighs but with a mildly impressed smile. I keep my back straight and head high. I’m at the top of the class, and I’m not afraid to show why. Mind you, that’s probably why my only friends are my cousin and the other boy I grew up with.

“Thank you, Baz,” Ms. Possibelf sighs, “you make excellent points. Now, let’s move on to the role of Horatio as the bard.”

She continues with the lecture. I ignore the constant death glare I’m getting from my history ignorant homophobe classmate. But I feel other eyes on me as well. A few desks back, from my left. Cautiously, I look slightly in that direction. Salisbury immediately looks up towards the ceiling, but he wasn’t fast enough. I know he was looking at me. Probably just to gape at the weirdo nerd like everyone else. My heart aches. Fuck, I despise my emotions being dependant on someone else, on Salisbury. I turn back to the board. If I can’t stop my own stupid feelings, I can at least ignore them.

———————————————-

I don’t see Salisbury for the rest of the day. English is the only class we share and he has football practice almost every lunch. It gives me fewer opportunities to look at him. I’m not sure that if that’s a negative or a positive, unfortunately. Before I know it, the day is over, and I’m free of this prison. I head towards my locker as fast as possible

“Hey man,” Dev says as he catches up with me, “still coming to my house, yeah?”

“Of course, it’s Friday. Got the good vodka?” I smirk at him. He rolls his eyes and nudges my shoulder.

“It’s never good and you know it, asshole.”

I open my locker, absentmindedly placing my textbooks inside. “Well, there better be salt and vinegars chips, or I’m-”

“Hey what’s this?” Dev picks up a piece of poorly folded lined paper, the only messy thing in my otherwise pristine locker. My name is written on the front in chicken scratch handwriting. He hands the strange thing to me. “Think this is for you, cuz.”

I pluck it from his hands, then unfold it with careful fingers. But I almost immediately drop the paper. The words on it warrant such a response.

Hey Baz I think your really cute :) - Snow

“Oh shit, man,” Dev chuckles, “you’ve got a secret admirer!”

Fuck. My. Life.

———————————————-

“I think you’re overreacting,” Niall sighs before taking another swig of the near empty vodka bottle. We’re going to need a new one next week.

“I am not,” I snap, “and stop hogging that thing, you vodka hogger.” He rolls his eyes and reluctantly passes the bottle. I take a good drink, head draped back over Dev’s spinning desk chair.

“It’s just a little note. Someone thinks you’re cute. That’s a good thing!”

“No it isn’t! It’s obviously some sort of prank, some idiot who think it’s funny to tease the class weirdo.”

Dev groans through a mouthful of chips. “If I hadn’t grown up with you, I’d wondered when you became so self deprecating. But I’m pretty sure you were born like this.”

I throw the bottle cap at his head. “Shut up, dickhead.”

He, in turn, throws a bag of Doritos at me. Jokes on him though, I’m hungry. I eat an unnecessarily large handful of his chips with unflinching eye contact. He glares at me from his bed.

“Look,” Dev sighs, “you’re overreacting, man. It’s probably just some freshman who’s too nervous to talk to you.”

“Like I want to talk to some freshman,” I grumble.

“Then just ignore it! Whoever it is will leave you alone. It’s just one note.”

My lips twist. I don’t like the idea of that. First of all, leaving it alone could give this Snow the wrong idea. What if she thinks I’m interested at all? That I think anything about this is cute? (Okay, it’s a bit cute. Even though Snow misspelled “you’re”) Secondly, I like to have the last word. Leaving it unanswered is like accepting defeat. And I never, ever accept defeat.

I turn in the desk chair to face Dev’s disgusting little Ikea desk. (Seriously, it’s white laminate and covered in food and pencil lead stains.) I take a piece of printer paper and a pencil. Time to start writing.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Niall slurs from behind me.

“Crafting a response,” I reply.

“To a secret admirer note?!”

“Yes.”

From my peripheral, I can see Niall looking at me like a mad man. I ignore him. He flings his hands in surrender, walking towards Dev.

“Nope,” he says loudly. “I’m too drunk for this. Dev, you deal with him.”

“Why do I have to deal with him? I’m just as drunk as you are,” Dev groans. I ignore him as well and keep thinkin of what to write.

“He’s your cousin.”

“So just because we share blood, he’s my problem?”

“Yes.”

I growl and whip around in my chair. They’re sprawled on Dev’s bed with the vodka bottle between them. “Can you two stop talking like I’m not here?!”

Dev and Niall look at each, then back to me. They each take a long swig of the vodka and flop back down. They’re still speaking but quiet enough so I can’t hear. So I take that as, “no we won’t, but we’ll at least won’t be loud enough so you can hear.” I snort. They’re assholes, but they’re at least slightly considerate.

I go back to my letter. I’m not sure how long it should be. Long enough to convey my message I suppose. But what to say? Fuck it. I just start writing.

Dear Snow, Thank you for the compliment, but I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I’m not interested in a relationship. (Well, with anyone but a certain football player, unfortunately, but I can’t write that.) I hope you find someone who can return your affections. Have a nice day. - Baz

There, perfect. Concise, simple, and exactly what I need to say. I’ll have the final word. And whoever this person is will back off. My life is already a living hell, what with Salisbury and school and everything else, so I don’t need more stress. I fold it carefully and write “Snow” on the front.

“Done,” I say. “I’ll leave it in my locker grill tomorrow and hopefully Snow will find it and this will be finished.”

“I don’t understand you,” Dev grumbles.

“Just hand me the salt and vinegar chips, ass.”

I flop down on the bed with them, and we start discussing which teachers we want to stuff down a toilet. And I try not to think about the boy I’m crushing on or the girl who seems to be crushing on me. My life is getting really unnecessarily complicated.

———————————————-

I leave Snow’s note just slightly sticking out of my locker grate. Far enough out for the “Snow” part to be visible, but not too visible tath any old passerby will notice. I can only hope that the real Snow picks it up instead of some random asshole. I’m probably overestimating the inherent goodness of Watford students. I stare at the paper for a long moment, wondering if this is actually the right thing to do. But I know I haven’t gotten this far by questioning my intelligent decisions.

I walk away from the locker physically, but my mind is still slightly stuck there for the rest of the morning. Between every class, I let myself sort of wonder what’s going to happen. Will Snow be angry? Sad? Yell at me for breaking her heart? I don’t care. Well, I care a little. I’m not a monster. I’d feel bad for her. I know far too well what it’s like to want someone who doesn’t want you back.

Even in English, while I’m subtly looking at Salisbury, I wonder if someone is doing the exact same to me. I miss parts of the lecture because of it. This is not good. I hate being unfocused by something I can’t control.

And I’m certainly not walking past my locker on purpose, even though it’s nowhere near the cafeteria. There’s going to be no change there. No change at-

Except that the note is gone. And there’s a new one written on pink paper sticking out of the grate.

I don’t rush towards it of course, I have dignity. Slowly, and perfectly casually I take out the note. Part of it has been scribbled out hastily, and something else has been written in its place.

I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. I just think you’re really cool and cute. I won’t leave anymore notes. I’m sorry I hurt you :( - Snow

Fuck. She thinks I’m cool? Me?! And who uses emojis in a written message? It’s sickeningly adorable. Whoever this Snow is, I sort of wish I could meet her. And maybe that she was a he. At least he would be more a possibility than Simon ever could be.

“What’cha got there, Baz?”

I jolt hard enough that I nearly bang my head against my steel locker. I stuff the note in my pocket.

“Nothing, Dev,” I reply. “What are you doing here? This is nowhere near the cafeteria.”

“Lost a pencil somewhere here.”

“Yeah, right. Come to see if my secret admirer left another note?”

He shrugs up to his ears. “Maybe. Wondering if you're stupid idea worked, too.”

“It's not stupid.”

“It's a little stupid.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Shut up.”

We walk together towards the cafeteria. I distract Dev by talking about our least favourite relative, so by the time we're there he's not even thinking about Snow or the note. He and Niall eat shitty grilled cheese together while I stew. Which is good, I don’t need their unhelpful input right now.

I look over Snow’s note again and again. It’s so...gracious. No anger or even self pity. She only cares how that she made me feel bad. So, Snow is a very nice person. That’s even more infuriating. And it feels wrong to just leave her hanging, letting her think she’s done some sort of irreparable harm to me. It was just a sweet note. It’s not her fault I’m gay and hopelessly in love with someone else.

I rip out a sheet from my notebook. The message comes easily enough.

Snow, Don’t worry, you didn’t hurt me. I’m perfectly fine, and I did like your note. I simply have my own problems that are not your fault. It has absolutely nothing to do with you. The truth is that I’m..

I pause, pencil frozen over the paper. I’ve never announced anyone about my sexuality. Not even Dev and Niall. This feels weird. But...Snow should understand why it’s not her fault. She’s only been nice to me so far. I don’t want her to feel like it’s on her.

The truth is that I’m gay. So there was no chance to start with. I hope you can find someone that at least can be interested. - Baz

I fold it again. There, simple. I’ve just written down my second biggest secret for a stranger to read. A nice, gracious stranger, who seems to care about my feelings before her own. Who’s entire view of me hopefully won’t change with the knowledge I like men because she doesn’t really know me. And even if it does change, who cares? She’s not my friend, or my cousin, or my mother.

Yes, this is smart. Very smart...

———————————————-

Now that I know Snow responds to my notes, waiting is even worse. The afternoon goes by in a relative haze. I heard the lessons, but I don’t really absorb them. Everything post lunch seem irrelevant in comparison to the note. It’s not until the end of last period that something breaks me out of the fog. Or rather, someone.

“Hey, Pitch.”

I look up to Penelope Bunce. I’m a bit surprised. This is the first time she’s spoken to me in something that’s not during an intellectual argument in class. Though her tone is still calmly aggressive.

“Hello, Bunce,” I reply.

“How are you doing?”

“I’m...fine, how are you?”

“Fine.” Then she just glares at me. Well, half studying, half glaring. She’s looking at me up and down like I’m a specimen. What on Earth is her problem?

“Penny!” Salisbury rushes towards us, taking Bunce by the shoulders. He’s smiling brightly and apologetically. Wait, why is he here? This isn’t his class. I guess he’s here to escort Bunce. Or the universe is torturing me. Either is possible.

“Hey, Pen, we should go,” he says. He looks at me with his big smile and my heart melts into my shoes. “Hi, Baz! How’s it hanging?”

“I’m well, Salisbury,” I say, digging my nails into my palms under the desk to keep calm. “Bunce and I were apparently having a conversation.”

“Yeah, conversation.” The way Bunce says conversation makes me nervous. Her tone is colder than the Antarctic. What is her problem?!

“Oh awesome,” he chuckles awkwardly (it’s really cute), “but we have to go. Homework and stuff, right Penny?”

Bunce glares up at him. He raises his eyebrows and jerks his head towards the door. Either he really does need to go or he really wants to get away from me. Probably both.

“Fine,” she mutters, “let’s go. Bye, Basilton.”

“Bye Baz!” Simon says, running after her. I give one quick wave. What the fuck just happened? I’d say that was the weirdest that’s happened to me this week, but bizzare love note correspondence is still slightly above bizzarely tense conversation with your crush’s best friend.

I shrug it off, taking my books and going to my locker just like normal. But to my great surprise and reluctant delight, there’s a piece of pink paper sticking out of my locker. Slowly, carefully, I unfold it.

So you are gay? That’s cool, it’s really not a problem. Actually it’s great! I’m a guy. So if that’s the problem and you still want me to leave notes, I still think you’re cute <3 - Snow

Oh...this complicates things. But...

Fuck it.

Before I can overthink too much, I take out one of my post-it notes and scrawl my message across it. I don’t need full sheet of paper for this.

I wouldn’t mind more notes, I suppose. - Baz

I stick it in the grill and walk away, not even putting away my books. Fuck fuck fuck, what the hell am I doing? And why is my heart beating so fast?

———————————————-

It’s official: I have the weirdest pen pal in the world.

For the past week, Snow and I have followed the exact same pattern we created on that first day. I write something and leave it in my locker grate. He replies by the beginning of lunch, and I reply by the end. Then I pick up his final note at the end of last period. It’s a strange, silently agreed upon system. And it’s quickly become the highlight of my day.

I’m ignoring my sandwich in favour of reading the latest one.

Mr. Halvik really does sound like a nightmare! Who has you wander around with spot plates filled hydrochloric acid?! You could call him a PERIODIC failure :D (I don’t know science, forgive me.) I’ll punch his stupid face for you if you want. Omg I’m so glad I’ve got Ms. Reynolds. She gives us broken cookies at the end of class cause her husband is a baker who brings home the bad batches. I’m definitely not complaining. And hey, just wondering, what’s your fave food? Feels like something I should know :) - Snow

“Dev, he’s still smiling, I’m frightened,” Niall says with annoyingly exaggerated fear.

“Be not afraid child,” Dev replies. I flip them both off.

Niall tries to peer over at the paper, but I pull it away. “Are we not allowed to see your secret love notes?”

“Nope,” I say flatly. “Hence the ‘secret’ prefix. And they’re not love notes.”

“Yet you are smiling. You only do that when you’re reading something you love. So...”

“So, shut up.” I glare at him over my glasses. He doesn’t flinch, but he doesn’t speak either. Good man. He knows when to leave something alone.

I flip open my notebook, and begin to pen my response.

Thank you for the sympathy, Snow, but I don’t think physical violence will be necessary. I’m waiting for the day someone burns their skin off with the acid. Then maybe Halvik will listen to my concerns. Broken cookies sound far, far better than potential chemical burns. If I had room in my schedule I’d certainly transfer to that class. To answer your question, truth be told, I have a massive sweet tooth. I love overly sugary coffee and mint aero bars. I wish I had one to go with my sandwich. And I’m wondering the same thing, what is your favourite food? - Baz

I sigh, reading it over for good measure. Each of our messages have gotten progressively longer. Mostly stupid jokes and complaining about teachers. This is the first time he’s asked something about my interests. I smile a bit more.

He hasn’t said anything about who he is, so I assume he doesn’t want to be known. Therefore, I’ve quashed my usually inquisitive spirit and haven’t asked. I don’t want to scare him away. Weird...I think I actually like him. But, what about Simon?

“Hey! Back off, dude!”

We all turn our heads towards the shouting. From where the three of us are sitting, we can see a man in a profile staring down the resident asshole who’s name I don’t bother to remember. Someone with bronze curls, a determined expression, and donning a letterman jacket. Number 61. Speak of the Devil, I suppose.

“Chill, Salisbury, we were just having fun,” asshole replies.

“Fun isn’t pushing some freshman around. Leave him alone.”

“Or what?”

“Or, I’ll do to you what you’re doing to him.”

There’s a long pause. The cafeteria is completely silent, everyone watching with bated breath. I grip my pencil incredibly hard. I know Simon can take care of himself, of course. (He’s the goddamn quarterback. He could flatten most people.) But my chest still aches, because I don’t want to see him get hurt or in trouble. I wish I could help him. Or at least have someone to hold my hand while I fret. Someone like Snow.

“Pfft,” the other guys scoffs, “whatever. You’re such a spoilsport, Salisbury.”

The idiot walks away with hands in his pockets. Simon glares at him as he walks away, then kneels down to help the freshman to his feet.

“Hey, you okay?” he says in his soft, perfect voice.

The boy nods. Simon flashes that sunshine grin, and my heart skips at least two beats. He’s such a hero. Always putting himself on the line for others. If we lived in a fantasy book, he’d be the protagonist, the mighty golden saviour. (I’d probably be the weird loner, or the dashing villain. I have the face for it.)

The freshman says his thanks and scurries off. Simon visibly sighs and puts his hands in his jacket. I can’t help but stare. He looks happy, relaxed, and- Oh shit he’s looking at me. His big blue eyes are staring right back at me, blinking in probable confusion. I immediately look back at my note for Snow, praying the heat in my cheek isn’t the blush I bet it is.

Maybe that’s why I like Snow. I can just read his words and edit my own towards him. No chance for awkward moments when all you have is paper. It’s easier, I suppose. Because I don’t even look back at Simon, but I keep looking at the paper. I really am a coward deep down.

———————————————-

I pick up Snow’s note at the end of the day, but I don’t read it until I’m alone on the bus. (Dev and Niall get off before me. And our usual Friday night get together has been cancelled on account of Dev’s procrastinated history essay.) It’s not that long. His final notes tend to be on the shorter side, leaving a new conversation for us to start tomorrow.

Oh man I love mint aero bars too. They’re fucking amazing. I hide them under my pillow because my mum thinks I eat too much candy too lol. But my favourite food is easy, sour cherry scones! Especially with lots of butter. My mum makes them. They’re my fave thing in the entire world. We eat them for dessert every Friday. Sorry if it’s too intrusive, but I’ve got another question, what’s your fave movie? I just wanna know all I can about you :D - Snow

Christ, as if my heart needs more strain after Salisbury’s near brawl today. It feels both scary and wonderful to have someone this interested in me. Even if it’s someone I’ve never met in person. And he’s offering information about his homelife, opening himself up. How is he so confident like that? I’ve never opened up to anyone, other than my family or Dev and Niall. But...if Snow can do it, so can I.

I start writing immediately.

I’ve never had a sour cherry scone, nor have I heard of them before, but they sound delicious. I’ll have to try one some time. I’m glad we can agree on mint aero bars. My friends think they’re disgusting but they’re obviously idiots. The questions are not intrusive by the way. I actually like them. On my favourite movie, I’m sorry to say it’s quite boring by normal standards. It’s not technically even a movie, but an hour long TV broadcast. It’s the BBC’s 1986 production of “Oedipus the King”. My mother is a professor of both English and Greek literature. She had me watch it far, far too young, so I used to be scared of it. But now I love it. We rewatch it constantly. I know, very boring. What’s your’s? - Baz

I fold it up, tucking the paper inside my bag, where it will remain until Monday. A hurricane of butterflies occupy my stomach. And it will remain there until Monday as well.

When the start of the school week actually rolls around, my brain is buzzing for all of class. I barely catch anything the teachers say. I only remember to look at Salisbury a couple of times in English. He’s furiously writing and rewriting something in his notes, mouth adorably twisted in determination. When he looks up at me, he smiles warmly, and I hastily go back to looking at my own notes. I know he’s just being polite, but still, I’m already occupied with thoughts of Snow. I don’t need more distraction.

As I’m walking to lunch, I see a large piece of paper sticking out of my locker. It takes all my self control not to run towards it. Cautiously, I open it. And as I read the first few sentences, I chuckle in disbelief and a fair amount of happiness.

That doesn’t sound boring at all! That sounds lit. I mean, I’ve never seen Oedipus, but kings are always great and I love Percy Jackson. If other people call you boring they’re fucking stupid. I’m def gonna watch it soon :D My favourite movie? Man, get ready for a long ass note.

He proceeds to write a mostly page long rant/analysis of “The Incredibles”, including lots of the emojis and some more personal information. And I’m smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.

Fuck, I think I have another crush.

———————————————-

How have you never read Harry Potter?! Holy shit you have had a deprived childhood! My mom first read me Harry Potter when I was 11. Tbh, it was her way of trying to make up for the fact that my dad wasn’t around. Not like she needed to. It wasn’t her fault the asshole left. But it doesn’t matter, Harry Potter is fucking awesome. I have every book. You should really get them. Btw, Oedipus is really cool but really fucking dark. Like damn, he married his own mother? He loses both his eyes!? Jeez the greeks were twisted motherfuckers. Still cool to watch though. Thanks for telling me about it :D Question: If you could go to space, where would you go? - Snow

Growing list of things I know about Snow: 1. He’s in Ms. Reynold’s science class. 2. His prefered joke is stupid pun. 2. He loves sour cherry scones because his mom makes them. 3. His favourite movie is The Incredibles because it’s “fucking brilliant”, and it was the first thing that made his mom smile after his dad left. 4. His father left when he was 11 to travel abroad and has never come back. Apparently he only sends birthday cards. Usually on the wrong date. 5. He’s plagued with almost as much insecurity as me, both from his father’s absence and general teenage anxiety over being good enough. 7. His favourite singer is Troye Sivan. 8. And now, he loves Harry Potter.

So eight things. Considering we only started exchanging weird letters two and half weeks ago, that’s pretty good. It’s more than I know about Simon, since all I know is that he plays football, he’s unbelievably attractive, and he stands up to bullies. Nothing about his favourite food or absentee father. Somehow, Snow feels more real even when I’ve never seen him in person.

I start my own response, hunched over my desk.

I’m sorry for my lack of young adult fantasy knowledge. I suppose since you’ve watched Oedipus, I’ll give Harry Potter a chance. I just read mostly philosophy and textbooks. Reading narratives has never been my thing. But I’ll try. I’m glad you liked Oedipus though. It is quite dark, but I think my mother is correct in that it’s one of the most important stories in western literature. She-

“Basil? It’s almost time for dinner, little puff.”

My head snaps up at my mother’s voice. Like always, she knocks twice before opening the door anyway. I stand up and hide the paper behind my back. She sticks her head through the door. Her curly black hair is piled on her head. The smile on her face is slight but still warm.

“Mother,” I sigh, “you’re supposed to ask to come in.”

“Sorry, sorry, I keep forgetting,” she says, still smiling. “Dinner is in a few minutes so finish whatever you’re hiding behind your back.”

I inhale sharply. ��I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She gives me an unimpressed look with her own grey eyes, another way in which we’re far too similar. “Basil, you’re not as subtle as you think you are. Whatever you’re doing, I hope it’s truly worthy of that impressive blush you’ve been spotting for two weeks. Including right now.” I press a hand to my overheated cheek. Godammit. She grins smugly. “Dinner is soon. Please wrap it up.”

She closes the door with slam just hard enough to make me jump. Shit, well, I guess I’m not that sneaky. I huff and go back to my desk.

She’s very knowledgeable in those fields. Though she’s not as knowledgeable about me, I suppose. I’ve already told you I haven’t come out to her, but now I’m wondering if I should change that. We have a wonderful relationship and I just don’t want her to think of me differently. I don’t know what your sexuality and parental situation is like, but do you have any advice? I suppose that’s my question of this letter. Sorry if it’s asking too much. Also, I’d go to Mars, to study it and live there. I'd enjoy the quiet. - Baz

I fold up the letter before I can overthink it too much, as usual. Maybe it’s asking too much of Snow. Maybe he hasn’t come out either. But I suppose it’s worth asking. He’s the only one who knows about me and who could give advice. I don’t like needing it though.

“Baz! Dinner, now!”

I sigh, jumping up from my seat. “Coming, mother!”

———————————————-

“Homecoming? Blech.” Niall sticks his tongue out as we walk past the banner a student is hanging in the main hallway.

“Not into school spirit, Niall?” I ask with a smirk.

“Not in this case. Homecoming is just fake prom in September. And it’s not even celebrating the football game because the game has to be held later. Why is it being held later anyway?”

“Field cleaning issues,” Dev chimes in.

“That’s dumb.” He and Dev stop by their computer club room. They want to see if it’s actually worth their time, while I don’t care. “See ya after school, Baz. Your turn to buy the vodka!”

I nod once firmly. “See you.”

Then we’re split up, and I’m perfectly ble to speed walk to my locker. I’m still scared over what Snow is going to say. Maybe he won’t say anything at all. Maybe I’ve scared him off with my deep seated fears and insecurities. He just thought I was cute. He never asked for my bullshit.

I stop in front of my locker, and let out a long sigh of relief when I see a corner of paper sticking out of the grate. Good. Haven’t scared him off just yet. I grab the note and stick it in my binder. I’m alone this lunch, so I’ll be able to read it in peace at the library. I’m glad to not have Dev and Niall pestering me.

I turn the corner quickly, and immediately smack into something hard.

“Shit!” I shout, falling right on my ass.

“Ouch,” the other person grumbles. Crap, I know that voice, and I know that mess of bronze curls.

Simon looks up at me with those big blue doe eyes and my breath hitches. He gives me a big smile and I nearly asphyxiate. “Oh, hi Baz.”

“Hello, Salisbury,” I reply. “Practicing your football tackles in the hallway now?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Nah, just not looking where I was going. Really sorry about that. Here let me help.”

He starts gathering up my books. When he reaches for my binder with Snow’s note, I make sure to snatch it quickly. It’s probably best for one of my crushes to not read my secret note to my other. Christ, what is my life?

We stand up at the same time. Salisbury hands me my books, which I kindly take. He just looks at me for moment, eyes roaming up and down. I can’t tell whether he’s actually looking at me kindly or I just want him to.

“So,” he says, “where are you off to, Baz?”

“Library,” I reply cooly.

“Oh cool! I’m headed that way too!”

I raise an eyebrow. “Were you not just heading the other way? Hence walking into me?”

“Um,” he rubs the back of his neck, shuffling his feet. Almost as if he’s nervous. But Simon, perfect popular kid, can’t be nervous, especially around me. “Yeah, but I’m turned around. I’m told I have a terrible sense of direction.”

I tilt my head to the side, silently wishing to every God that Simon Salisbury wasn’t so damn adorable. “Alright, understandable.”

He looks back at up at me with his goofy grin. I start walking, and he follows. It’s better to walk side by side. That way I won’t be tempted to keep staring at his face.

“So how are you doing in English?” He asks with genuine interest.

“Fine,” I reply. “And you?”

“Eh, not great. I’m not that good at English. Or any subject, really.”

“Your infographic on chosen one heroes of fantasy last week was quite brilliant.” Shit, why did I say that? I’m so obvious. It was a good project though.

He chuckles, shrugging up to his ears. “Thanks. Penny helped a lot with it though. I’d flunk out of all my classes if it wasn’t for her. Then I wouldn’t be able to play football and that would be awful.”

I snort slightly. “Truly a fate worse than death, I see.”

“Yeah!” He replies without a hint of irony. “I love football. The game is fun and stuff but I also like the outlet y’know? Bashing and hitting stuff.”

“That’s how you feel better? Smashing into things?”

He shrugs again. “Yeah. I mean, people who tell you that slamming and bashing into things won't make you feel better haven't slammed or bashed enough.”

I snort again, and it turns into a laugh. He laughs as well. It sounds like happiness. “I’ll take your word on that. I’ve never played football.”

“Yeah, I guess you haven’t,” he chuckles. “Speaking of which, are you coming to the homecoming game?”

Shit. I freeze up, muscles in my shoulders tightening. A few weeks ago, I would’ve said yes without hesitation, because I could stare at Simon more. But now I have Snow in my head as well. It feels like going to that game would be, betraying Snow almost. Or at least forgetting him favour of someone else.

“I’m not sure,” I reply genuinely. “Possibly.”

“Oh...” Surprisingly, Simon sounds disappointed. Why? Why is my presence important?

“It’s just that I may have school work to do. I don’t know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I understand. Not going to the dance either?”

I would, if someone in particular asked me. “Probably not,” I say truthfully.

“Oh, cool. I might go, I don’t know.”

“Don’t you have to go? Being the quarterback and all.”

He shrugs again , Christ, he does that a lot. “Technically yes. But I don’t know if I’ll want to. Not sure I want to Penny and her boyfriend’s third wheel. Have to go to the game though, obviously.”

“Of course. They’d lose without you.” Oh fuck, oh fuck, I said that before thinking. Shit, I hope the slight blush I can feel isn’t too obvious. I keep my head down in a futile attempt to hide it.

“Thanks,” he says. “Uh, here’s the library.”

I look up. He’s right. There’s the library sign. “Oh, so it is. Suppose I should go...study.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He shuffles his feet again, and it’s still painfully cute. He runs a hand through his hair too. I can’t help but think about how much I want to do that myself.

“Well, goodbye, Salisbury.” I turn on my heels and start walking briskly. The sooner I’m away from Simon, the sooner my heart slows down and I can think properly.

“Hey, Baz,” he calls out. I look back at him without thinking. He’s chewing on his lip. And when he speaks, it’s stalling with a slight stutter. “Um, y’know I...I’m, um. I...” He sighs, shoving his head in his letterman jacket. “I just, it’s been nice talking to you. I-I hope you do come to the game. It’ll be fun.” He looks down. “Uh, I’ve gotta go. Have fun studying, bye Baz.”

He speed walks off, leaving me standing there very confused. That was one of the strangest conversations of my life. Was Simon actually nervous? No, he’s always so confident. Must be a fluke, a bad day. And...he hopes I come to the game? Why? I’ve been to most of his games. Does he think I’m some good luck charm? Or...does he really want me there?

I go into the library. It’s mostly empty. I take a seat on one of the couches, knees pulled up to my chest. I take out Snow’s note, slowly unfolding it.

Don’t beat yourself up too much, Baz. Coming out is hard. It took me ages to tell my mum and she’s probably the most accepting woman on the planet. It’s about putting yourself out there, and that’s always scary. Why do you think I’m leaving you notes with an anonymous name instead of just saying hi? It’s terrifying to put yourself on the line. But I think you can do it. Maybe you don’t come out to your mum first though. Maybe start small. Tell your friends? That might be easier. I don’t know, it’s up to you. But just know that I believe in you. I know your braver than me. You can do it. You’re brave. - Snow

I fold it up again carefully, taking a deep breath. Could I do it? Be brave? Maybe, if Snow believes in me. One person. Is that all it takes? It feels like it. As if this strange day could get any stranger. I start writing my response.

I’ll think about that. It may be easier. Hell I think I could do it today. But just for the record, I think you’re brave. You’ve opened up to me in these letters and that takes guts. Just because I don’t know your name doesn’t mean I don’t know you. Sure, you could be playing me, but this seems like a very long con for a high school student. You’ve already put yourself on the line a lot. I hope you personally feel more brave soon. Because I already think you are. - Baz

I tuck the note away in my binder, then lean back in my seat with my eyes closed. Today is too much to process. First Salisbury and his oddness, now Snow and his kind words. How can I be so happy and so conflicted all at the same time?

———————————————-

“C’mon hurry up, Baz!” Niall shouts. “I wanna get buzzed!” A teacher glares at him, and Niall smiles apologetically.

“I’m coming,” I yell back. “Hold your horses, Jesus.” I pluck out Snow’s final note of the week. It’s the shortest one he’s left me since the first one. And it only says a few words.

Good luck :) <3 Snow

And I smile.

———————————————-

“Fuck Ronaldo, marry Messi, kill Rooney,” Dev says, counting off the soccer players on his fingers.

“What?!” Niall snaps. “Why kill Rooney?! He’s an amazing player!”

“He’s also an asshole.”

“No he isn’t!”

“Yes, he is,” I interject, trying to push my glasses up before they inevitably slide again. We’re all laying down with our heads hanging slightly off the edge of my bed. The vodka bottle is partially empty and abandoned on the floor. “He insults everyone on the field and got arrested for drunk driving.”

“Lots of people have done both,” Niall grumbles.

“Yes, and lots of people are jerks. Keep up, Niall.”

My friend grumbles and stuffs more Doritos in his mouth. Dev snorts, earning orange chips getting thrown at his face. I pick at my nails. I keep repeating Snow’s words in my head. You can do it, you can do it, you’re brave.

“Hey, guys,” I say shakily, sitting up so they can only see my back. I need to hide my face right now. “I, uh, have to tell you something.”

“Is it that you stole my teddy when we were five and blamed it on Niall? Cause I already know.” I flick Dev’s foot and he snickers.

“Shut up.” I do a deep inhale and exhale, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to will my hands to stop shaking.

“I’m gay.”

Everything is silent. I’m holding my breath, and Dev and Niall haven’t said anything. They haven’t run off or yelled at me, so I suppose that’s good. I’m really not sure how this is supposed to go.

“Okay,” Niall says slowly, “cool.”

“Yeah, cool,” Dev unhelpfully adds.

I whip around to face them. They look completely neutral. Anxiety bubbles in my stomach. “That’s it? ‘Cool’? Do you have anything else to say?”

Dev furrows his brow. “What else should we say?”

“I don’t know! Are you mad? Hurt? Disgusted?”

Niall sits up, and his look of concern twists at my heart. “Do you...want us to be or something?”

I sigh, hanging my head and rubbing my eyes behind my glasses. “No, I suppose not. I guess it’s just what I expected. Happens when you’ve been stewing in internalised homophobia for three years.”

“You’ve been sitting on this for three years?” Dev says, also genuinely concerned. “Shit man, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s alright. I’m just fucked up.”

“Hey, don’t worry, we’re all fucked up in our own ways. We can just be fucked up together.”

I look at both of them. They’re smiling, filled with equal mischief and kindness. Behind all the teasing and prodding, they truly are good friends. I’m glad to have them.

“I suppose being fucked up together is more fun than fucked up alone,” I say smoothly

Dev slaps my back hard enough to make me cough. “Exactly!”

Niall reaches down off my head and brings up the vodka bottle. He holds it up high. “To being fucked up!” He takes a swig and passes it to Dev.

“To Baz being gay!” He says before his swig.

I roll my eyes and snatch the bottle. “To friends.”

The two of them chuckle as I drink. We fall back down on the bed, staring up at my ceiling. I truly feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. They know, and they’re okay. I’m okay. The whole world has not imploded because I’m queer. What a novel concept.

“Hang on,” Nial says, “that person you’ve been exchanging weird letters with, is that a guy? Do you like him?!”

Okay, now my world is imploding.

I groan and cover my face. Niall laughs loudly. “You do like him!” he shouts.

“Maybe,” I grumble. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what he looks like!”

“Well, do you want to know?”

I shift uncomfortably, arms crossed over my chest. “Maybe. I like writing to him. What if meeting face to face ruins everything?”

Niall shrugs. “You’ll never know if you don’t see him. Is he worth the risk?”

I sigh and close my eyes. I know the answer, but I hate that it’s so obvious. “Yes, I think he is.”

“Then you should see him. I support you! Go gays!”

“Please don’t say that ever again.”

“How about ‘pro homo’?” Dev chimes in with a shit eating grin.

“Nope, that’s even worse.”

“How about-” I slap a hand over Niall’s mouth.

“I’m just going to stop you right now.”

Both of them start snickering. I roll my eyes and get up to go to my desk, leaving the two laughing straight boys to their potato chips. There’s something I need to write down.

Well, I just told my friends, and it went well. They’re okay with it and are already teasing me mercilessly like usual. I don’t think I would’ve been able to do this without you. You make me feel brave, Snow. You’re quite amazing. Thank you, very much. I do hope to meet you someday. Sincerely, Baz

I refuse to use a heart, and ‘love’ feels like too much right now. But I am very sincere. I fold up the note and stuff it in my school bag for Monday. Dev and Niall haven’t moved an inch, still stuffing their faces with junk food.

“How are you both still hungry after dinner?” I ask.

“I’m a bottomless pit,” Niall says through a mouthful of cheese puffs. “And y’know, come to think of it, it actually makes sense that you’re gay.”

I cock an eyebrow. “Oh really? Do I look gay or something?”

“No, that’s not what I mean. You’ve just never looked twice at a girl. I always thought you were just snobbish and picky.”

“Well, I am. Just not about women. Mostly about books.”

“Duh. I already know that.”

“Maybe you’re book-sexual,” Dev interjects with a giggle.

“I don’t want to screw books.”

“Now that would be a nasty papercut!”

We all burst out laughing. And it feels like that no matter what happens with my mother or Snow or Salisbury, I’ll be alright.

———————————————-

Leaving this note in my locker is very nerve wracking. I’m so distracted all morning. Ms. Possibelf’s words go right over my head. It takes me ages to notice Salisbury staring at me. When I flick my eyes over to him, he immediately looks away. What’s up with him? Keeping an eye on his football good luck charm? I wish he’d leave me to stew in anxiety in peace.

Second period is even worse. I’m jittery as fuck, leg bouncing underneath my desk. Dev kicks me in an attempt to stop it, but that doesn’t help at all. And my mind is still swirling when the bell rings. I’m off down the hallway at a very, very brisk pace. As I’m walking, I vaguely notice Salisbury running very fast down the hall. Huh, must be late for football practice.

I stop in front of my locker and...there’s no note. What the fuck?

“Huh, mystery man hasn’t left a note?”

I jump slightly at Niall’s sudden appearance. “When the fuck did you get here?”

“I saw you and literally walked just behind you. You’re so oblivious right now, dude.”

“Shut up.” I glare at the locker, like this is all it’s fault. “Do you think I freaked him out or something?

“Well, if he did get scared off, then he’s a fucking idiot and doesn’t deserve you.”

I turn to face, a half smile pulling up my mouth. “You really think that?”

He rolls his eyes. “Duh, of course. You’re my best friend.”

“Hey! What about me?” Dev strolls up next to us, looking mock offended.

“I can have two best friends, can’t I?”

Dev shrugs and bumps their shoulders together. “I suppose so. Now, can we go eat? I’m hungry.”

“Sure,” I sigh, “I’m hungry too.”

We walk off down the hall together. I look at my empty locker once more, and a storm of worry swirling in my gut.

Lunch passes the time quite well, It’s easy to fall into easy conversation with Dev and Niall. We talk about teachers, homework, soccer players, as usual. They do a good job of making me forget about Snow. But out of the corner of my eye, I can’t help but notice Penelope Bunce glaring at me. Even when I turn to look at her she keeps staring. What’s her problem now? I know we’re both vying for top of our class but I’m not sure that deserves such an intense death glare. It’s not my fault I’m brilliant.

Afterwards, the three of us walk down the hall, deep in a heated discussion about Ronaldo’s next season.

“I swear,” I say, “he’s going to break his record this year.”

“Uh, Baz-” Dev says from just behind me.

“Don’t fight me on this, Dev, I know I’m right.”

“Baz-”

“He’s doing far too well for anything else to happen!”

”Baz!”

I spin on my heels to face him. “What?! I’m trying to make a point here, let me finish.”

He rolls his eyes. “Well, I assumed you’d want to stop for that. ” He points to his left. I look, and I nearly drop my books.

Right on my locker, for everyone to see, someone has taped a single rose. And there’s an envelope sticking from the grate underneath.

I walk towards it slowly, like approaching a ferocious animal. I take the rose off first. It looks fresh, obviously bought just today. The petals are still as red as blood. Still slowly, I take the envelope. It hasn’t even been sealed. But I recognised the chicken scratch handwriting across the front that says “Baz.” With shaky fingers, I take out the paper. It’s folded in thirds. When I open the top, the words are short and direct.

I want you to meet me too, and I’ll do you one better than someday. Go to homecoming with me? :) Love, Snow

The last third of the paper falls open, and a homecoming ticket is taped to the bottom.

“Holy shit,” Dev whispers.

“Oh my god,” Niall oh so helpfully adds in.

“Looks like you’re going to homecoming, dude.”

I don’t reply, because my brain has completely short circuited.

———————————————-

Three days. It’s been three days since Snow left his invitation. Homecoming is tomorrow. And yet, I still haven’t responded.

I’m sitting on my bed, staring at Snow’s rose, turning it over in my hand. What the hell am I supposed to do? There’s no social protocol for how to respond to your anonymous secret admirer asking you to a school dance. And there’s certainly no instruction manual on how to deal with being conflicted over your anonymous sort of crush and your three year long one. I just wanted to meet him, not go on a date with him. At least, not yet. Niall and Dev think I should say yes, but they don’t know about Salisbury.

This is all so annoyingly complicated. I’ve liked Salisbury for years, ever since I first realised I liked boys period. But now here’s Snow. Someone I’ve never met, yet I know so much about him and he knows so much about me. I suppose I finally have to choose one. But is there even a choice? When one of them is impossible and the other is literally offering to take me out? It seems obvious. Yet...here I am.

“Basil? Are you still up here, sweetheart?” My mom says through the door.

“Yes, Mom,” I reply.

“You missed dinner.”

“Sorry. I’m still not feeling well.”

There’s a short pause. I can just barely hear her sigh. “May I come in?”

Shit. I put the rose under my sheets. “Y-Yeah, sure.”

She opens the door and walks in gracefully, as usual. Her hair is tied up, and there are food stains on her shirt from where my baby brother probably tossed food on her. She sits on the edge of my bed, hands folded in her lap.

“Feeling any better?”

I shift uncomfortably in place. I don’t like lying to her. “A bit. Just...worrying about things.”

She moves closer, putting a hand on on my blanket covered knee. “You know you can talk to about anything, right sweetie?”

I chew on my lip. “Yeah, I know.”

“So, if I may be so bold, does this ‘worrying’ have anything to do with those notes you’ve been writing?”

Oh fuck. I inhale sharply. When I look at her, she’s just smiling. It’s simple and kind but doesn’t stop my rapidly beating heart. “How did you know?”

“I accidentally found one.” She takes a crumpled piece of paper out of her sweatpants. “I was cleaning up, and it must’ve fell out of your bag. I only read the first sentence, I swear. Once I realised it was something for you I stopped.”

I take the paper. Yes, it’s one of Snow’s notes. But an innocuous one, thank God. It’s just him gushing about how much he loves Troye Sivan. Luckily, my mother is not up to date on pop culture and won’t know what someone liking Troye Sivan tends to mean.

“Oh...” is all I manage to get out.

“Have you been passing notes in class?” She says slyly. “I hope you haven’t been ignoring your teachers, Basil.”

I chuckle. My mother, always the academic. “No, not in class.” I look at my lap, fingers fidgeting. “It’s, actually been in my locker. We leave them there for each other. Sorta giving letters back and forth.”

“Ah, I see. Very...unusual.”

“Yeah, I know. It started as a secret admirer note and sort of weirdly spiralled from there.”

“Secret admirer?” She moves closer, grinning wide. “So someone likes you?”

Fuck. I can feel my stomach churning. My fingers fidget frantically. I keep looking down, because looking right at her would be too overwhelming. I know what I’m going to say, but it takes a few moments for me to find the courage. But I’m brave. At least, someone told me I am, and I want to believe him.

“Yeah,” I say quietly, “he does. And...I like him too.”

There’s a long silence. This feels a lot worse than Dev and Niall, and a lot scarier. I’m still as statue, just waiting for my own mother to either reject or accept me.

“Oh,” she replies, voice also low, “it’s a he?”

“M-hm.”

“And...you like ‘hes’?”

It’s strange to hear my usually eloquent and quick tongued mother speak so cautiously. “Yeah, I do.”

“I see. Do you...only like ‘hes’?”

I curl my lips in, and nod slowly. Christ, I feel I’m going to throw up. I’m even picking at my nails, something I haven’t done since I was eleven. But I’m so damn nervous I can’t help it. Suddenly, I see a pair of slender hands wrap around my own, stopping my assault on my skin. She holds them firmly, and it certainly feels reassuring.

“It’s okay,” she says. I can almost hear her smile. “Baz, it’s perfectly fine. Don’t worry, I’m not upset, I never would be. I love you, no matter what.” She tilts my chin up. Yeah, there’s her smile, and I’m very relieved. “You’re still my little puff, who loves playing the violin and debating Greek philosophy with me until you’re blue in the face.”

I chuckle and squeeze her hand. She squeezes back, then tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. She’s been doing that since I was small. I sigh in comfort and relief.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I say quietly, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I just, I didn’t know how. And I wasn’t sure-”

She immediately wraps her arms around me. I hug her back tightly. “Sh sh, it’s alright, Baz. It’s okay, little puff. I can’t imagine how hard this has been for you. Of course I’m not mad. I’m just glad you feel comfortable enough to tell me now.”

I embarrassingly sniffle. I’m fucking crying, because I’m more pathetic than I realise. I don’t know why. Relief? Happiness? Repressed pain? Who fucking knows. Mom pulls back and holds my face. She wipes away my stupid tears with her thumbs. Because she’s always such a mother. And a good one at that.

“Thanks for understanding,” I say weakly.

She laughs softly and smiles wider. “Thank you for telling me, sweetheart. Now,” she claps my shoulders, “tell me about this secret admirer.”

I groan, head tilting back. Of course. She’s a mother, which makes her naturally nosy. “Mom, please.”

“C’mon! You said that you’ve been exchanging notes with him? Is he nice? Should I get dinner ready for him?”

“Well, don’t get cooking yet, Mom. I don’t know who he is, really. Hence the ‘secret’ thing.”

She sighs, tucking my hair again. It does feel quite comforting. “Well, if he makes you happy and you like him, then maybe he shouldn’t be secret.”

I twist my mouth. Unfortunately, she’s right. Snow does make me happy, he’s more of a possibility than Simon, and I want to meet him, more than anything. Plus, y’know, I do love to wear suits.

“I guess,” I chuckle, “I’ve got to write something.”

“Okay. Want me to heat something up for you?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Mom.”

She grins and presses a kiss to my forehead. “You’re welcome, honey. I hope this all works out for you.”

With one last hand squeeze, she leaves my room. I let out a long sigh of relief. Man, that went way better than I thought it would. I want to tell Snow about it. And I suppose I can, tomorrow at homecoming. I pull a sticky note from my bedside, and I write three words.

Yes Love, Baz

———————————————-

I pace back and forth in front of the school. I keep checking Snow’s note from lunch over and over again to make sure I got it right.

Meet me at the south entrance at 7:30

Well, my phone says it’s 7:34, so Snow is late. I try to suppress my worry, fiddling with my sleeves and tie instead. It’s my favourite suit, because I'm the kind of person who has a favourite suit. Greenish black with a bit of silver with a blood pink tie. I hope Snow likes it.

Ugh, my feet hurt. I sit down on the bench, staring at my jittering shoe. Maybe he won’t come and I’ll just sit here forever. Maybe I’ll just die here. Honestly, that would be perfectly okay with me right now. Saves the embarrassment of waiting for a boy to never show up.

“Hey,” a breathless voice says from above me.

Wait, I know that voice. I’ve had it’s tone memorised since I was 15.

I look up to find a pair of plain blue eyes, with soft bronze curls hanging in front. Despite being breathless and a bit sweaty, he looks good. Actually, he looks positively stunning in that grey suit.

“Good evening, Salisbury,” I say smoothly.

“Hi, Baz.”

That’s all he says, then he just stares at me. What is his problem? “Um, I’m sorry I can’t talk right now. I’m waiting for someone.”

He bites his bottom lip. I wish I didn’t find that cute. “Yeah,” he sighs, “I know.”

My eyes narrow in confusion. What? Why would Simon know I’m waiting? Only way he would is if...

Oh.

Oh my god.

If I wasn’t already sitting down, I would be falling over right now. The world is sort of spinning. I’m just staring blankly at Simon, mouth open wide enough to catch flies.

“Holy shit,” I whisper, “you...you’re Snow.”

He smiles sheepishly, putting a hand on the back of his neck. “Yeah. Surprise.”

I keep gaping at him. It’s all I can manage to do. Simon Salisbury is Snow. My secret admirer and long standing crush are one and the same. I just simply can’t believe it. My worlds are colliding in the weirdest, most amazing ways possible. I’m so stunned that I barely notice Simon sits down next to me.

“Hello? Earth to Baz. You okay there?” He chuckles.

I shake my head, trying to get rid of the shocked fog my brain is clouded in. “Yeah, I’m just...I’m a bit astonished. Just, you like me?”

“Uh, yeah. I thought the ‘I think you’re cute’ note and all the ones after made that clear.” His wide, smug grin is so annoyingly attractive.

“But why?!” I blurt the words out before I realise it. I’m still too stunned and confused, as well as filled with the usual self loathing times a hundred.

He goes wide eyed and scoffs in disbelief. “‘Why?’ I mean, God Baz, why not? You’re fucking incredible! You’re like, the most brilliant person I’ve ever met. But don’t tell Penny I said that.” We both chuckle, then he sighs, running a hand through his wild hair. “You’ve always amazed me with that big brain and sharp tongue of yours. And when you tore down that homophobic girl in class? I was so blown away that I wanted to run up and talk to you after class but I was so damn nervous. I-I’m not great at talking, and it just gets worse around you. And I still wasn’t sure you liked guys, and it would be a disaster if you didn’t. So...”

“So, you left the note?”

He sighs, nodding slowly. “Yeah. It started as a joke from Penny, but then the idea got into my head and, well, I’m very impulsive. I didn’t expect you to...y’know, respond. Then I guess it became easier talking to you on paper when you didn’t know who I was than in person. I just, I get so flustered around you because you’re so cool.”

Both my brows shoot up to my hairline. “You actually think I’m cool? You...weren't kidding in the second note?”

“Uh, yeah!” He looks at me like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re so cool and brilliant and, like, fucking beautiful.” His cheeks go very red. “Or, handsome, I guess. Gorgeous? Just...I mean that I like to look at you. Too much actually. Penny finds it annoying in English class.”

I think about every time I looked away from Simon, to look at the board or talk to Niall. And now I imagine him staring at me every one of those times. As well all the times I thought he was gaping at the weirdo. He was never gawking, he was gazing at me, just like how I gaze at him. The thought makes my stomach do wonderful, terrifying backflips.

I realise I’ve been gaping at him for an inordinate amount of time, and Simon now looks incredibly nervous. His whole face is completely scarlet and he’s staring at his wringing hands.

“Look,” he says with a nervous timbre, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I tried once before, when I dropped you off at the library, but I chickened out. The stupid notes were just going so well and I was terrified I’d ruin it if you knew it was me. I’ve liked you since last year, hence why me and Agatha broke up, and I didn’t want it to end. I know you think I’m just some dumb jock. If you don’t want it to be me, I understand. I’ve been hiding from you all this time and that’s shitty. Just, you said you wanted to meet someday, and I decided to take a stupidly big chance because I was so excited. But if you’re not interested or you’re mad I get it, and I’ll go.”

He’s jittery, eyes darting from me to the ground, foot bouncing up and down. Holy shit. He’s actually nervous. For years, Simon has been this unattainable perfect golden boy. But here he is, anxious and scared as all fuck, and I realise he’s just another awkward teenage boy. Just like Snow told me. Which means, all this time, Simon Salisbury has been just like me.

With all of this absurdity, I can’t help but laugh. A short breathy chuckle, that turns into a loud howl. I double over holding my forehead. When I look up, Simon is looking at me strangely. Some mixture between confusion and sadness.

“Did, did I say something funny?” He asks like he’s actually not sure, but is expecting a bad answer.

I sigh. Christ, this boy is adorable. I take both his hands in mine. He inhales sharply but doesn’t pull away. “Simon, I’m absolutely, positively fine with it being you. As a matter of fact...” I gulp down the nervous lump in my throat. “I’ve had a crush on you since I was 15.”

His beautiful eyes bulge out, and his grip tightens. I watch his jaw fall open so wide he’ll catch flies. “You’ve had a crush on me? S-Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“On me? Simon -me?”

“M-hm.”

“Not just Snow?”

“Nope. I was actually agonizing for days over whether or not to accept your invitation and give up on, well, also you. Guess all that angst was for nothing.”

We both giggle. I want to make it my mission to hear him giggle everyday. Simon lets one of my hands go, but laces our fingers together with the other. His fit perfectly between mine. It feels unimaginably incredible.

“What big messes we both are,” he sighs.

“Yeah,” I say quietly, “I suppose we match.”

“I really think we do.” He sighs again, rubbing his neck and messing with his curls. “Wow, just...well, you asked me so it’s only fair I can to.” He looks me right in the eye unflinchingly. “Why the hell do you like me? Simon, not just Snow.”

I smile as kindly as I can. “Because I don’t think you’re just a dumb jock. You’re kind, brave, smart, and gorgeous to boot.” He looks very cutely bashful at that. “The notes just let me get to know you better and make me like you more, even if I didn’t know it. I found that Snow was very nice, interesting person through them. But I’ve also been pining after you, Simon, for years. I just didn’t think I ever had a chance. I didn’t even realise you were gay.”

He shrugs with a sheepish look. “Well, I don’t think I’m gay. Not totally. But I know I like you a lot. So I guess I like guys, but honestly it’s mostly just you.”

“Wow, I’m so honoured,” I say, only half kidding.

Simon grins, wide and filled with teeth. Suddenly, he stands, pulling me up along with him. “So, wanna get in there? Rhys is DJing and I asked him to play some Troye.”

I run my fingers over the back of his freckled hand, chewing on the inside of my cheek. “You sure? Everyone will know, that you’re- well, that you’re at least somewhat gay.”

“There go my job prospects.” I give him a deadpan look, and he sighs and tilts his head to the side. “Don’t worry, okay Baz? I’ve wanted you for quite awhile, so as long as I’m doing gay stuff with you, I really don’t care what anyone else thinks. Are you good?”

I smirk, then tug his hand to pull him closer. “I’ve wanted you for even longer. So yes, with you, I’m good.” I reach for his face, and when he doesn’t pull away, I cup his cheek, swiping over one of his beautiful moles. “You make me brave, Snow.”

He flushes down to his neck, and I’d tease him if I wasn’t pretty sure I was in the same state. We both smile, then walk towards the entrance.

The gym is decked out in green and purple, the school colours. I think it’s quite ugly, honestly. Even though the shitty dance music is deafeningly loud and the bustle should be distracting, everyone turns to look at us. I can feel all their wide eyes on our joined hands. I’m overcome with urge to run away, to avoid their prying gaze. But then Simon squeezes my hand, just once, and I feel okay.

“Want some punch?” Simon shouts over the music.

“Yeah,” I reply, “that would be great.”

We walk over to the table covered in drinks and food. Simon scoops some of the red liquid into two cups. He clinks our plastic together like we’re fancy or something. I chuckle. Yeah, this is nice. I like this a lot.

“Holy shit!” Two people next to us say.

Simon looks very confused. I’d be angry if I didn’t know those voices. “Hello, Niall. Hello, Dev,” I sigh.

The two look between us in utter disbelief. Their jaws practically on the floor. It’s quite funny.

“Mystery guy is Simon Salisbury?!” Dev says.

“Yeah,” Simon replies with his sunshine smile. “Hi, Niall and Dev. Nice to actually meet you.”

“Wow,” Niall chuckles. “You accidentally nabbed the quarterback, man. Nice.”

Simon laughs good naturedly. I scoff and knock his shoulder. Dev gives me a nice but slightly painful slap to my back. They’re such an assholes. Supportive and wonderful, yes, but assholes all the same.

The song changes to something slow. I recognize it as one of my aunt’s favourites, Nick Cave’s “Into My Arms.” Dev and Niall rush off to find their dates. I put down my glass, and look up to see Simon down his in one gulp. He tugs me towards the dance floor, and I follow, trying to not explode because I’m about to dance with Simon fucking Salisbury. Shit, I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming.

It becomes quickly apparent that Simon doesn’t know how to dance. He lifts his arms towards me, then quickly drops them. I sigh with a mock exasperation. I take one of his hands in mine and wrap the other arm around his waist. He inhales sharply, and his eyes go adorably wide.

“Put it on my shoulder,” I whisper.

Simon nods and complies. His hand feels unnaturally heavy to me, as my brain is still fully processing the unbelievable reality that Simon wants to touch me. That he wants to be this close to me in something other than my imagination. The song is so soft that we barely have to move. I don’t mind. Not when the literal boy of my dreams in only a few inches away.

My eyes catch something over Simon’s shoulder. Well, someone. A short purple haired girl with sassy librarian glasses and a deep scowl definitely directed at me.

“Your friend is glaring at me,” I say close to Simon’s ear.

Simon looks not so subtly behind him and sighs heavily. “Yeah, sorry about that. Penny is still trying to accept that I like you. She thinks you’re an asshole.”

“Well, she’s right, I am.”

He chuckles softly. “Yeah, I know. But you’re also really smart and pretty.”

“Oh thank you.” I try to sound sarcastic, but my voice still cracks with embarrassment. Simon notices if hia smug smile is any clue. “Was her dislike of me the reason for that strange conversation in last period weeks ago?”

“Yeah,” he sighs with affectionate exasperation. “She’s overprotective. I think she was trying to intimidate or glare you to death for brushing me off. Didn’t work obviously, since you didn’t know I was Snow.”

“Hm, I suppose. Wouldn’t have worked even if I did know.”

“Well, neither of us knew that at the time, now did we?”

We quietly giggle for a moment. Simon sighs, and lets his head fall on my shoulder. I try not to tense up from shock and elation. I let myself relax, just sinking into the sensation of Simon’s head resting on me and the soft melody of the song. But one thing is still bothering me.

“Hey, Simon?” I whisper.

“Hm?” He doesn’t move off my shoulder.

“Why did you go by ‘Snow’? Seems strange.”

“Oh.” He pulls back, chewing on his bottom lip nervously. “It’s, uh, actually my middle name.”

I can’t help but snort out a laugh. “Your full name is Simon Snow Salisbury? Seriously?”

He chuckles, cheeks going red. “Yeah, blame my Mom. She thinks everyone in our family needs a weird middle name.”

“Obviously.” He looks embarrassed, and of course my heart twists. I sigh and push a curl off his forehead. “I’m not one to talk though, what with the name Tyrannus.”

Simon snorts this time. “Yeah you’re really not.”

We go quiet again. Simon’s blue eyes roam over my face, and my pulse picks up when I notice them focus on my mouth. Fuck, I’ve spent three years thinking about that, but that’s a very far cry from it actually happening. I gulp own the lump in my throat.

“Is it my turn to ask you something now?” he says quietly.

“I suppose,” I reply, trying to control my voice.

He looks me right in the eye. “Can I kiss you?”

I take a deep breath, squeezing his hand a bit tighter than probably necessary. “Simon, I-I certainly want to, but just so you know...I’ve never, done that, before.”

His face morphs into an adorable lopsided smile. He slowly moves his fingers across my shoulder over and over. I can’t suppress the shudder that runs down my spine. “That’s okay. It’s actually pretty cute.”

I scoff. “I’m not cute, I’m hot.”

“Oh, very.”

That only increase my terrible blush. He’s still looking at me with his sweet, understanding face. And it sort of obliterates all my defences. “Truthfully, Simon,” I say quietly, “I’ve just been waiting. I’ve...only ever wanted to kiss you. Pathetic, I know.”

“Hm, not pathetic. Still very cute.” He curls his fingers around the back of my neck, taking a miniscule step closer. Christ, he smells incredible, like something brown and sweet. “So, can I kiss you?”

I take a small breath, trying to steady my nerves. I let my eyes slide shut and lean a bit closer. My voice is barely a whisper between us. “Yes.”

My heart is pounding in my ears. I stay there, waiting. The seconds stretching out impossibly long. I almost pull back, embarrassed at my stupid eagerness and teenage fantasies.

But then he kisses me.

Is this a good kiss? I don’t know, I don’t have a comparison. But it certainly feels amazing. Simon’s mouth is soft as it’s firmly pressed against mine. All my senses are overwhelmed with him. His warmth, his sugary scent, his fingers pushing against my nape. I can tell that he’s done this before. He’s doing this thing with his chin that makes my brain melt. I try to copy the way his lips move at first, but I have no fucking idea what I’m doing. So I let Simon take the lead. The rest of the world disappears. And I’m fine with that, because I’m kissing Simon Snow Salisbury. Nothing else matters.

He does pull away eventually though, obviously. Our foreheads stay pressed together as we both let out quiet sighs. Simon lets go of my hand and wraps both arms around my neck. We’re pressed together, and part of me never wants to let go.

“Hm,” I chuckle, “I just noticed something.”

“What?” He mumbles into my jacket.

“You’re shorter than me.”

He half giggles, half scoffs. “Yeah. You’ve never noticed?”

“No. I guess I always thought you were above me, the perfect popular guy and all. Turns out you’re actually beneath me.”

Simon more scoffs this time. I feel him lightly kick my foot. “Asshole.”

“Mm, you like me.”

“Don’t make me regret it.” He somehow pulls me closer, even though we’re already pressed together. “I never would, though. Regret this. Regret you. I choose you.”

I sigh, leaning my cheek on top of his wild, sweet smelling hair. “Me too, Snow. Me too.”

———————————————-

I’m jittery as fuck. I’ve never really paid attention to a football game before, and it’s surprisingly tense. Watching everyone go back and forth, trying to gain that little bit of ground to get closer to the end. And if I thought watching Simon getting bashed around was hard when he was just my crush, it’s agony when he’s my boyfriend.

“Stop chewing your nails,” Bunce mutters. “He’ll be fine.”

I glare at her. We’re sitting together on the bottom bench on the seats Simon reserved for us. Dev and Niall are somewhere higher up. “Excuse me for being concerned.”

She sighs, patting my shoulder. “He’s got a thick skull. Hence why he’s so good at at this. Just calm down.”

I chuckle, then look back out at the field. Watford’s team is setting up again. Simon is at the back, squaring his shoulders. He catches my eye and smiles. I smile back, unconsciously tugging his letterman jacket closer around me. It’s a bit small but very warm. I’m not sure I’m going to give it back.

Simon shouts some words I don’t understand, then they’re off again. A huge of mess of boys in massive padding rushing into each other. I keep my eyes on Simon. He bobs and weaves past others, then jumps up and down like a mad man. Someone tosses him the ball, which he obviously catches. He runs off like a shot with everyone chasing after him. Fuck, there’s 8 seconds left on the clock.

“C’mon, Snow,” I whisper. “You can do it.”

4...3...2...1-

“Touchdown!” The announcer proclaims. “Salisbury brings in another victory for Watford!”

I’m running before I realise it. My overly romantic lizard brain is just shouting, get to him, get to him now! He rips off his helmet and tosses it to the side like always. But this time he’s running towards me as well. We meet in the middle, crashing into each other with far more force than probably necessary. I hold him up by his waist and he hangs on to my neck. We’re laughing like idiots as we spin around.

“You were amazing,” I say against his ear. “You’re so amazing, Snow.”

He grins beautifully, and suddenly pulls me down into a hard kiss. He’s sweaty and gross and certainly needs a shower, but I seriously do not care right now . I kiss him with all the desire and admiration I feel for him. Because I’m so damn happy.

“Woohoo! Get it, Salisbury!” One of his teammates shouts.

Simon pulls away to sigh and roll his eyes. “Sorry. Jocks, y’know?”

I chuckle, weaving our fingers together. “Yes, I certainly know now.”

The teammates come up to ruffle Simon’s sticky hair, congratulating him in that typical gruff, masculine sports way. Bunce, Dev, and Niall come onto the field too eventually. Bunce gives Simon a big squeezing hug.

“Y’know, you scared the hell out of Basilton,” she says with a grin. I glare at her for the second time tonight.

“Apologies for worrying about my boyfriend’s brains getting bashed in,” I add in.

“Aw,” Simon coos, “you’re worried about me.”

“Duh. If you die, who am I going to make out with?”

Niall and Dev laugh while Buce gags. Simon kisses my cheek though, so I don’t really notice or care. The three of them start chatting their shared/much hated humanities class. Snow sighs and puts his head on my shoulder.

“I’ve gotta shower,” he mutters.

“Agreed. Is the team getting celebration ice cream?” I ask.

“Yeah.” He looks up at me with his big blue eyes and my knees go weak. “Wanna come with Penny and me? I’m allowed to bring two people.”

I squeeze his hand. “I would like that very much. Meet you in the parking lot?”

“Awesome.” He leans up and presses another peck to my cheek. “See you in a bit, babe.”

In an overly sappy act I’d never do with anyone else, I rub my nose against his. It feels so stupid and so right. “See you, babe.”

We kiss deeply one more time, because we’re young and stupid and horny. And, at least on my end, probably in love. We’ve only been actually dating for two weeks though, so it’s too soon for me to say that, obviously. But...I do hope to say it soon. And for him to say it too.

Simon runs off and I watch him go, putting my hands in his coat. I don’t feel cynical, or anxious. I just feel...happy. And considering how long it took to get here, I deserve it. Simon and I both do.

We’re living such charmed lives.

———————————————-

AN: Aw, young, dumb, and in love. Good for them <3 Hope you enjoyed this teen romcom fluffy bs. I certainly had fun writing it. I'm really sorry for misreading the request though. That's my bad. I promise the request will be fluffy and cute af and def worth the wait. And if anyone wants to request, go here and drop a number in my inbox :)

#carry on #snowbaz #baz pitch #simon snow #penelope bunce #niall #dev #fluff #light angst #love simon elements #mysnowbazfic

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